Fleece-lined pants.

That’s all I have to say.

(from Hawaii): No, I don’t think I know what you mean at all.  Anyone for the beach this afternoon?

I wish I was in Hawaii. Without the fleece-lined pants, of course.

You’ve always been welcome, you know.
Well, until April at least...that’s when I leave, and you have to find someone else to welcome you.

Where is your next stop? Back to Washington?

The phrase we use here is, “Cold as a witch’s tit.”

West Texas.

Let me put it this way:

Ron Paul and Mike Gravel each has a higher rating than the thermometer right now.

HOW COLD WAS IT?

It was so cold, I slept with Paris Hilton just to get the burning sensation.  HEY-O!

It was so cold, my nipples got hard and I wasn’t even looking at a picture of Oprah!  YESSIR!

TMI?

yes, too much information.  In fact, the image is still making me nauseous.

David, can we go beat up Dorkafork now?

No way. He gets too many bonus points for the Paris Hilton line.

That Oprah bit was painful, though.

David, can we go beat up Dorkafork now?

If that is what it takes.