Comment Corner

Folks, now that the dog days of summer are here, a rational person's thoughts should turn to fall, the good season, and get the fuck out of the sunburn, mosquito ('skitters to you bumpkin types), hot, smoggy season.

Honestly, summer blows. It's too damn hot. And for all of you chud-munchers out there that will instantly retort, "But I love the heat! I keep one foot in the oven when I'm done baking chicken I love it so much! I just slop the chicken on the floor, lay down and position my body with one foot on the top rack and messily devour whatever the dogs haven't licked. Eat shit!"

To that person I say, I have tasted your shit sir and you're eating too much salt. Every last concern for people who "love" the heat is about getting cool, staying cool and looking for sustainable cool. Nobody ever goes to a beach without a goddamn hunk of water in front of them. Why? So they can go take a dip to cool off. People who "love, love, love" to be outside in scorching heat, gardening or whatever the hell they call it when you stab at plants with a trowel, are never too far away from a cold beer, lemonade, pop or god-fucking-forbid, an ice cappuccino. Sun's too bright on your pathetic little sun-worshiping eyes? Make sure you've got your sunglasses on. Or a wide-brimmed sun hat. Or a ball cap.

If you want me to believe you really "love" the heat, rip your central-air unit out of your houses and throw it at your neighbour's face. How the hell can anybody maintain such an artifice of loving the heat when they retreat home to the cold? If you love it so much, stay in it all the livelong day.

Which brings me to other people who get convertables. Don't. Driving along with the sun beating directly down on you is a stupid idea. At some point, if you're in a big city, you're going to get stuck in traffic on a hot day. And it's going to be chokingly hot, maybe even "muggy", there will be hot car-stink blowing on you from everybody else and then you'll squeak up next to me.

If I see a convertable stuck on a hot day, I instantly launch into showing them the horrible mistake they've made. I will blast the A/C at full, snapping my neck back and practically tearing my hair out in the gale-force win while I heartily laugh. Then, when I've got the convertable driver's attention, I'll pull out a popsicle and eat it. After a couple of seconds, I'll demonstrate there's no drippage, not one single drop of popsicle running down its length at all. Then, still laughing, I'll pitch it against the car-window where it will instantly stick, frozen to the glass. Next, I'll pick up a pen and show them the old schoolyard "I can smoke anything, see, look, my breath is frosty, no, look here Kim, hey, pay attention to me, you whore, oh, hey, don't tell the teacher I called you a whore, I said bore, I SAID BOOOOORE!" trick. Once the windows frost over enough, that's when I crank down my window and shout at the guy, "Hey, it's a cold one today, huh?" Before he can respond with anything, I continue my Errol Flynnish laugh and instantly pounce on the available three inches of road which has opened between the car in front of me like a caged cheetah.

So, fuck you "heat lovers", you're all a twisted bunch of liars. And so is your face.

Side note: Why is Barry Bonds the must-watch sporting story of the summer? How does a man, juiced to the extreme for the majority of his career, garner this much attention for breaking a record he so richly couldn't do with the muscles he grew naturally?

Other side note: Does anybody think Michael Vick has already placed an order for a batch of puppies from Ving Rhames' maid-eating dog?