On the first day of Christmas my true love gave to me, an Arctic blast straight up the ass. I’m sure residents of Minnesota are crying their eyes out for us, but it is colder than a witch’s tit in a brass bra in Chicago presently. Anyone who watched the Bears in their Monday night game against the Cowboys had to marvel at the brass balls Mike Ditka brought with him, as he always does, standing in an open stadium on the lake where it was estimated the wind chill was -19 degrees with no hat or gloves. Looked like a fucking Christmas ham his face was so red, the wind whipping his silver locks and mustache to and fro. You just knew that fucker wasn’t going to be enshrined in Chicago lore for all time with a pussyfied winter cap on.
Ditka and I were cut from different cloth and I’m quite sure mine is mostly silk. On the way to work today I looked like Ralphie’s kid brother Randy in A Christmas Story. I couldn’t even keep my arms down. It makes the train ride that much more fun as well because CTA train conductors ensure that at all temperatures below 60 degrees the temperature inside the train is 90-105, comfortable Bikram yoga conditions. Combine that with the fact that all the obese people on the train are now obese people on the train with size XXXL down parkas, and you’re traveling in style. When you crest the stairs at the Jackson stop and the 20mph wind ushers the 8 degree air to your sweat-drenched core, you know you’re alive. The silver lining to this weather cloud is that when you make the reverse commute at night, after you’ve trudged a half-mile in the same conditions, your toddler and dog are rip shit with cabin fever because it is too cold for them to go outside all day. It is at this moment that you know ’tis the season for problem drinking.
I talk shit about moving to San Diego but how much fun could you have being comfortable all the time? You’d have to find entirely new shit to bitch about and honestly I’m too fucking tired for it. In preparation for taking my dog outside 3o minutes ago I geared up like I was about to lead a Sherpa team on a mission to rescue a stranded Everest expedition from the Hillary Step. That’s the way we like it: cold, miserable and with something built-in to bitch about all day. Sure, your hand flash freezes when you take it out of the glove and put it in the plastic bag, but that is what the piping hot dog shit is for; to warm up that hand.
Throw a log on the fire and microwave a bottle of Mad Dog 20/20, the First Day of Christmas is colder than a frozen dick.