Hot flash.

20 Jul

Oh. My. GOD.

Another day of unbearable heat. I came home just absolutely pissed off today because of how sweaty, overheated, and exhausted I was. The weather is truly sucking the life clean out of me. I’m panting like a dog, heaving with every gasping breath as the humidity collects in puddles inside my deflating lungs. Working outside blows. I can’t go on like this for much longer. Even my car is trying to give up. It whines as I force it to chug up the road.

My subconscious is trying to escape the god awful heat index by getting me to kill myself. Just now in the shower I accidentally slashed myself with my razor unusually close to my femoral artery. I bled.

Either that or the remainder of the pink in my hair was washing out. It was probably both.

I can’t live like this you guys. Every year I forget that the earth reaches heat indexes like this. Then it happens and I begin to melt like a wax doll, groaning and moaning and sluggishly dragging my body about to do my daily tasks. I CAN’T GO ON!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I’m sitting here in my living room looking like Papa Smurf. After such a disgusting day in the sweltering inferno that is Pennsylvania, I came home, took a cold shower, and then put on a nice detoxing mask by Astara.

Every time I decide to apply a face mask, someone comes home. They stare. I look like I’ve been choking, all blue in the face. Boy does it make your face feel fresh though.

I absolutely murdered a wasp today in cold blood. Of course when I say “cold” blood I actually mean boiling hot blood because the blistering oven of the outdoors was making my blood boil and roll like a pot on the stove. Anyway, I stepped away from my vehicle for just a few minutes, and returned to find a hornet perched on the driver’s side door handle.

“Oh no you don’t,” I said boldly. Then I stood there and stared at it for probably 60 seconds. It didn’t move.

I took a shingle sample folder and cocked it back. I had just one chance to destroy this wicked insect, and if I fudged it up, I would suffer the consequences. This wasp would unleash its fury on me and sting me until I laid motionless on the ground with my thumb in my mouth. With one foul swoop I smashed the shit out of the hornet with my folder, and it fell to the ground in a twisted ball, buzzing furiously. I curb stomped it triumphantly. It didn’t stand a chance.

I’ve always enjoyed torturing insects. As a child, I carried out some borderline sociopathic murders in my bathroom. I used to find centipedes and spiders and moths in the bathroom upstairs that came in through the vents somehow. I’m not sure if you know this or not, but I hate insects more than I hate Tyra Banks (maybe). Finding an insect in my domain made me crazy with rage. It was like it was violating my safe haven. Bugs belonged outside, away from me and my living quarters. Discovering one in my home made me go Ted Bundy on their asses.

I would drop them into the sink, and just barely plug the sink in a way that the water would still drain, but the bug couldn’t go down and escape my wrath. I would start by unleashing a scalding hot stream of water from the faucet onto the insect. The slightly open drain would suck the bug to the pipe, but wouldn’t allow it to go down the drain, holding it there as the stream of boiling water burned the shit out of it. I would do this a dozen times or so, and then I would get out the hairspray. It would get coated multiple times with sticky, toxic, volumizing hairspray as it gasped for breath and its wings became glued to its body. After that, I liked to pour a giant dollop of shampoo on it so it was trapped and suspended in a goopy, soapy mass. For good measure, I repeated the scalding hot water move several more times before I finally pulled the plug and let it go down the drain into the septic system.

Psychiatrists might be alarmed by this information.

Anyway, I’m off to enjoy some Chips Ahoy. What a pleasant name for a cookie, “Chips Ahoy.”

Okay, bye.


“What has more visitors in one month than Las Vegas has in one year?”

“The moon!”


2 Responses to “Hot flash.”

  1. Cole July 20, 2011 at 8:15 pm #

    Ted bundy reminds me of Kehly and her Barbie dolls. Having said that, after I made that comment about Ted Bundy and Kehly’s Barbie dolls, I found out more information on Mr. Bundy. WIkipedia it. I hope you didn’t rape the poor insects.

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