I'll show you, winter. I'm going to drag the frazzled, frayed, small bit of pocked, bleeding unfrozen flesh that is left of me even further north. I'm going to look like a suppurating Slim Jim slogging its carcass along through the highway slush, dragging my trinkets and baubles behind me, but when I get there -- and I will -- you will freeze no more than my spit on your surface.

Take that, weather.

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