Historically, I bitch about how much February sucks. Football’s over. It’s cold, and it’s been cold for what seems like for-goddamn-ever. The jackass in the cubicle next to you is excited about pitchers and catchers reporting. And for whiteys like me and Drew, any slight pigmentation our skin once had has long since leached away.

But I dunno, I’m less suicidal than usual this February. The Super Bowl happening a full week into the month helped, and the Colts losing kicked off the off-season on a positive note. The SNOWPOCALYPSE has kept me entertained. The Winter Olympics are a worthwhile distraction. A constant and varied workout routine has made me more energetic. I’m not saying I’m not eager for spring, but hell: it was light in New York City until, like, 5:45 yesterday. I think I can make it another five weeks or so. And then it’s the NFL Draft, then summer, then training camps.

Chin up, everyone. We’re gonna make it. We always do.

So whaddaya say we celebrate the sunless hell of winter with some hot pale chicks (and shirtless Alexander Skarsgard for the ladies)? Very well, the motion passes.

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