The temp has gone from chilly to bitter. There isn't as much wind out here as there is in Chicago, but little Oswego's doing her best. Fortunately, I remember the old Russian magic that my father passed down to me, as was passed down to him. A russian man is not bothered by the cold, as long as he looks and acts miserable.
Na Strovia, kids. May your beards e'er be soaked in Vodka instead of vomit.
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