The weather attacks . . . !

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¡Hijos de la revolución! Sons of the revolution, for Jim. And I consider myself one of them. I guess the cold froze my hands and possibly my brain, reason this invitation is so late. Still, never despair. Some of us will be there tomorrow, on schedule. 

This week is the first time I ever heard words like “frigid weather attacks”​ . . . grandmother, and “storm bomb explodes” . . . ​outside federal building. The news media could not get enough of “Bombogenesis”​,​ “storm cyclones”​,​ ​or “Godchichichilla” ​so much so, they forgot to mention the Arabs​, the usual suspects, who were probably to blame​ in the first place. I love hyperbole. It warms a writer’s blood, sometimes to the boiling point, but then I go outside for thirty seconds and recover.

No exaggeration. I knew it was really bad when I read about “cold shocked” iguanas falling out of a tree in Florida and some schools opening two hours later than normal. But that’s not all: at a memorial for a war hero, hardly anybody attended, the “bone chilling wind sending American flags whipping straight out from their poles”. It was, I figure, a bad day to ​be ​remember. Then, nearly 500 National guards were activated to assist along the east coast. That’s a whole person for every 100.000 cold shocked Americans, I calculated. Good luck to them.
There is justice however, all is not lost: in Kentucky a youngster speeding on ice without a driver’s license skidded off the road and run over a woman carrying two bottles of bourbon. This being Kentucky, he got arrested for the loss of the bourbon, of course ‒ valuable personal property according to the local district attorney. 
​The kid​ was fined $50 for the bodily damage. I guess so! And with good reason: the ​licor​ is lost forever, and with luck, she may one day recover.

And I thought the only thing explosive were the ​wonderful ​twitter feeds coming out of the white house!
It’s a fun world guys, but bring a jacket to el Chap, the heater almost works,
A la hora de siempre,

Viva -40°, where the Celsius and Fahrenheit meet, where seldom is heard a disparaging word, and the skies are all cloudy all day . . . Viva!​

mt

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