What the hell is going on outside?!

I’m a lifelong Minnesotan, but even that left me sadly ill-equipped to deal with the weather this morning. The wind chill was listed at -40, but there I was, walking from my car to my office building without any gloves on.

“I should be fine!” I reasoned, “It’s only a 20 second walk - no problem!”

I kid you not, by the time I got to the door of my building, I could barely operate the door handle. My hands were bright red and I couldn’t really operate them. It was like somebody cut my actual hands off, and attached two meaty claw-like appendages to them. So I pushed and scratched on the door for about 40 minutes.

Eventually, since I couldn’t get in, I began building a lean-to for shelter and use as a home base for future operations. Using my belt and car keys, I concocted a rudimentary weapon that I used to kill people who approached me. Many of them claimed to be offering to help, followed by some asking why I had murdered their co-workers. With a haggard shout I mercilessly killed all of them as my instinct for survival began to kick in. Later I joined a wandering pack of wild dogs. They accepted me and saw the potential in me that humans had thus far failed to recognize. Eventually I rose in ranks until I was a Lt. Colonel of the 9th wild dog batallion. I took the dogs who were under me and led them in an attack against Pearson, my former employer. It was a sight to behold: me, in my battle regalia of cat skins, riding aloft a great dane and barking orders in the ancient language of the dogs, along with 400 mangy, rabid dogs riding through my former office. We torched the call center and then rode on to freedom with our waiting comrades in the hills of western Mongolia.