Dear People Wearing Shorts In December

I really shouldn't have to write this.  This is common sense, yet, as with all those previously addressed in my rantings, you just don't get it.  You are running away from reality like a hobo with a stolen sweet potato pie. 

It is forty degrees out.  You are wearing a jacket.  Obviously, you understand it is cold, because you are taking measures to keep your upper body warm.  Why would you wear shorts?  Men, insulate your lap rockets.  Ladies, keep your yippee bogs warm this holiday season. 

I have seen both men and women doing this.  And I can't even blame the hipsters this time.  You idiots are wearing sport shorts and hoodies.  You look more like jocks than anything, and that's what makes this even worse.  You aren't letting me blame the hipsters.  This makes me so angry that I had to whittle down a Lincoln Log into a shiv and stab myself in the leg with it.  Then, I forced Tang into the wound, just so I had a pain that I could control.  Are you happy that you made me do this?  Why can't you just buy pants?  Why do you have to ruin lives?

There was a time when the only person you would see wearing shorts after October would be a big ol' fat guy.  He'd pair off those shorts with a Hawaiian shirt, sandals, and white socks pulled up past his calves.  We let him have this, because he added his own unique flair to the ensemble.  You, however, are not pulling this off. 

The only thing worse than you Mensa rejects strutting your pale winter legs around in Umbros in December are the frat boy preppie freaks that wear plaid shorts, sandals, and pastel polos in the summer.  You look like Zack Morris and Spaulding from Caddyshack got drunk on wine coolers and gave into temptation in Mr. Feeney's toolshed from Boy Meets World.  You are not the love child of this unholy union.  You are the afterbirth.