It’s damp and rainy here in New Jersey. The pretty man on TV with the highlights and the hazel eyes, Sam Champion, says it’s about 45 degrees, but with the drizzle and the damp chill, it doesn’t feel like it at all.
I guess I shouldn’t complain, though. At least it’s not the un-Godly 90 degrees and sunny, like it is in Costa Rrrrrrrrica.
Who needs those waves of warm ocean breezes rolling over you from the tip of your snout to the end of your tail as you dip your paws in the cooling pools of turquoise splendor left behind by the final crescendo of Mother Ocean’s morning glorious high tide?
Not me, that’s for damn sure! Don’t worry about me. I got me a bed, some water, and two squares a day.
Gotta go. The screws are really big on schedules around here. They’re done flippin’ my cell. Hope they didn’t find my shank. (Or my autographed 8x10 of Sam Champion).
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