Do you know how hot it is right now, reader? It's 95 degrees. That's hot enough to kill a midget. It's true. They get heat exhaustion faster than us because their bodies are more compact. I read it in a book. Which book? Fuck you. I don't have to tell you which book.
The fact remains that it's really hot outside and my apartment doesn't have air conditioning. Why am I sitting here in 95 degree heat with an even warmer laptop on my lap? I must be an idiot to keep doing this. Updating this column three times a week should qualify me for the Special Olympics. It's pretty much the same thing. All I ever win is hugs, but for some reason I keep competing.
Well, to hell with your hugs, reader. I don't need them. Why are you even sitting here reading this? It's too hot to read. Do you live in the Yukon? Do you need your computer to keep you warm in your igloo? Fuck you, reader. Go back to farting on polar bears, or whatever outdoor activities people in the Yukon do for fun.
Y'know what? I just checked the weather forecast for the Yukon territory, and it's like 60 degrees there. You have no reason to be sitting in front of your computer right now.
Go to the pool or beach, run through the sprinklers on your lawn, put ice cream down your pants. I know the George Lopez show is on tonight, but you can be back in time. You have lots of time. Go do something with your day. I can even tape the show for you. I have the technology to record Lopez. If you lazy bastards weren't here reading this column three times a week, I wouldn't have to write it anymore. I could go back to sleeping in my refrigerator. Get the hell out of here, reader.
I know, I know. You're at work, right? Well if you're at work, then why aren't you working? Do something to strengthen our economy, you son of a bitch. If you won't do your job, I'll gladly take your place. If your workplace has air conditioning, I won't even make them pay me during the summertime. That's how hot it is in my apartment.
Take a cue from the college students who read this column. Once June arrives, the number of visitors drops by 50 percent. The students don't come here in the summertime. Why? Because unlike you at work, they're sober. They dry up and wise up. Then in the fall, when the piles of leaves are all smelly from dogs who like to poop in piles of leaves, the students come back.
They return, get drunk, and read this column in the wintertime. That's the time for reading. Not now. Go do something, reader. If you're at work, reward your employer for giving you air conditioning by actually working. Stop browsing the gossip sites for pictures of Paris Hilton's butthole. Trust me, you wouldn't want to see it in the summertime anyway. It's probably all sweaty.
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