If winter was a man

It’s so cold. So cold that I started thinking about what I’d do to winter if winter was a man. I’d probably talk about his mother, then slap that cold look off his face. I’d probably two-piece that fool in the throat. Jab him in his eye. Hit him with the throwback vulcan death pinch. Or maybe even a suplex, like the kind I used to do on the couch pillows when I was seven. Or maybe I’d sucker punch him in the breadbasket, then knee him in the face like they do on all the movies. Stomach then knee to the face, every time. Y’know, knock the wind out of him. Maybe I’d kick him in the nuts, and maybe he’d even be the first man I spit at (I never claimed to be classy, and I damn sure don’t fight fair.) Then when he’s down, elbow drop. I’d probably put him in a headlock and make him say Uncle, or Summer. Or something like that.

Yeah. Winter better be glad it aint no man. Because if it was, it wouldn’t be whooping my ass all up and down the street like it’s been doing. That’s for damn sure.



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