+ There’s something beautiful about a snowman when it melts. I think it’s the way the black button eyeballs sink in and blow smoke from their sockets while the pyre at its feet crackles and spits as the flame of vengeance climbs up the hitching post. Or maybe it’s just the song we sing as Frosty burns.
+ Snow is a blanket. Ice is sheet. Winter is the earth’s deathbed…and you gleefully ride your sled across it, blasphemer!
+ Freezers preserve meat. Thus, I believe hungry space aliens with a technology beyond our imaginations are responsible for the winter chill.
+ They say time and time again to never eat yellow snow. But I think it’s the red snow you have to worry about.
+ Why do they call frozen body tissue “frostbite”? It’s true that exposure to the cold produces pain, but frost has no teeth. In fact, it’s the body that gets frosty, no? So I propose we call it “frostleg” or “icehand” or something even more appropriate, like “Body Pop” or “Iced Me.” If you’re upper palate freezes, then fine: frostbite.
+ The early symptom of impending frostbite is called “frostnip.” The early symptom of impending frostbite on your nipples is called “cruel irony.”
+ I don’t believe in the Abominable Snowman. But I pretend to, just so I can say the word “abominable” without necessarily sounding like some character from a really melodramatic Victorian novel.
+ I don’t trust the people who sing “Winter Wonderland.” Snow is something that buries us and we have to dig ourselves out of it, like dirt. I think “Inter Wonderland” is much more appropriate. (“Slain dead thing, are you list’nin’? Blood on snow, is a glistnin’…”)
+ I learned in science class that the best way to save someone from hypothermia is to strip and snuggle nude with them. I vaguely recall some point about the “body heat” being better than a blanket or a shot of cocoa. This explains why men die from hypothermia three times as often as women do in the US.
+ Why is a “fight” the only sport we’ve managed to invent for snowballs? And why is boxing a summer event, but snowball fighting not a winter event at the Olympics? And if snowballs are so innocent, why don’t we have city-to-city snowball hurtling battles, using gigantic catapults, instead of wars?
+ If you dream of white Christmases and sing “let it snow” every season, I challenge you to spend your next holiday up on the North Pole. See if Santa bothers to offer you shelter. You’ll change your tune pretty fast, I think.
+ Have you ever heard the term “chilblain”? The dictionary says it refers to the itchy and painful swelling of flesh that occurs when your hands and feet are overexposed to the cold. But it makes me want to suspend naked magician David Blain in a glass box from that snow-covered elm in my backyard right now.
+ Cryogenics sounds sad to me. But don’t be sad, Mr. Icy Corpse…there’s hope for you yet.
+ Avalanche is a great word. Its onomatopoeia is horrific. The very syllables bring to mind a Frenchman tumbling down a mountainside, until he meets his demise in a crunching vortex of snow and rock and ice: “Ahhhh…vahhh…laaaaaaaa…uNNCHHH!”
+ Sick torture idea #238: A murderer buries someone alive beneath a ton of snow, and then starts melting it rapidly with a blow torch so that by the time the victim starts asphyxiating, the melted water trickles down and floods their space just as they see light through the slush and begin to think they might break free. They drown, seeing their salvation through the gauzy snow. Or if they do manage to break free, well, there’s always the blow torch.
+ If you can see your breath, you’re still alive. But once your eyeballs crack like ice cubes, you’re probably a lost cause, no matter how much steam you aspire.
+ Icicles are the roof’s revenge.
+ Brains float in cranial fluid. Fluids freeze solid. Draw your own conclusions.