Oh the snow! I witnessed it for the first time since moving to California last weekend in the Mojave Desert. That’s right, snow…in the desert!!! It was no ‘Winter Wonderland’, but honestly…what really is!? Enjoy part 3 of this riveting series.
walking in a winter wonderland – perry como
back in the day, before cars, before air horns, and before common sense – horse drawn carriages outfitted with leather reigns and bells were the preferred method of transportation if you could afford it. and in the winter, when everything is frozen over and your stupid horses pretend like they aren’t drafting animals and refuse to yank your wooden cart through the drifting snow, you’d put dumb little skis on it to make it easier to pull. Now we all know putting one single, but much wider and less stable ski on the cart would be way cooler and would provide you with the opportunity to talk an unlimited amount of shit to any of the fruitcakes still trudging around in the two ski model, but that really isn’t what the song was about.
so anyways, it’s clearly a dark snowy night with some fresh powder crystalizing and glazing over making it difficult to find traction, and we come upon a couple of drunk young lovers stumbling around in the street. these idiots are just giggling fools waltzing around in the middle of the street and nearly cause the driver and his team of horses to ride off the path into the dark forest. the driver curses them as they ride away, but the two drunks don’t appear to be letting it ruin their night.
of course bluebirds are non-migratory and would be around all winter anyways, so clearly this was a terribly cold season to force them away from their homes and all those delicious twigs they’d be munching on. the drunk couple won’t let that bother them since it would appear someone slipped some wormwood into their drink and can swear that all of the birds have awoke in the middle of the night and are singing them love songs. they aren’t….they’re on drugs.
often times when two people get so drunk the begin to think they’re in love. they aren’t, and they’ll surely regret their decisions in the morning, but tonight they’re like leonardo dicaprio and that chubby chick from Titanic in the middle of an empty field rolling around in the snow and building bulbous snow people and then making a mockery of their lack of local parishes. This isn’t vegas people, you can’t just decide to get married on a whim and expect it to last. You’re delusional to think you’ve just met your soulmate in some scuzzy tavern over six shots of jaeger and a few pints of mead. and hell, 43% of marriages end in divorce now anyway right?
later on, these Commie bastards are going to come up with some terribly thought out conspiracy plot to overthrow the ‘man’ and begin a commune where bare feet and jam bands are the keys to real freedom.
Don’t worry, when these two wake up and sort out who’s patch pants and birkenstocks are who’s, they’ll realize that the guy who stood in front of the tanks at Tiananmen Square was arrested moments later so the tanks could roll right through, and that silly laugh and hooked tooth that was so endearing last night has become totally fucking annoying. numbers will be exchanged, but nobody will ever hear from the other again.
