It’s So Hot Out
June 11th, 2008
It’s so hot out, I could dump a million ice cubes down my shirt and still go to bed begging for more.
It’s so hot out, I would impregnate and marry Ms. Peggy Richard (assuming her dad is retail magnate P.C. Richard) just to get 10 or more free air conditioners.
It’s so hot out, I could fly to Patagonia, South America, and cover my face in snow, and I’d still be hot because it’s so hot here.
It’s so hot out, if there was a bucket of cold grape soda near my hot bed when I woke from my hot sleep I’d drink it even though I think grape soda has an unfortunate taste.
It’s so hot out, I’d stab a old Armenian lady with a sharp stick if I thought that doing so would make my body cooler.
It’s so hot out, I’d move all my clothes and toiletries into my cubicle at work and live in the shade under my desk until September if I thought the company would be cool with it.
It’s so hot out, I’d fuck Paul Richard and marry him in California (up north, where it’s not so hot) just to get at his family’s cache of air conditioners (assuming he is the Son in P.C. Richard & Son).
It’s so hot out, I could wear shorts even though nobody respects a man in shorts.
