Wednesday, December 24, 2014

Bastards Of Young

So right now, I'm listening to "Bastards of Young" by The Replacements, which I first heard in the film "Adventureland". If you don't like Kristen Stewart, I still recommend it. It's one of those movies that you feel, more than you watch.

I had my first Christmas party tonight. Several people came, and I am forever grateful for that. Some didn't, but their absence was, in all cases, understandable. We still love you folks. Thanks to Melanie and Cat, since though they don't know it yet (it's quarter after 3, what's WRONG with me!?), they listened to how happy I am about the night I had.

Anyways, I complain on here too much, but there are people who have things far worse than I do. I'm very thankful for everyone. Thanks a lot for being part of the inspiration that fuels this blog. Merry Christmas. Even if you don't celebrate it, I hope that the 25th is a remarkable day for you.

Time to go fight "the spins".

Saturday, December 6, 2014

Tomorrow Shall Come

I think I've mellowed in my old age.

I just went back and read some of the stuff I posted way back. Actually, my last post was a long time ago, so really, anything I wrote could fall under that umbrella.

Speaking of umbrellas, is it ever going to stop raining?

Anyways, I read my old stuff, and while I got a good laugh from a lot of it, I also cringed at my writing style, which I'm pleased to say has changed in many ways. Some good, some bad. I feel that it would be foolhardy and arrogant to say what the good changes have been, since this would merely be opinion-based, and I could easily wind up with someone saying "HEY, YOU WERE NEVER FUNNY!". And while I would doubtlessly dismiss their opinion as being worth about the same as the Vietnamese Dong (2014's least valuable currency, via The Telegraph)(ed. note: Haha. Dong.), I think it would be more legitimate to speak upon the firm footing of fact, rather than opinion. Which brings me to...

As far as Lee Van Cleef (the "bad," of course) goes, I find that my motivation to write is becoming increasingly fleeting. I simply don't have ideas anymore, which I think can be attributed to my job. Don't get me wrong, I enjoy it sometimes, and I find it highly rewarding to learn a new skill from time to time. However, there's something about 12 hour shifts on my feet for less money than I feel I am worth, cutting myself with chef's knives by accident, and burning off the hair on the back of my arms (seriously, these babies are smoooooth) that stifles my creativity.

This sounds like complaining, I'm sure, and I apologize for that. And indeed, some of you are saying "then do something about it". And so I am!

Lately, I've devoted the vast majority of my free time to applying for jobs, networking, and keeping my eyes peeled for any job openings that pique my interest. Truly, I fluctuate between seemingly-unshakeable optimism and the depths of despair when I consider my professional future. However, I am approaching the situation with the same attitude I try to employ when I'm at work and 20 orders are erupting from the ticket machine at the same time: tomorrow shall come.

That's the mantra I use to tell myself that as crappy as things seem right now, the reality is that tomorrow will eventually arrive, and all is not lost. There's never been a situation in my life that I haven't been able to eventually look back upon, favorably or otherwise (Disclaimer: this does not include current situations, obviously, since I don't have the benefit of being able to exist in the future without that future becoming the present).

Therefore, I'm going to keep working on this whole job situation to the best of my abilities. There was a time that I didn't really care, contrary to what I may have said, because I always felt like something would just happen for me. Then I looked around and realized "oh crap, I was wrong! This sucks!".

One of my goals is to find a job with normal hours, which allows my creativity to flow again. I credit this desire to one of my friends who continues to paint as a hobby. I envy that, because as I look around and see people who used to have a "thing," but do not anymore due to being swept up by adulthood, this friend sticks out as someone who still has that thing to keep her occupied and, I would assume, leaves her feeling somewhat more fulfilled as a result. A lot of people look at the professional achievements of others as the qualities that make them a successful individual, and I think that's part of it. But I think an often uncredited aspect of success is maintaining the ability to just do what makes you happy.

Thanks for reading. I hope to be a more frequent eyesore on your computer screen.

Thursday, April 10, 2014

Living Life....Regally.

I'm going to tell you fine folks a quick story about the worst hotel I ever stayed in.

We were driving to Myrtle Beach at a time when a hurricane was due to hit the coast, thanks to excellent planning by my parents. My family is bad at timing things, as evidenced by this story, as well as my history with women.

Every hotel for about 50 miles was booked tight, and we wanted to get off the road, since that's what you do when there are supposedly 90 mph winds coming to murder you. Then, in the town of Rockingham, NC, the pagan gods presented us with an oasis amidst the black clouds of the fast-approaching storm: the Regal Inn.

The sign outside said that a room cost $25 or some such amount, for the night. If there's a better deal out there, show it to me, and I'll tell you to run like hell, because of what transpired that night.

We got into our room, and I can only describe the smell as "fungus pickles". I later worked with a very unclean man who had the same smell, though I never asked him how he achieved it. I think fungus pickles is a smell you can only achieve by asking how, at which point a genie comes out of the toilet and bestows the smell upon you.

My Mom used to always warn against sleeping under just the sheets, due juices or some such discharge. In this case, my mom skipped the warning phase and said "Do NOT sleep under those sheets!".
Pictured: sperm
I slept on the floor, which I remember as being very damp and moldy, but in my 13 year-old naïveté, I imagined that it was clean. People didn't POSSIBLY copulate on the floor, right?

In the room was a mini-fridge. Have you ever seen Se7en? We didn't want to know what was in THAT box, that night in North Carolina.
I just love this gif.
I don't remember much. Part of me wants to say there was a hooker outside our room, but I can't confirm. I feel like after "fungus pickles," any more terrible hotel stereotypes would just be overkill.

After we all finally laid down to sleep, the room was silent. Very silent. Nobody said anything, though there was an air of tension, as everyone knew but did not say that we were all going to come down with some horrible disease.

As if on cue, a train passed us, obviously on the other side of the wall, and we all burst out laughing at the absurdity of the situation. The silence had been all we really wanted, but it had been taken from us and replaced by a coal-fired engine and the knowledge that we were laying atop billions of discarded little swimmers.

In the morning, the manager ended up charging us 3 times the advertised rate. The story has been rehashed countless times, so really, it was worth it.

I must also mention, because I'm me, that this was the same vacation in which I refused to enter the ocean due to sharks, and was repeatedly told there were no sharks. On our last day, there were sharks, and my fears were vindicated. Deal with it, Mumsy.

Monday, February 17, 2014

Will Schuster: Copyright Infringer.

Hot diggity dig dag diggy dang dog, I finally did it.

I've lied, cheated, stolen, broken the speed limit, drank underage, maybe rolled a few stop signs, accidentally caused the death of a woman (aided of course by her "do-not-resuscitate" clause), and stayed up past my bed time on many occasions. But it's all falling down around me.

Oh mama, I'm in fear for my life, from the long arm of the law.

.....And then some other words.....


The jig is up, the noose is out, they finally found me! The renegade who had it made was-


It appears that SOME people have problems with the things I post. Some groups, hate groups, Christians, Jews, Muslims, Hindus, Mexicans, Canadians, brown people, black people, green people, thing one, thing two, mother goose, Sam (I am not), the other fellow who actually likes green eggs and ham, Hulk Hogan, Randy Savage, people who don't pay their bills, people who pay their bills early and then make you feel like a bum, people with one leg, people with no legs, country singers, jazz singers, Stephen Hawking's left wheels, Stephen Hawking's right wheels, Bert, Ernie, that fat kid from The Goonies, that fat kid from Stand By Me, and finally, Bono...

None of these people have a problem with me. Except the hate groups, probably. But we'll let that slide.

No no no, the one group that's got a problem with me is, of course, the NFL.

They got 99 problems, and people calling girls bitches is probably one of them. So is illegal use of marijuana, PEDs, drunk driving, vehicular homicide, aggravated assault, domestic abuse, alleged rape, animal abuse, and murder.

But their biggest problem, obviously, is people STEALING THEIR STUFF. Now, I'm all for people getting money for the things they earned. The NFL, however, is a bit of a pain in the ass when it comes to their stuff.

Earlier, I wrote a post in which I decided to take a sharp u-turn and rip on the NFL for a few moments. I posted a picture of their logo at the end of this little section. The villagers laughed, and afterward, we had a pig roast and danced to the rhythmic sounds of their gazelle-skin drums.

Later on, I looked back to see if there were any comments that needed deleting because Nick Dillon enjoys saying bad words in my comments section. I found no such issues. Instead, I found this:
....oh no you di'int
Apparently, my image of the NFL logo was so threatening to their revenue stream, that they saw fit to take it down. Maybe it wasn't even the NFL, though. Maybe Blogger took it down. Regardless, it's gone, and you might think that the powers that be have won. But my friends....

I'm going to post an NFL logo in everything I do from now on. It'll be in blog posts, facebook posts, and instant messages. When I decorate a dessert at work, I'm going to draw it with chocolate syrup. When I urinatepiss in the snow, I will be sure to emblazon the NFL logo deep within that frosty mistress we call winter. Incidentally, I've become quite good at writing my name that way.

Actually, I'm not going to do any of this. But still, what the hell, NFL? You ruined a good joke with your humorless take on copyright laws. I guess the only jokes the NFL likes are the ones they come up with themselves.


Even More Olympic Thoughts!

Well, remember how I said I was going to do a blog every night about my thoughts on the Olympics?

The night I wrote the first post, I honestly spent so much time writing snarky BS about what I was seeing on tv, that I actually watched none of it. As a big fan of the winter Olympics, this was unacceptable. Therefore, I decided not to do it again. Instead, I'm writing my thoughts on what has since occurred, adding in some pictures, and watching youtube videos of Eddie Guerrero. Also, I'm having a difficult time with synonyms and homophones at the moment, and I'm not sure what's up with that. Possibly brain damage, which is ok since I have an IQ of 150 according to a totally legitimate web quiz, so I've got some to spare.

So, what has actually happened since we met in the frozen wonderland that is my blog? Not much, I guess....
WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! SUCK ON THAT, RUSSIA! Hot Dog Eagle Boner makes its triumphant return after the US "men's ice hockey" team defeated Russia in what was perhaps one of the best games of hockey ever played. Scholars maintain that the Medicine Hat Moose Elbows and the Thunder Bay Syrup Discharge had a real barn burner of a game in 1897, but since there really is no record of it, this game probably takes the cake.

In the classic movie, "The Sandlot," a Mexican-American kid visited by the holographic spirit of Babe Ruth. For years, I thought the spirit of Babe Ruth was played by John Goodman, but it turns out I was incorrect. Actually, John Goodman played Babe Ruth in a different movie, so I was right in a sense. But that's not the important thing. The important thing is that the spirit of the Babe told young Benjamin that "heroes get remembered, but legends never die". Ladies and gentlemen, this rings especially true here, as we saw a man gain immortality by way of legendary status on that fateful morning. His name?

TJ Oshie.

Now, aside from having a pretty hot girlfriend/wife/fiance, who happens to have pretty cool boobs, herself, TJ Oshie has the distinction of having had me as a fan for a couple years. Mostly it's because he has a cool name, but also because he's just a pretty solid hockey player. Needless to say that I, with an estimated IQ of 150, foresaw great things in his future. He did not disappoint. We all know what happened, so I'm not going to get into it here. Oshie brought down the iron curtain once again, and for that, we are all thankful. Russia can buy blue jeans and listen to modern music again.

Now, after the game, Oshie said that the true heroes are the men and women "wearing camo," and that's very true. But I feel a distinction can be made when using the word, "hero". You have ACTUAL heroes, such as soldiers, police officers, firefighters, ambulance drivers, etc. but you also have sports heroes. Some may take umbrage with that, but it's just the way it is. And if you've got a kid who's looking for a hero, he or she could do a whole lot worse than TJ Oshie....
like Aaron Hernandez...
....Ray Lewis....
....Ben Roethlisberger....
...or really, just the NFL in general.
Not to be forgotten in all the hyperbole surrounding TJ Oshie, which I'm not helping, is US goaltender Jonathan Quick's efforts, which were equally important in securing an American victory over Russia. People were amazed that Oshie was sent out again and again, but really, the goaltenders do it every time there's a shootout. So let's give Quick SOME credit. Even though he didn't really have to make any spectacular saves, he-

Yeah, he earned that one.

Immediately after the game, the self-anointed guardians of all that is hockey, known to most people as "Canada," came down from on high to bitch about the US team, complaining that the would-be Russian goal in the third period should have counted by NHL rules. But Canada...

It's not the NHL. IIHF rules stipulate that should the puck enter the net at a time when said net was in any way displaced, the goal would not count. But do you know what does count?

United States 2nd seed, Canada 3rd seed.
And that's the way it is.
Canada is always quick to do two things: bitch about your hockey team, and bitch about their own hockey team. The US shouldn't have won, according to them, but you can bet that Russia shouldn't have won, either. Canada should have been awarded all three points in the game, just for being so gosh-darned polite!

After complaining about the American victory, our lovely neighbors to the north decided it was time to jump on Sidney Crosby's back, and chide him for not scoring a bucket full of points in the preliminary round. If you can explain to me the logic behind trashing a guy who scored a gold medal winning goal on home ice in 2010, I'd love to hear it. Canada should never....and The Rock means NEVER...complain about Crosby not scoring. Because Sid's goal in 2010 did two things: one, it gave Canada a gold medal in the sport that they and only they can ever be good at. And two. it kept Ryan Miller from winning it, himself, and for that, I salute Crosby.

Before I wrap this up, I shall leave you with two final images.

First, we have former Penguins legend, gambling addict, and all around goofy guy, Jaromir Jagr, gazing into the crystal ball to see if the horse he bet on that morning ended up winning:
He lost.

And finally, Phil Kessel, who had a hat trick in the US' final preliminary game, makes an appearance. I always love a good pun, almost as much as I love me some Phil Kessel. Take it away, Philbert.

Thursday, February 6, 2014

Olympic Observations....DAY 1!

So here I am, watching the Olympics. My room is totally messed up, there are holes in the walls, and there's stuff all over the floor. But I'm not in Sochi, I'm in my bedroom at home. So I can't blame the Russians.

For the next two weeks or so, I'll be writing my observations on the events as I see them. So, let's begin.


-As opposed to flat plane style snowboarding, this takes place on a slope. The differences are subtle, but important.
-Some chick named Sharksky Booass just went down like the Hindenberg, which has nothing in common with her home nation of Denmark.
-What's more important to these people? The Olympics or the X Games? One is fueled by energy drinks and, more discreetly, lots of weed. The other is built on the blood of dead dogs and money embezzled by the Russian government.
-This Australian chick is a babe, and I hope she wins.
-This American girl "bear hugs a tree" before snowboarding, presumably because she's not allowed to bear hug a bear. But she's American, so she would if she....oh man, she's hot, too. Step aside, Australia. U-S-A! U-S-A!
-The color analyst girl is so hot, one might mistake her for a snowboarder.
-Big news, this American girl is sick. And by sick, I mean she's ill. And by ill, I mean she's battling an ailment of some sort. Not "sick," "ill," "dope," "phat," or "wicked, brah". If she wins, her story will become a movie, in which she will be played by Mike Myers or Eddie Murphy. Whichever it is, he will also play the roles of Bode Miller, Barack Obama, and Kurt Russel playing Herb Brooks.
-I'm ready for a new sport, because I enjoy skiing much more than I enjoy snowboarding. I watch ski jumping in hopes that someone will either fall or orbit the earth.
-American girl is in first place. Get ready, Michael Bay.

-I stopped paying attention for 15 minutes, but I'm pretty sure I'm not missing anything. They're still snowboarding, the American is still on top, and I still don't care all that much. Bring on the hockey, skiing, curling, and figure skating. Why figure skating? I enjoy being able to pinpoint the exact moment someone's life takes a turn for the "mysteriously disappeared". In other, related news, Putin is said to be in the house.


-Thus far, Costas seems to be a fan of Putin. We're only 15 seconds in, so....oh wait, he's already turned on him. Putin's a dickhead.
-This guy who's talking sounds like a pussy. Putin would have him killed.
-There's an old, bald man sitting next to him, and I'd bet my collection of pennies that he's Russian. He looks Russian.
-Boom. His name is Vladimir. BUT! He has no accent. So is he Russian, or does he just have a Russian name, and is pretending the same way Pierre McGuire is, as McGuire is actually named Regis?
If you donate a dollar to Africa every time "Putin" is said during these Olympics, most of Africa would still be very poor. But there would be some pretty wealthy warlords. So status quo.
-The question: how much pressure is on the Russians to win medals in Sochi? I can't answer that, but I can tell you that Russia generally wilts under pressure. Right, comrade Krushchev? U-S-A! U-S-A!


-There are no gays in Russia, but Evgeni Plushenko doesn't seem to know it.
-Truly, though, he probably is about 50 women deep at the moment.
-This man is about 115 lbs, so if he falls, he'll be broken in half. Either by the ice or the KGB.
-I wonder if anybody has ever vomited while figure skating. This fellow probably spun around upwards of 120 times. I was on a tire swing about two years ago, and I probably spun around 50 times, and then I vomited. I was also drunk, but this guy's Russian, so.....he's also drunk.
-Steven Stamkos will not be on the Canadian ice hockey team, according to Hockey Canada. But he will be on the Russian figure skating team, under the name of Evgeni Plushenko. The resemblance is uncanny. Wait, even the names!!! Stamkos....Plushenko.....PLUSHENKOS!

That's enough for tonight, because I feel like actually watching this.

Tuesday, February 4, 2014

Things That Are Meaningless, But Too Long For Twitter, 2/4/14

I just yawned, and mid-way through the yawn, I realized I wanted to time it and see how long I yawned for. However, as usually happens with these sorts of things (how long did I pee for!?!?!?!?), I didn't realize in time. Since most yawns last around 7 seconds, this is the sort of thing that requires a stop watch, as you'd need to know the time in tenths of a second, rather than whole seconds. I think I'm going to keep this in mind, and leave my phone on the stop watch function, then record all of my yawns. I want to become the world champion of yawning, but you can't be the best at anything without practicing, so I'm going to work on drawing out my yawns.

I decided long ago that I don't need a lot of money, big houses, fast cars, or anything like that. I just want a wikipedia page that doesn't get taken down in a few hours due to irrelevance. I think that being the best yawner in the world is a great reason for having a wikipedia page, and it would be an honor to have that as my legacy.

If I had a Wikipedia page, I'd edit it all the time. It would be the longest Wikipedia page of all time, despite my virtual irrelevance when compared to other people with Wikipedia pages, such as Walt Disney, Jesus, and Orville Redenbacher. Basically, I'd use Wikipedia as my own personal website, and they couldn't do anything about it, because it would all be factual. "On June 18th, Schuster will perform at the Mohegan Sun Arena, and tickets cost $25" and things of that nature. This is how you game the system, folks. Free celebrity website. Most of you won't ever have this problem, but us Wikipedia-page-having-people will, and I'm here to help them out.

I posed this question on Twitter a few minutes ago, but I'm going to ask it again. How many times do you think you've been near someone you know, without realizing it? This could include being in the mall at the same time, driving by them, being on the other side of a crowded restaurant, etc.

Furthermore, how many times do you think you've been near someone you don't know yet, but will eventually be friends or acquaintances with?

Or my favorite variation of this question, do you think you've ever walked past someone on the FBI's most wanted list? You missed out on some serious cash. Also, it's pretty much guaranteed that we've all crossed paths with a murderer without even knowing it! I mean, there are a lot of folks who have killed people and are still walking around out there. You've PROBABLY even sat near one or two at a bar. Enjoy that thought, next time you're surrounded by a lot of people.

Wednesday, January 8, 2014

Pond Hockey Stickiness

You know, I sure do love hockey. Right now, my love for hockey has resulted in a tight chest, cold limbs, and a bunch of blisters on my right foot. Ok, my decision to take my sock off caused the blisters.

But It was all worth it, as I played on a pond (lake, really, since ponds are never 40-something acres) today.

See, that's the thing hockey has over all other sports. In basketball, the variation is hardwood vs clay court, which is a distinction that can be made any time. No baseball player has ever said "hell yeah, let's play some baseball in the mud!". Actually, baseball players don't come out if it drizzles, so mud is right out.

Football probably comes the closest. We used to play a ton of hockey at the park below my house (see past posts for more on that park), but when it was too snowy to skate (ironic, huh?), we tended to pull out the football and beat the hell out of each other for a few hours. Snow football is great.

But there's something great about pond hockey.

Usually, I'm iffy on if I want to play or not, because honestly, I suck. I'm really, really bad. And I worry that everyone else on the ice is thinking "man, that kid sucks, and is really, really bad". But when my friend said last night that he was playing on Canonsburg Lake today and wanted to know if anybody was in, I was all for it.

When the ice is really choppy, the air is cold as hell, and the bench is a long, long way away, nobody really cares if you suck, because everyone sucks.

Except Bryan, who was quite good, thus making him the Dick Of The Day.

I'm not going to go into some gross, sloppy, sticky, awful, unimaginative soliloquy about "the good ol' days on the pond, when we'd play for hours until Ma would tell us to come inside for dinner". But I'll just say that even if you don't play hockey, never played hockey, but have some skates hanging around, give it a shot. You could do a lot worse than an afternoon on a pond.

I'll probably still be the worst person on the ice.
As a side note, My first thought was "I wonder if the fish below us are really confused about what's going on?"

Tuesday, January 7, 2014

Thoughts of the night, 1/7/14

I'm going to sit here and force my brain to think of stuff that may or may not be interesting, because I feel the need to write stuff.

So first thing's first. What happens to fingenail clippings? I bite my nails a ton, and few things are more satisfying than realizing you've neglected one of your fingers for a few days, then biting that sucker off.

I live for that. My life is an odd one.

But then,perhaps you flick them, perhaps you *ttttttthhhhhhhhhhP* spit them out. Where do they go? I think there's a species of elf that come out of our furniture, take the nail clippings, and make Christmas toys out of them. Hope you loved your dolls and k'nex sets as a kid.
Sometimes the cat makes a noise exactly like this toy my sister had when we were little. It was an orange cylinder with a cow on it, and when you turned it over, it went "EAOORRRRRRRB". It was supposed to sound like a cow, but ended up more like a calf or a lamb, which I feel was the USDA's way of subliminally getting children to enjoy veal and gyros. I love both things.
I found this today, and I think I'll be sending it to people a lot:
Frank Turner, a singer/songwriter from England, wrote in a song called "Try This At Home" that "there's no such thing as rock stars, there's just people who play music. And some of them are just like us, and some of them are dicks". I feel this is applicable to all groups in society, including the "untouchables" such as nuns and Buddhist monks. Maybe not the monks, but definitely the nuns. Point is, some people are put on pedestals as being "above" normal folks, but really, they're just normal people in strange positions who are either cool, or they're dicks.

Motley Crue seem like a bunch of dicks, but "Shout At The Devil" is an awesome album.
I'm going to start a new feature on this bloggity blog, called "Dick of the Day". Today's Dick of the Day is none other than Chase Bank! Congratulations for being a morally reprehensible bunch of lazy dickbags. Aside from other things, JP Morgan Chase has earned tonight's title by receiving 97.4 billion dollars in taxpayer bailout money ( What a bunch of dicks.
 This blog has hit an impossible low.

Ways To Fortify Yourself Against The Cold

As this blog is titled "From Igloo to Igloo," it goes without saying that I am the preeminent non-Aleutian authority on cold weather. So I said it.

"It goes without saying" is a silly phrase, because it is always followed by saying whatever is supposed to not be said. This bothers me.

But I digress.

With the temperatures reaching record lows (should one include the wind chill factor), I feel that it is my duty....nay, my privilege, to help all of you to get through this. What follows is a list of tasks one must complete if they wish to survive this hellish nightmare of snow, ice, and in Erie's case, impossible rain.
1. Purchase a cat.
Normally, I am against anybody keeping a cat as a pet. They are awful creatures, who exist simply to ignore their delusional, obsessive, and unkempt owners. Owners like this lady:
In this case, however, such measures must be taken.

When the temperature is 40 degrees below bullshit, which is the exact boiling point of "fuck this," cats are invaluable. In fact, buy three cats, because you're going to need all of them. 

With the first cat, identify the entry point of water into your home. This is sure to be the coldest section of pipe in the house, as it is linked to the outside. Take one of your cats and duct tape it around the pipe, making sure its underbelly is flush with the cold, cold metal of said pipe.
With the second cat, do nothing. This cat is, as all pets are, backup food. The reason for eating a cat is to save your infinitely more admirable dog, brother, or sister. I recommend eating what I can only categorize as the thigh. The breast is slightly gamy and mostly fat, while the thigh of a cat is full of Omega 3 fatty acids.

The third and, at this point, final cat will also be saved. Possibly. After emergency crews are first spotted, release the third cat into the wild, outfitted with a tracking device. Monitor said tracking device. If the cat stops moving for an extended period of time, assume that it has died, and that it is not yet safe to venture outside, as the cold has not yet lifted. Or it might just be sleeping, since that's really all cats do.

There you have it. If you've followed my detailed steps on how to survive this "arctic blast," you will make it through unscathed, and will also be helping to curb the out-of-control cat population.

As an addend to this guide, here is a list of things you will not need, and why you will not need them.

1: a coat, because fuck going "out there". Are you NUTS???
2: A scarf, because see above. Also, scarves are accessories, and accessories have only really ever helped out James Bond, Batman, and Johnny Depp.
Scarf, sunglasses, cufflinks, and a necklace. You try looking this cool without them.
3: Batteries, unless you're using them in conjunction with a sock as a weapon against cold-resistant mutant cannibals.
4: A fourth cat, because one can only eat so much cat thigh.