The Boy Scouts in my district have their annual Klondike Derby this weekend. (That's where they camp in the snow, race sleds, build humungous campfires, stuff like that.) The more cynical kids refer to it as the "Frostbite Derby." Back when I was in college, they had a Klondike Derby at Camp Maple Dell. I was up early in the morning, out wandering around the camp, and found a group of kids trying to stay warm around an itty-bitty campfire. As the kids huddled around the struggling flame (notice that I didn't use the plurual "flames"), someone mentioned a kid named Jon.
"Where is Jon?" someone asked.
"I don't know," someone else responded. "I'll go find him."
The kid was back in a second. "He's still in his snowcave!" he announced incredulously. "He said he's too warm to get up!"
As the boys gaped in disbelief, the troop prankster said, "I'll go get him." And sure enough, he was back in a second, saying, "Yeah, he didn't want to get up, but I convinced him."
"How did you do that?"
"Easy . . . I just smashed in his snowcave!"