7:16 p.m. Central Daylight Time: Captain’s log.
I have officially showered 3 (three) days in a row now. I’m not proud of it–I know, but I worked out today and I sweat like a mammoth, meaning I sweat in quantities of mammoth proportions. If I hadn’t boiled my flesh in the heat of the shower, diseases of unpredictable origin would have cultivated all over my skin and in my hair, and I would have died. And that’s all she wrote.
Meanwhile, tonight is Wednesday Night Keg, but again I don’t think I’ll be attending. What used to be a jovial drunkening slowly evolved into Reefer Madness, and the crowd got a little peculiar. Therefore, I will be continuing a National Lampoon’s Vacation movie marathon with our friend and foe Marcus “I eat lard for dinner” Howland.
In other news, Mayflower is as hot as a geyer right now, and dare I say smells like one also. I don’t know where to go to escape the suffocating heat. My room is a blistering sauna, and death by heat exhaustion is on the agenda. It doesn’t help that a certain drunk someone who I should leave nameless but I’ll give you the initials–James Kowalski–smashed my fan so the air no longer blows directly out of the fan and at me but instead moves in an outward manner. When are they turning the air conditioning on in this joint? I need it. I need it now. I might wade out into the flooding Iowa River to cool my boiling blood. It’s happening.
Anyway, I have nothing to do for the next six hours that I’m conscious, so I’m going to go bother Kehly.
“My pen exploded—the, altitude.”