Paul Parillo Snow & Blood

Finally, the tormented demons of global warming have been justly served an ice cold hand by Mother Nature. Her giant green vagina has swallowed the sun’s warmth and given us the great white Canadian snow seamen we’ve all been waiting for (by “we” I mean Canadians who appreciate our weather). Now that we have the exponentially multitudinous amounts of uniquely individual snowflakes or, “snow”, there’s only one thing left to do: COVER IT IN BLOOOOOOOD!

There aren’t many enjoyable activities in the winter that don’t cause bloodshed. I suppose you could sit in some kind of Chalet, or shovel your driveway – maybe if you’re feeling sassy, you could try writing your name in the snow with your piss while your friend uses their mouth to block it from hitting the ground whilst making snow angels. But when to take a minute to imagine the scenarios, you have to agree, the most snow fun is had when blood is spilt.

For instance, snow ball fights have been around before snow was even invented. And the reason it’s still around is because it’s fun. But how often has this occurred: you stealthy put together a vicious snowball only to realize a bit of ice has been implanted during the process – unfortunately, it’s too late to start again. Next thing you know, your little sister has blood squirting out of her retina and might need an eye patch until she eventually commits suicide.

Tobogganing/Beerbogganing – two very similar and classically fundamental in their ability to create endless frivolity. One minute you’re walking/stumbling up a steep hill, next thing you know, your sled (or GT snow racer) are moving at speeds assumed to be faster than light – and nothing that fast and virtually unprotected can end in anything less than broken bones and bloodshed. But hey, you wipe the blood out of your rectum, send your paralyzed friend Jimmy to the hospital and everyone goes home happy. Just as the snow eventually melts away, the wounds heal and are ready to be re-opened again.

Ice skating – nothing says “safety” like a bunch of unprepared children and adults strapping on some sharp metal blades and clumsily drifting across uneven ice (and if you’re lucky, it’s a frozen lake). It’s dangerous, but perfect – try thinking of anything more romantic than showing your date how to skate; you’re guaranteed, at the very least, a kiss by the end of the night. Naturally, though, like all the other fun winter events, the moment something goes awry, you’re likely to bleed. Nothing says “blood soaked ice” like falling chin first into winter’s coldest/hardest substance. Not to mention being sliced open by a passersby completely inattentive and unaware of the squirting red liquid coming from your recently opened jugular.

The only reason I can attest to these words is because, in one way or another, every person growing up in Canada goes through something like this. Just as we’ve seen the commercials about donating blood, we all know it’s in us to give, we’re only just noticing now that it’s the snowy ground the blood should be given to. Be proud of our Canadian winters, and be happy the snow gods have been satiated and continue to stop the universe from raping our begotten souls.

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