Ice Storm of Death

I have a short story coming up for some of you. It's about a girl in a car and a dog by her side and some stitches and a lie and then a dead dog. It will make you cry, just like the beautiful Christmas cards I have made in my head.

My attempt at sending a Mann message failed. I will try again when you are least suspecting. You know what? I always say: It doesn't matter if you are misunderstood, only if you are missed.

It is sixteen degrees outside. The snow flurries are more like snow furiousies. Fat flakes too cold to touch the ground, too busy wind-tusslin to accumulate. So great, the earth is frozen and my hands are cold and I only have two more deadliney type tasks to accomplish and then I will be left to my own devices and bosky personal deadlines for the rest of 2008.  Send me your wishes and your wishlists! Everyone is making chili.

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