Hyperbolic Metaphor

Shortly after November, Old Man winter pulled on his best December, a solid pair of ice-toed butt-kicking boots. He started tromping around the Midwest and Eastern Seaboard like a cantankerous old coot, ranting and raving like a lunatic while he liberally dumped shovelfuls of snow and ice everywhere he could. If you stopped and listened, you could hear his discordant ramblings.
"You stupid kids don't know how good you got it. Why, back in my day there was no such thing as 'Global Warming'," he hollers, his crooked, frostbitten fingers forming massive air quotes around the words "Global Warming", causing a huge blizzard to dump several inches of snow over Wisconsin.
"The only green house gasses anyone ever heard of came from me! Heh, heh! When I was just a young man I used to raise all kinds of Hail all over this world. Ever hear of a little thing called the Ice Age? Hah, that was me killin' time on a Saturday night."
A month later he pulls off December and leaves it lying in the remnant of last year. The New Year rolls in and he pulls on January like Mister Rogers changing his cardigan. He begins buttoning January up and preparing for some good old "Wintering" when he his eyes glaze over as he starts thinking about what is to come.
While he is distracted, Global Warming sneaks in and cranks the thermostat up to sixty. Old Man Winter just stares off into space while all of his handiwork melts at his feet and the grasses even begin to show a little color. Confused and a little chilly, a few insects venture out into the unseasonable warmth.
Old Man Winter is thinking about his more comfortable February. It is just a few days smaller than his other months, but it fits so comfortably. He likes to wear it while he puts on his last show before the end of the season. He especially likes the little groundhog that lives in his pocket. He lets it out at the beginning of the month so it can look for its shadow. The stupid rodent thinks that his shadow actually has an effect on how much winter is left, but he still loves the little guy.
After February, he will slip into a two-piece, March/April ensemble that is his "See Ya'll Next Year" suit. He likes the way the rains and melting snows bring out his eyes while he lingers just long enough to see Persephone return.
He sighs deeply thinking of her. She will saunter in fresh from Hades with May draped loosely over her slender form. She will playfully let Spring slip seductively down her shoulders as she prepares for Summer. Barely looking back, she will let May fall to her feet exposing her perfectly formed June and July and her well rounded August.
Just thinking of her makes him flush with warmth and pull January down a bit to conceal his excitement. He feels hot under the collar and beads of perspiration form on his forehead. That's when he sees what Global Warming has done and he becomes furious.
He chases Global Warming out of his yard with a snow shovel and begins cursing him with freezing rain, sleet, and bitter temperatures. This is his time and he will not let some young hooligan come in and chase him off.
"I made glaciers, you hot-headed, little punk!" he calls after the belligerent Global Warming, feebly shaking his frosted fists in anger.
Global Warming does not run, nor does he hide. He simply stands just out of the Old Man's reach, biding his time.