Insert Freezing Balls and Snowballs Joke Here

“Now is the winter of our discontent.”

Soupy Sales wrote that and became one of the greatest writers of our day. But as much as I value Soupy’s elan and breeding, I think he needed to take this a step further.

“Now is the winter of our discontent, because winter is one big bucket of frozen shit. It’s grey, cold, rainy, icy, and depressing. Fuck this season with a copper plated, poison spiked dildo.”

See what I did there? Now that quote fucking SINGS.

If you didn’t guess, I hate the fuck out of winter. Probably because of where I’m located – in Baltimore we either get 120 fucking inches of snow, or nothing. There is no in between. Also, when it snows in Maryland, people completely lose their fucking minds. They can NOT drive in any hazardous condition.

There are two types of asshole drivers in the snow: the dickhole who drives like it’s a clear summer day and doesn’t realize he’s about to kill himself and everyone else on the road AND the person who sees one snowflake and thinks 10 miles per hour is still too fast.

(As an aside, I realized I was old when an SUV full of kids rocketed past me in about 5 inches of snow. I pulled up next to them and completely lost my shit. Fucking bunch of apes.)

Still, snow is kind of fun because you can drink (like any of us need an excuse) and it’s pretty and you can get sexy time if you get the wife drunk. Also, having a cigar while it snows is kind of nice.

But everything else about winter sucks the pink hog. Every blade of grass is dead and bleached of color, so are the sky and the trees. There are salt stains everywhere and when it’s not cold enough to freeze the boogers in your nose, it’s damp.

Also there is shit to watch sports wise on TV – when the Super Bowl is over I get depressed. What else can I watch? Hockey – I’m not Canadian so I don’t care. College hoops? Meh. Golf? Get the fuck out of here.

Time dies slowly during the frozen months, maybe because it gets dark at 2 in the afternoon. When you get home, you just sit there, waiting for the apocalypse – or dinner – whichever comes first.

And if you aren’t ready to drink so much that the creases in your brain disappear, you can look at your credit card and see all the stupid motherfucking SHIT you bought your kids for Christmas. Because all of that shit is broken, lost, or at the neighbor’s house.

Die, winter. Die a quick, bright death so we can see lots of boobs unleashed and twinkling in the warm summer sun.

Die you fucking shitty season.

Shit that made me smile this week:

My new job is allowing me to flex my creative muscles again – after two years of working in corporate communications. Like a bucket of iced bourbon after a long day on the beach.