TAKE IT LIKE A MAN-GOAT

I hate being hot.

But I don't mean like regular kinda hot, I mean like flaming, sticky sweaty, pit-soaked hot. That absolutely god-awful feeling of having every last molecule of moisture squoze from your red, irritated body.

But perhaps more than oppressively humid, swamp-ball heat, I have a strong dislike for the people that seem thoroughly unphased by it. It's as though they are lizards, happily baking themselves on a sandstone outcropping, rollerblading around the city in tiny, upsetting stretchy shorts and those god awful muscle shirts that are held on with two thin straps of poly-cotton. As I slowly lope around, as thoroughly soaked with my own juices as if I had just fallen off a ship, or were in the midst of being hickory-pit roasted, sweat pouring directly into my eyes from the exertion of doing little more than just pointing my body in a certain direction and continuing to pilot it that way, these people are out running, doing jumping jacks, or lifting pallets of bricks up over their heads, looking at me with a face that says "You god damn baby. It's just heat! Enjoy this life while you can, you sad giant man." This, of course, stirs up a stew of emotions in my giant god damn man-baby, human-hating self.

So every summer, I trudge around sweating my balls off in a state of unimaginable discomfort, while the attractive people of the world swish and swirl past me, laughing or looking scornful, enjoying their svelt, athletic selves, while I sweat profusely (mainly from my head) imagining the beer I will be drinking as soon as I'm back in the safety of my own air conditioned home (it's worth every penny.)

But... you know what else is hot, comfortable, attractive people? Hell. Hell is hot.

I will do everything in my power to live a better life from here on out. 'Cause I'm willing to bet Heaven is air conditioned all the time, and nobody has to pick up the check.