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Oh Baby You’ll Freeze [in] There


Mrs. Madrigal’s furnace is broken. She paid some unnamed “furnace man” to put in a new furnace, which he did. But it’s the wrong size. And he turned off the gas when he was at the house and never turned it back on – thus leaving us with no hot water for a few days. So the hot water heater man came out and turned the gas back on. Now we have hot water. But still no heat. Because the furnace. It’s the wrong size, you know.

So Mrs. Madrigal is now getting quotes from other furnace men. The one who came this morning said that he can’t put a new furnace in until Monday. At this point I direct your attention to the above graphic, which depicts the forecast for the end of this week. Can you say frozen? Good. You can say it for me then, because once the temperature gets down to 26 degrees I will be unable to say anything.

Mrs. Madrigal is just broken up about this situation. In what will come as a surprise to no one, she has turned to the bottle for solace. The other day, in an attempt to update me on the status of things, she phoned me, but for at least 30 seconds at the beginning of the call, she completely forgot who she had called and just made strange, gutteral sounds of confusion.

Soon, *I* will be turning to the bottle. Anyone who wants to join me should bundle up and come on over.

[Dean Martin/Doris Day lyrics = 1]

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