The Hump 3fitty

Double cricked in the night, but no dna just a pillow to blame, and now my swivel is tinman tight, no oil can touch it. Tiger balm either. Menthol meet Camphor, rub rub. The Doctors prescribed menthol cigarettes for my Grandfather after he had frostbitten his lungs in WWII flying in the China Burma India Theater, but he would never say one word about the show, and I pestered him plenty, and I was a good pesterer then and still am. He was so dark, his demeanor as well as his skin, yet underneath as white as can be, a Yankee tan. No offense, but the summer is three months long there, more or less, and here it's half the year, hot or hot hot; with a lovely winter average in the 70's what with global warming, cold snaps and blue northers excepted. Fear and respect the warnings of the 1930's. We can go backwards quicker than any great leaps forward, but I sure wish we could find some clean cheap energy, because Earth told me, "You're killing me, killin' me!"