Winter is getting ready to blow icicles up our asses, and we are not looking forward to dodging hypothermic poodle turds on the sidewalk or texting with our tongues so we don't have to take fingers out of mittens. Vito sent us these photos of last summer, and we can't decide if we should be cursing or loving him for making us remember the days when our balls hung to the floor and hobos didn't look like the Michelin Man.
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