The bitter air feels vengeful, as Mother Earth cries out, "Why did you not listen to my messiah, Al Gore?" Heat is nothing more than molecular energy. The cold saps away my body's heat as a cruel, icy universe demands equilibrium. I gobble down Devil Dogs with peanut butter in a vain effort to sate it, but the cosmos's insane hunger is never satisfied.
This would all sound much better in Russian.
P.S. Do Catholic drummers prefer the rhythm method?