A taunt:
Oh? is it hot? I hadn’t noticed. It’s, um, a comfy seventy-two here in Whybark International World Headquarters. I hear you east-coast types are basting in your undies over there, sweatin’ to the oldies under the blazing wrath of old Sol.
If Seattle isn’t obliterated by terrorists tomorrow, and you call first so I can go over it with my wife, you can crash here for a day or two. (Gotta hand it to Speigelman agin: this week’s New Yorker cover is like a stick to the head.)
But I gotta tell ya: jobs are hard to come by this year.
Wait, wait, wait. No broiling heat, you don’t have to work… what’s not to like?
Oh, the poverty. And the lack of health insurance. And the rent, although another year of deep black recession wll probaly take care of that. Did I tell ya we have, like, mountains and trees and shit?
If I wasn’t about to pass out in a pool of my own sweat I would totally give you a bit of the ol’ what=for right now!
See, that’s the great thing about taunting people that live in hot climates: the weather makes them slw and lethargic, yet foolish and hot tempered.
Oh, the hours of humor they provide to us in our cool, pleasant environment.
Say! I’m feeling a bit chilly! Perhaps I’ll slip into a nice cardigan before I have a cool, refreshing beer.