Cold enough for you?
Blast, it’s cold outside! It’s colder than a witch’s mammary gland! When that frigid air hits your lungs, it feels like Reggie Jackson taking his 35oz. Louisville Slugger to your ribs! It ain’t natural!
It’s so cold out, it makes me want to curl up under a blanket and watch CBS’s crime procedural Cold Case, starring that ashen-faced lady from my nightmares.
Because of the frozen temps here, my car was running at perhaps 60% efficiency this morning. It was like at the end of Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan, when the Enterprise is trying to get away from the Genesis project explosion but they don’t have warp power until Spock sacrifices his life for the good of the crew. That’s exactly what it was like as I drove through Brooklyn Center.
I hate these Minnesota Januaries. Everything is cold and depressing and my sullen misery only grows deeper with each drunken pelvic thrust from New Orleans Saints fans.
Something’s got to be done about this! Who’s up for a suicide pact culminating in a blazing bloodbath in a Culvers parking lot?