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Still Cold As Hell

It’s still cold, cold, cold.  At least the latest (guffaw) “Storm of the Century” glanced by us, dropping about an inch of powder, after the regional meteorologists bent over backwards and lost their shit playing Chicken Little and pledging a foot of heavy wet snow.  I love wearing sweaters, but this is getting a little old and getting there fast.

So, despite the recent over-abundance of scantily clad women on this blog–(okay, there were about 2, maybe 3–at least I’m trying)–I offer this balm to the season, straight from some kid on Tumblr.

tumblr_lo1va7iUCa1qdrotro1_500_original

By JunkChuck

Native, Militant Westsylvanian (the first last best place), laborer, gardener, and literary hobbyist (if by literary you mean "hack"). I've had a bunch of different blogs, probably four, due to a recurring compulsion to start over. This incarnation owes to a desire to dredge up the best entries of the worst little book of hand-scrawled poems I could ever dream of writing, salvageable excerpts from fiction both in progress and long-abandoned. and a smattering of whatever the hell seems to fit at any particular moment. At first blush, I was here just to focus on old, terrible verse, but I reserve the right to include...anything. Maybe everything, certainly my love of pulp novels, growing garlic, the Pittsburgh Steelers and howling at the moon--both figuratively and, on rare occasions, literally.

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