I hatehatehate cold weather, but I lovelovelove this time of year. Let me tell you, sugarpie, there ain’t nothin’ better than getting home as the sun’s going down, taking a long, hot bath, donning your best peek-a-boo peignoir, slipping into some big Zsa Zsa-style fuzzy princess slippers, sauntering to the kitchen like a stone cold fox, and standing in the open door of the icebox, devouring meat from a perfectly seasoned chicken carcass with your bare hands (well, bare except for a tasteful assortment of cocktail rings). Then, you can slink to the sofa for a nice, full-bellied nap ’till it’s time for bed.
Or you can get up off your lazy ass and do something about Bill Frist and his army of flying monkeys.
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