Johnny Dollar. Tell me, old boy, how's the weather? Cold, wet and miserable, and who are you?

Charlie Warren, Johnny, out here in warm, sunny Southern California. Oh, you lucky dog.

Oh, don't I know it? I spent too many long cold winters at the home office there in Hartford, not to know it.

You're still with worldwide mutual? Sure am. Always will be, I guess, unless they try to move me out of this Los Angeles office.

Boy, when I think how you must be suffering back there in New England,

with all that cold and snow and sleep.

Okay, okay, Charlie, don't rub it in.

We can't all be as lucky as you are and just think of all the beauty you're missing.

Yeah?

Like what? The clean, crisp, invigorating air, the sparkle of the sun on sleep-covered branches,

the sound of sleigh-bells, rolling fields, drifted high with pure white snow.

And all that mud and slush, you have to plow through there in town, and don't tell me otherwise.

Okay, you've made your point.

I'm feeling even worse than I did before you cold.

Now, what's on your mind?

Any good reason why you shouldn't be out here,

enjoying the sunshine, the warm breezes,

the smell of orange blossoms, the palm trees,

and beautiful broads barging around bikinis,

and all the other delights of this subtropical paradise,

and I want a badge from the Chamber of Commerce?

Yes.

...