CLIMACTIC PECULIARITIES

One of the infinite riddles of the world is how come the tropical zones are packed with people. More specifically, how can those folks reproduce?
There's probably a perfectly logical explanation which I do not want to hear right now, because my own preferences are to avoid physical contact during the hot clammy-skin season. For me, reproductive behaviour is best done when the temperature encourages closeness while naked. And ideally when the warmth of the other person is like a magnet, drawing one in.

Man, naturally, is a heat vampire.
As is woman, even more so.


Air-conditioning, rain storms, cold weather, hail, and burrowing under the covers, are all conducive to personal contact, whereas summery balm, and temperatures above seventy, are discouraging.


I make mention of this, because on overly hot days many people will utter a silly remark to the effect of "such lovely weather" or "isn't it wonderful out there" as their initial 'brilliant' conversational kickstarter.

Both statements are surreal departures from sanity.

In reality it's neither lovely nor wonderful.

Rather, it is perfectly beastly.

You guys are sick.



Contradictorily, during the hot weather one really wishes to prance around stark naked, but is more sensitive to the unbearable stickiness of skin.
No one sane engages in reproduction under those conditions.
It is tortuous, and quite possibly depraved.
Alas, the nudity is also not done.

Instead, almost all wild passion naturally takes place during the cold season, when people wallow around fully aroused and fully clothed. During a downpour. Out in the rain, when streams of clean cold water pelt them and their partner. Inspired sex alleviates frigid misery marvelously.
The risk of pneumonia adds an indescribable frisson!

Yes, sog, shiver, and freeze, are potent aphrodisiacs, which drive people together and prompt us to surround ourselves all over with antioxidant polyphenols, wet clothing, and warm fuzzy blankets.

I personally am looking immensely forward to winter, when gay young couples will put on thick raincoats and frolic libidaciously down at the intersection while the streets flood, writhing, screaming, and painfully panting, as if experiencing the rapture at the end-times when their souls are violently ripped from their feverishly flushed flesh-husks. How brutal!
Their bodies will melt together and quiver as one when it rains.
Umbrellas will be discarded in the heat of passion.
Along with boots, gloves, and sanity.

Of course, as a bachelor, this does NOT apply to me.
But I shall enjoy watching other people.
Winter is the happiest time.

[One of my friends, a truly depraved s.o.b., suggests that tropical inhabitants procreate because oppressive humidity and one hundred degrees Fahrenheit smell like sex. If this is so, it's the nasty kind, that requires lots of beer and dance-grunting in a nightclub south of Market Street. Which is impossible! Most of the equatorial belt hates beer, and only stocks it for the visiting Australians.
If sex smelled like Australians, there would be far fewer young people.]


E-commerce yuppies and Midwestern immigrants are rutting down on Polk Street this evening. Clearly they are mad. It is still far too warm!

Persons such as myself have perfect self-control, however; so the only way we could consider concupiscence at present is while relaxing, still naked, after a refreshing shower in the utter dark of late late night.

Perhaps even just before dawn, when the rest of you are preparing to go to church to mortify your sinful flesh while the morn is yet cool.

Dang, some of you need to mortify your sinful flesh!
I suggest using tools and condiments.
Whelts and hot sauce


I really hate hot weather.


I wish it to be less.


Fog is nice.



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