I'm sure it's winter fairly

As I graciously reminded a few of you at the time, Saturday night was Burns Night: my most legitimate excuse for mangling a Scottish accent of aaaaall the year. (Also note how foxy ol' Rabbie looks in that link. Nothing not to like about this holiday.) Turns out my dedication to authenticity stops just a few millimeters (of intestine) shy of actual haggis, so I went with the next best thing and expressed my love and respect for the home of the hairy coo by picking its funniest-sounding dishes. Behold: cock-a-leekie soup, cranachan, and…RUMBLEDETHUMPS!

Yo colcannon, I'm really happy for you, Imma let you finish, but Scotland has one of the best mashed potato and cabbage dish names of all time. 

Of course, before I could spend Saturday night having very important thoughts and feelings about 230-year-old-poetry I had to survive Friday's vicious snow attack. I assume Austin's ordeal was the talk of the nation, probably the world, but I want you all to know that we are fine. Safe and sound.

Creating nightmare-creatures, per winter tradition.

Ivy wasn't even deterred from her rounds, brave girl.