NYC is frozen solid again — even the mayor’s hot air couldn’t warm us up

It’s snow going in the city

We’re snowed in again, and I’m back humming, “Let It Snow.”

1945. California was having a heat wave. So USA’s hotshot songwriters — Sammy Cahn and Jule Styne — knocked off a little tune while the locals were lapping up the seltzer in their pools.

1945, Vaughn Monroe recorded the thing.

In 1950, Frank Sinatra made a version. Then, 1959, Dean Martin made it a falldown hit.

First verse: “The weather outside is frightful / But the fire is so delightful / And since we’ve no place to go / Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow.”

Cold? Before a Leonardo DiCaprio sheetmate could mutter, “Where are you going?” he’d turned icy.

Our current mayor’s staff consists of his wife and six huskies.

One Manhattan councilman’s hunting a female with a high fever for a roommate.

Forget nurses back in hospitals, now it’s penguins delivering babies.

Two things skiers must never lose — composure and their Blue Cross card.

Problems? Bill Clinton’s zipper has frozen over.

Cold? Even my janitor is banging on the pipes.

Farmers are milking cows with ice picks.

North Pole nights last for six months. One worker heading there just arrived at half-past January.

Cold? Even hookers are complaining.

Freezing? It was cold in places I never knew I had.

Politicians are even putting strangers’ own hands in their pockets.

Need money? Rent your own bedroom as a meat locker.

Visit City Hall. Crapdammy’s hot air makes it warm.

One mail carrier was fired for having sex while delivering mail. Listen, at least someone in the post office delivers.

Perfect weather for marriage. He’s cold and she’s frigid.

Crapdammy’s sanitation trucks: If unsatisfied with our methods, you will receive double your trash back.

So may we all have a happy snowless day soon.