We are Freezing - An LA story

This morning, people had to warm up their cars for ten minutes before they drove it a block, fingertips were too numb to text while driving, and the group of wild parrots in Venice dispersed and flew back to their owners with central heat and say they were sorry they flew away, they were birds after all and like to fly but the hell with it, it’s so cold.

A Chihuahua shivered harder than it ever had at the bottom of Paris Hilton’s purse. A Kardashian’s crotch froze as she emerged, pantiless, from a limo. Mel Gibson blamed it on the Jews, his breath making mist in the air. He called the arresting officer Sugar Tits, but her mittened slap bounced harmlessly off his face. Groups of nannies formed protective wind blocks around gifted children. Thoughtful producers set up space heaters around their casting couches.

Go ahead and laugh, Detroit.  Slap your knee, Minneapolis.  The ears may be falling off your cattle, but cosmetic fillers below room temperature are damn hard to get out of the syringe.  Try running slowly in cold sand, lifeguard wanna-bes. And colonics – well – imagine that water sitting overnight in the tanks.

Unproduced screenplays. The rats in palm trees. The middle fingers of drivers on the 405.  The noses of reporters trailing Lindsey Lohan. The sauce of indeterminate origin that never seems to reach the edges of In and Out buns. All cold, so cold.

Tomorrow it’s supposed to reach a high of 72. I’d like to think those of us who survive will be better people.