Frosty the Snowman is sweating in the back of a moving truck. Granted, it's Summer, but he looked punctured. Not jolly. His top hat was crushed. I couldn’t see his corn cob nose as I sped by. Or if his two eyes were made out of coal. Maybe crying.
His posture was awful.
I don’t know if Rudolph or Saint Nick will be making the move. I’m sure he’d like his buddies to come along. The crap they’d talk in the back of that truck would be epic. Playing poker, telling stories of chimneys, carolers, blizzards, and cookies and milk.
Don’t worry, Frosty, old boy. Chin up! It’ll be Christmas before you know it.
And thank your lucky stars that you’re not on the curb with the microwave and ironing board.