Coat Tales

Like it or not, we're all gonna be dressed like the Bad News Polar Bears here in about a month.

Like it or not, we’re all gonna be dressed like the Bad News Polar Bears here in about a month.


Yesterday I did something awful, something humiliating, and something that I truly wished that I would never have to do again: I swallowed my pride and wore a coat.

Good weather has officially flown south for the winter, leaving us Massholes up here to freeze certain parts of our anatomies off for the next six months.  I was in my house the other day and was startled to hear a buncha honks outside that were the unmistakably irritating sounds of geese.  I go outside and the muthafuckas are flying directly over my house in that cool-ass V shape.  Touched by the beauty of nature, I sprinted back inside to get my BB gun and try and peg a few of the bastards.

Unlike those flying shit machines, I don’t have the luxury of globe-trotting according to climate; I’m stuck watching beautiful sunny days disintegrate into an endless parade of cold, grey, rainy days, until of course the real fun begins when the annoying rain transforms to it’s vile and wicked cousin, snow.  Rain is a nuisance; snow can be a downright asshole.

Until then though, it’s going to be funny watching everyone else slowly give in, one-by-one, to the increasing cold.  It seems like there’s some people that want to stubbornly defy the weather itself by refusing to alter their summer wardrobes in fifty degree weather.  I still see imbeciles rocking shorts outside.  My dopey friend was walking around in a T-shirt last night, and I’m wrapped up like an Eskimo.

It gets worse every year to dust off the ol’ jeans, long sleeve shirts, and ugh, even coats, but I’m afraid it’s inevitable.  Although I still lament it, I don’t even try to fight those cloth shackles anymore.  Shit, if I’m gonna be cold, I don’t have to be sick too.



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