Six more weeks of winter, you furry little son of a bitch. I'm cold, dammit. While you sit all fat and happy in your cozy grotto, we're out shivering in the real world. It's a shadow you stupid rodent. I don't think it is fair that I'm wearing eight layers just because your many neuroses enable you to get skittish around slightly darker patches of ground.
I hope someone makes a hat out of you.
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