Friday, December 23, 2022


It's cold outside. Not as cold as Wyoming or Canada, but sufficiently chilly that those of us accustomed to gaily skipping about in our grungy cargo pants, bare chested, here in SF, have to wear coats. In other parts of the country they're having a once-in-a-generation event; flannel shirts and long pants are sold out at Walmarts all over The South, there are lines to stock up outside of Waffle House, and Piggly Wiggly is running short of grits.

I am thrilled by the seasonal bitching on pipe smokers forums.

"How do you guys stand it?!? I'm not allowed to smoke inside the house, but have to go out to the porch, the space heater there has been busted since the flood, there are ice crystals forming in my pouch of Captain Black Grape, and I've lost two toes this year! It's beastly! Waaah!"

In previous years I commiserated with utmost sympathy, telling the poor suffering gentleman in Kansas or North Dakota to just suck it up candy ass it builds character, why I had to decide that day whether I should wear shortsleeves or just roll up my long sleeves all manly like a butch woodcutting person or something. So I could understand his pain.

Flannel shirts do not pair well with cargo shorts.
Sadly, there are no long-sleeved Hawaiian shirts to be had. Those frigid folks in Mississippi and Georgia must have snagged all of them. Because of the icenadopalypse. And the solid half inch of snow blanketing the parking lot down at the shopping center. Which will perhaps still be there in one or two hours! That's utterly unheard of. Damned Yankees.

"Dang Maw, the trailer park is cut off from the world, there's this weird wet white stuff laying all over the ground!"

Whatever shall we do, whatever shall we do?

What you should do, Gompert, is adopt a poor torpid iguana and bring it inside to get nice and warm. They're practically falling out of trees, and they're free!
They're good around children. Honest!

Yeah, I too hate the cold.
Damned Yankees.

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