Sunday, July 20, 2008


Fuck summer.

Yeah, I said it. Aside from providing hilarious pictures like the one at left, I have abso-positively no fucking use for it.

Did you know? Murders go up 723% across this country during the summer months? You didn't? Well that's because I made that up. However, I am 723% more likely to kill you during the summer months than I am during any other point in the year. That's a fact.

I, like the states of Texas, Arkansas, Mississippi, West Virginia, and hell, most of Middle America, am a self-involved glutton. I find environmental causes profoundly unsexy. Recycling: for pussies. Biodegradable products: what will keep my hot stuff hot and my cold stuff cold? Turning off the lights at night: ghosts will get me.

You know what would make the environment sexy? A 12-month calendar of the Earth all oiled up in provocative lingerie posing with assorted shiny guns. That would be HOT.

What was I talking about? Oh yeah, I'm fucking hot as hell!!!! Despite my lack of devotion to environmental causes a couple of things are certain: Global Warming is real and more importantly, my bits smell like those of a hobo. Too bad.

Hey kids, do you remember when we were walking around the windy, beautifully snow-speckled cityscape and you were all, "man, I can't wait until the summer gets here." Do you remember that? Well, let me tell you this. If you dare to say that during the winter of 08/09 I will have no choice but to kick you squarely in your no-no place. I will do this basically because I wanted an excuse to post this picture of an old lady kicking a kid in the babymaker, but also because you really shouldn't wish for such an awful thing.

As always, I know what you're going to say. "Patrick, summer is a great time to go to the park and drink margamaritas." While I love the 'ol margarmarita as much as the next fellow, I will just as soon swap this icy summer treat for a Sapphire & tonic or dry red wine (the Official Winter Cocktails of Patrick Garrigan), I am adaptable like that.

So where do we go from here? Not just a lyric from the musical episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer or the final utterance of my third wife, this is a real enigma. I have come up with a few potential coping mechanisms.

The Dyson Body Blade. So while this limey gives me the heebee-jeebees, the way he's all excited that his products "don't lose suction," I went to the Time Warner Center where they have his airblade hand dryers. Let me tell you, these buggers work! Really got me thinking. What if this piece of equipment could be used to suck away my summertime "sauces." If it works on my hands, couldn't this invention be applied to the overactive glands located in the pit of my arm? Yes, I believe it can. WE HAVE THE TECHNOLOGY!!!

No Clothes. Part of why I love the Winter so much is that, if you are cold you can just bury your face in a thick muff(ler). The key to success during these chilly months lies in the power of layers. Summer doesn't offer these same options. There is only so much clothing you can take off before you find yourself manhandled by the long arm of the law. No fair. As a result I propose a July - September moratorium of indecent exposure. If I want to go to a Jamba Juice and order a Razzamatazz au naturale, I should be allowed. This is America, people.

Hybernation. I love sleep. What if I could just take a nappy-poo in a climate controlled chamber where I would dream about Cinnabons, international espionage and make out with my fuzzy afghan? Crazy, you say? Perhaps. But it might just be the entre into a bold new world where I wouldn't be a dick to you if you tried to talk to me before noon. That or it may just result in me becoming jobless and homeless.

Will these ideas help? I have no idea. I am suffering from heat-induced delirium and I don't even what the hell I'm talking about anymore. Bottom line is I am so frickin' hot and I don't like it. Not one bit. I'm going to go eat a Popsicle.

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