It was so cold this morning (2º, to be exact) that I saw a politician walking across Boston Common with his hands in his own pockets.
Seriously, it’s friggin’ cold up here.
I’m not complaining, just stating a fact.
But what really frosts my junk are the people that feel a burning desire to remind me just how cold they are with their witty and unoriginal-as-shit banter.
“Cold enough for ya?”
Man, I love that one. Never hear it before either.
No, it’s not cold enough for me.
I love it when my testicles turn a bright navy blue, fall out of my scrotum and shatter on the ground like Christmas ornaments.
And I really love it when I can’t feel my face or my legs. That’s great.
I like it even more when I break off a key inside a padlock preventing me from opening the store where I work and then I freeze my everloving ass off waiting for the too busy locksmith to come and sawzall the goddamned locks so I can get in. (truth)
So, is it cold enough?
Damn it, dude, shut the hell up and go build an igloo. Step AWAY.
Yeah, it’s cold enough for me.
The temperature dips into single digits and people just fill up with all kinds of stupid.
And yes, I can hear you.
Why don’t you and the wife move to Florida?