Winter and how I’m pretty much over it…

The curse of winter finally has me in its grasp.

Winter you foul beast. You have found me at last. Tracked me down and sprayed me with your poisonous spore. I shake my fist at you winter, and If I had a cat I would throw that at you to.

I’m ready for the cold bra of winter to be pulled back to reveal the ample warm bosom of summer. And then i want summer to grab my head and, like your year nine English teacher when she initiated your first love affair, pull my face into her blossoming cleavage. I’m ready for a sixties style orgy of sunshine. Bring a friend and a hobbit-like sex slave.

The last thing I want is for you to think that I’m a whinger, normally I’m quite fond of the cooler weather and the heart warming food that goes with it. But… It’s effing cold. Really cold. I am walking around with permenantly erect nipples at the moment.

I may be sick but at least my “winter fatty body deposits” are in a constant state of rock hard six-packness. Well, maybe not so much a six pack as a damp newspaper that’s been frozen and shoved under my shirt. But I’ll take it either way. And by that I don’t actually mean I’ll take it either way. Filthy mcfilthy filth filth.

“I am graemes cold hard nipples,” said my nipples


Soon enough I’ll be complaining about the horrible summer heat.

I feel like punching myself. But instead I will try and convince Jen to make me some soup.

“Hey Jennee. Looking really good today babe…”

Jennee’s chicken and dumpling soup*
1 FR chicken (FR = free-range, or maybe farkin ret… something… if you still don’t get it)
2 brown onions
3 cloves garlic
1 carrot
1 celery stalk
I cob of corn
1 zucchini
Thyme. Oregano. Parsley. Paprika (yep. Jen is crazy)
Parsley dumplings made from parsley, flour and other things dumplings are made from

*well that’s what I could see from the couch anyway. And I didn’t want to ask too many questions because then Jennee thinks I’m telling her how to cook and sometimes she gets a little upset at me for that. I feel better already.

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