Hot Buttered Rum

Winter is a drag. If I had my druthers, I'd live in one of those places where it never dips below 70 degrees, "snow" refers exclusively to something squirted with blue raspberry syrup and eaten from a paper cone at the fair, and perennial humidity makes it possible for me to like my hair. Alas, mine is no such clime. For example, this very morning, I spent an hour shoveling 6 milli

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