The Ballad of The Late Summer Hellfuck

Living through a Houston summer is like living through a months-long trip through a molasses shower and sauna torture chamber.

It's hard to imagine why anyone would ever want to live in this fucking godforsaken place whenever another one of these interminable and sweltering summers rolls around.

And like clockwork you can find me writing about my waning tolerance as the season rolls on into its fifth and sixth month.

It is totally abnormal to have to suffer through month after month of 95 degree weather with drastically high humidity.

Every year around this time I have the same thought. How the hell did the original settlers to this part of the world endure this weather?

I mean for fuck's sake, imagine being here without air conditioning? What happened to them on those days when they overdid it and suddenly found themselves in a situation where they had nowhere to go to cool down?

What then? Did they just get heat exhaustion and die, because I assure you that there was plenty of back breaking work to do damn near every day and if you didn't do it then it didn't get done.

Some days, as in today, you feel as though there is no way to escape the stickiness that seems to coat you like a lather. Here I am riding home from work today in my tiny little Korean car and I feel like I am surely going to keel over at any moment. My air conditioner has been doing the work/not-work dance for a couple years now and I guess today was a not-work day. Special.

So I am sitting there, catching every light, and thinking to myself that if anyone so much as looks at me I will get out of my car and shit directly on their hood.

Once home, the air is on, the fans are spinning, my bed beckons, it's time to lay down and forget this day ever happened.

Until I do it all again tomorrow, that is.