Image Credit: Compilation/Jennifer Stahn

This is an uninhabitable country. In the past weak the temperature has plunged to levels only normally found on planets a few light years further from the sun. The sensible seniors have all buggered off to Arizona, while those of us left are expending every last bit of energy and emptying our meager bank accounts just trying to stay warm.

Having finally thrashed the central heating system into clearing the ice from the insides of the windows, I decided I deserved a reward and should therefore head to the pub. Since the morons who govern us have given police people permission to confiscate the car of anyone whom they suspect has ever consumed alcohol in their entire lives, I always walk. To reduce the possibility of St. Bernards later having to comb the streets for my frozen corpse, I dressed in as many layers as I could find, until I had obscured every inch of flesh and pretty much doubled in size.

This caused a little difficulty. Walking itself wasn’t easy; I had to swing my legs in little arcs like those absurd Sumos you see on TV. When I reached the crosswalk I was unable to raise my arm high enough to hit the button to ask the traffic to stop. I considered making a waddle for it, estimating that should I be knocked down I would simply bounce and roll, hopefully in the general direction of the watering hole. But then some young people appeared and one of them kindly pushed the button for me. They were a happy crew, judging by their hysterical laughter as they proceeded on their merry way. I think I overheard the word “Teletubby.”

When I reached sanctuary I found the management had cranked up the pub’s central heating, and I was forced to perform a slow striptease whilst holding on to a pillar for support, like some incredibly ancient and overweight pole dancer. Nobody bought me a drink. I took a taxi home.

The next day one of those wretched environmental people was on the radio bleating on about global warming.

“Step outside you idiot!” I yelled, “it’s not nearly bloody warm enough!”

Since I lack the necessary funds to join the rest of my demographic in the American desert, I am appealing to all remaining Canadians for help to speed up the demise of winter. We must all drive enormous SUVs or empty pickup trucks, and leave them running outside shops and in our driveways, so they are warm when we need them. We must support those brave chaps foraging for our oil in the frozen wastes of Alberta by offering to pay more at the gas station. We must follow the pub’s example and dial up the central heating, leaving the doors open to assist with warming the neighborhood.

And of course we must leave the lights on. At least until the “snowbirds” start returning. Then we should turn them off and pretend nobody’s home. Lucky bastards.

— It takes more than a central heater to warm the Grumpy Old Git's heart.

News from © iNFOnews, 2014