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Thread: It is cold...

  1. #1
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    It is cold...

    It is cold! How cold is it? It is so cold, I struck a match and the flame froze. It is so cold that if you spit on the sidewalk, the spit freezes before it lands. It is colder than a collection agent's heart. It is so cold that a brass monkey came to the door and asked if he could spend the night in my freezer to warm up. It is so cold my dog can go out for a pee and be back in 15.7 seconds. It is so cold my truck won't start because the fuel is frozen. It is so cold the farmers are milking their cows and getting ice cream. It is so cold people are eating the ice cream as a warm meal. It is so cold all the strippers are on strike. It is so cold people are communicating by having their teeth chatter in Morse code. It is so cold Grandma's goose pimples got together for warmth and gave her a humpback. It is so cold the snow cone man is using real snow. It is so cold...
    Cheers,
    Roger


    The other member of Mensa, but not the NRA

    Everyone is a self-made person.

    "The thing about quotes on the internet is that you cannot confirm their veracity" -Abraham Lincoln

  2. #2
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    Quote Originally Posted by Roger Tulk View Post
    It is so cold that if you spit on the sidewalk, the spit freezes before it lands.
    It is so cold my truck won't start because the fuel is frozen.
    Funny I've seen both of those, although you'd have to substitute truck for tractor and diesel for fuel. Around -35F or so regular diesel turns to slush. This is why we fed the cows with horses (although you want to put the bit in the watering trough so it don't freeze in the horses mouth before you put it in to).

    Quote Originally Posted by Roger Tulk View Post
    It is so cold people are eating the ice cream as a warm meal.
    Staying warm takes fuel, ice cream (at least the good stuff) is high in fat. This works surprisingly better than you would think

    Its so cold I saw a bird freeze in mid air and busted into pieces when he hit the ground.
    Its so cold the trees are freezing a exploding in the forest (actually saw this to.. not all of them of course but when a tree makes a loud BANG next to you its a bit startling)
    Its so cold I saw the dogs pee still standing frozen in mid stream against the fence (and you shoulda heard him yelp when he pulled free).
    Its so cold the roosters crow froze in mid air an shattered against the barn.

  3. #3
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    This is a little long But a fun read dealing with the cold

    The Cremation of Sam McGee

    There are strange things done in the midnight sun
    By the men who toil for gold;
    The Arctic trails have their secret tales
    That would make your blood run cold;
    The Northern Lights have seen queer sights,
    But the queerest they ever did see
    Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge
    I cremated Sam McGee.

    Now Sam McGee was from Tennessee, where the cotton blooms and blows.
    Why he left his home in the South to roam 'round the Pole, Lord only knows.
    He was always cold, but the land of gold seemed to hold him like a spell;
    Though he'd often say in his homely way that "he'd sooner live in hell."

    On a Christmas Day we were mushing our way over the Dawson trail.
    Talk of your cold! through the parka's fold it stabbed like a driven nail.
    If our eyes we'd close, then the lashes froze till sometimes we couldn't see;
    It wasn't much fun, but the only one to whimper was Sam McGee.

    And that very night, as we lay packed tight in our robes beneath the snow,
    And the dogs were fed, and the stars o'erhead were dancing heel and toe,
    He turned to me, and "Cap," says he, "I'll cash in this trip, I guess;
    And if I do, I'm asking that you won't refuse my last request."

    Well, he seemed so low that I couldn't say no; then he says with a sort of moan:
    "It's the cursèd cold, and it's got right hold, till I'm chilled clean through to the bone.
    Yet 'tain't being dead — it's my awful dread of the icy grave that pains;
    So I want you to swear that, foul or fair, you'll cremate my last remains."

    A pal's last need is a thing to heed, so I swore I would not fail;
    And we started on at the streak of dawn; but Lord! he looked ghastly pale.
    He crouched on the sleigh, and he raved all day of his home in Tennessee;
    And before nightfall a corpse was all that was left of Sam McGee.

    There wasn't a breath in that land of death, and I hurried, horror-driven,
    With a corpse half hid that I couldn't get rid, because of a promise given;
    It was lashed to the sleigh, and it seemed to say: "You may tax your brawn and brains,
    But you promised true, and it's up to you, to cremate those last remains."

    Now a promise made is a debt unpaid, and the trail has its own stern code.
    In the days to come, though my lips were numb, in my heart how I cursed that load.
    In the long, long night, by the lone firelight, while the huskies, round in a ring,
    Howled out their woes to the homeless snows — Oh Lord! how I loathed the thing.

    And every day that quiet clay seemed to heavy and heavier grow;
    And on I went, though the dogs were spent and the grub was getting low;
    The trail was bad, and I felt half mad, but I swore I would not give in;
    And I'd often sing to the hateful thing, and it hearkened with a grin.

    Till I came to the marge of Lake Lebarge, and a derelict there lay;
    It was jammed in the ice, but I saw in a trice it was called the "Alice May."
    And I looked at it, and I thought a bit, and I looked at my frozen chum;
    Then "Here," said I, with a sudden cry, "is my cre-ma-tor-eum."

    Some planks I tore from the cabin floor, and I lit the boiler fire;
    Some coal I found that was lying around, and I heaped the fuel higher;
    The flames just soared, and the furnace roared — such a blaze you seldom see;
    And I burrowed a hole in the glowing coal, and I stuffed in Sam McGee.

    Then I made a hike, for I didn't like to hear him sizzle so;
    And the heavens scowled, and the huskies howled, and the wind began to blow.
    It was icy cold, but the hot sweat rolled down my cheeks, and I don't know why;
    And the greasy smoke in an inky cloak went streaking down the sky.

    I do not know how long in the snow I wrestled with grisly fear;
    But the stars came out and they danced about ere again I ventured near;
    I was sick with dread, but I bravely said: "I'll just take a peep inside.
    I guess he's cooked, and it's time I looked"; ... then the door I opened wide.

    And there sat Sam, looking cool and calm, in the heart of the furnace roar;
    And he wore a smile you could see a mile, and said: "Please close that door.
    It's fine in here, but I greatly fear, you'll let in the cold and storm —
    Since I left Plumtree, down in Tennessee, it's the first time I've been warm."

    There are strange things done in the midnight sun
    By the men who toil for gold;
    The Arctic trails have their secret tales
    That would make your blood run cold;
    The Northern Lights have seen queer sights,
    But the queerest they ever did see
    Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge
    I cremated Sam McGee.
    Jesus was a Woodworker

  4. #4
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    Click image for larger version. 

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    The perception of perfection is perfectly clear to everyone else

  5. #5
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    I have been in blizzards when your eyelids would freeze together if you closed them, and I've slept in a makeshift bivouac when the temps were -30. Dan, I used to have that poem memorized and would recite it at Scout camp campfires. It's by Robert Service, who was born in Preston, England 75 years before I was born in the same town, so I always felt a bit close to him, like a relative.

    Oh, that brass monkey is refusing to come out of my freezer until spring.
    Cheers,
    Roger


    The other member of Mensa, but not the NRA

    Everyone is a self-made person.

    "The thing about quotes on the internet is that you cannot confirm their veracity" -Abraham Lincoln

  6. #6
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    "There’s a lot of work being done today that doesn’t have any soul in it. The technique may be the utmost perfection, yet it is lifeless. It doesn’t have a soul. I hope my furniture has a soul to it." - Sam Maloof
    The Pessimist complains about the wind; The Optimist expects it to change;The Realist adjusts the sails.~ William Arthur Ward

  7. #7
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    The coldest I experienced (not temp wise, but affects on the body)...was duck hunting in central CA. It was probably only 20 degrees (very mild). However after being out there since 4am, I left to walk back the mile to the truck to warm up a bit before the start time. I stood up, after looking at the frozen water beads on my gun, and discovered my legs were frozen all the way up to my knee caps (that's the problem with being a duck hunter...you sit on your butt all day ). Needless to say, I went in an awful hurry back and sat in the truck with the heater on full blast trying to bring color back to my stark white toes. Scared the beegeezes out of me.

    However, 2 Pintails, 1 Redhead

  8. #8
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    Quote Originally Posted by Sharon Korn View Post
    ...However, 2 Pintails, 1 Redhead
    Good for you, girl! I initially mis-read that and thought you were describing having a couple of beers with Brent...2 Red Hooks and 1 Pinhead.
    When the going gets weird, the weird turn pro. - Hunter S. Thompson
    When the weird get going, they start their own forum. - Vaughn McMillan

    workingwoods.com

  9. #9
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    Quote Originally Posted by Sharon Korn View Post
    However, 2 Pintails, 1 Redhead
    I've never shot a pintail, but a friend of mine shot a redhead when we were out by the lake, mostly shooting scaup (aka bluebills.) He said she stiffed him for five cocktails in a bar the night before.
    Cheers,
    Roger


    The other member of Mensa, but not the NRA

    Everyone is a self-made person.

    "The thing about quotes on the internet is that you cannot confirm their veracity" -Abraham Lincoln

  10. #10
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    Quote Originally Posted by Roger Tulk View Post
    I've never shot a pintail, but a friend of mine shot a redhead when we were out by the lake, mostly shooting scaup (aka bluebills.) He said she stiffed him for five cocktails in a bar the night before.


    Half of all pintails migrate through California, so they are pretty common there.

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