I was relaxing at my local watering hole, when my drinking buddy on the next stool spoke:

“Why are we sitting here?”

“What do you mean? We’re here to drink 90-proof antifreeze because it’s cold outside.”

My buddy stared at me.

“No, I mean why are we in Chicago?”

Now, I did the staring at him.

“We’re in Chicago because we live and work here. We are Chicagoans.”

“But the weather is miserable. I hate it.”

“You don’t like Chicago?”

“Every winter I hate it.”

“How long have you felt this way?”

I signaled the bartender for another round of drinks.

“I’ve felt like this all my life. That’s why I blame my grandfather.”

“Your grandfather?”

“Yes, because when he came to this country he got off the train at Chicago.”

“But that’s silly.”

“No it isn’t, if it wasn’t for him, I could have been born in California, and I could have been a Hollywood type of guy.”

“You wouldn’t want that,” I smiled.

“Why not? Warm weather and bikini clad dames all year long. It beats this cold weather we have here four months of the year.”

“You don’t want to live in California. They have mud slides and earthquakes.”

My buddy looked very pensive for a couple of minutes.

“Then I could go some place else.”

“Like where?”

“Maybe down south, like Florida.”

“Florida? You don’t want to live with all those old retired pensioners wearing loud colored clothes, and bent over walking with canes and crutches.”

“Florida doesn’t have earthquakes.”

“No, they have hurricanes.”

My buddy looked confused.

“Maybe Arizona and hot places like that.”

“You go there and every morning you’ll have to shake your shoes for lizards, snakes and all manner of insects. Also there are Indians there. You never know when they will start scalping again.”

“Then, I’m stuck here in Chicago with you. I hope you freeze before I do.”

“Not if we keep doing what we’re doing now.”

We both laughed and I shouted:

“Bartender, more antifreeze.”