By Phil Riske, managing editor | Rose Law Group Reporter
When I was 7, the Great Blizzard of 1949 hit Cheyenne, Wyo. The only way to get out of our house was out of the attic onto the roof and a two-story slide down a snow drift to the ground.
It gets so cold in Wyoming a runny nose turns into an icicle.
In college and in a blinding blizzard, university officials had run chest-high ropes from dorms to classrooms because you could not see where you were walking.
It’s get so cold in Wyoming your breath forms a cartoon bubble.
On a below-zero night, I was a passenger in my frat bro’s car when he pulled away from the curb, and the steering wheel broke off in his hands.
It gets so cold in Wyoming you could freeze an egg on the sidewalk.
Why the hell did I stay there for 30 years?
The day we unloaded the moving truck in Casa Grande, it was 113.
It’s so hot you can fry an egg on a bald man’s head in Arizona.
On an August day, I leaned against a black car and burned my butt.
It’s so hot in Arizona, camels need water every hour.
During a golf tournament, I saw a ball hit the cart path and stuck.
What the hell am I doing here for 41 years?
Speaking of hell, I bring this writing to a conclusion with this poser: If hell is hot, is heaven cold?
