Friday, April 08, 2022


If they ever ask my type when I go into shock from blood loss, I shall be in deep trouble. As the urge to say "sentient, bipedal, no hippies" might be overwhelming. I guess that's a form of stoicism. Which, when I bellyache about the heat, is hard to do. Like yesterday. I made the mistake of leaving the house for a tea-time nibble. Consequently my legs were in agony when I returned, a massive flaming throbbing ache that lasted till after ten at night.

From heat, I need to complain.
No stoicism possible.

Now I know some folks will say "oh, eighty five degrees (F) ain't that hot..... (implication: man up you sissy)", but they are obviously ignorant sadistic brutes who have no clue how bloodpressure meds OR the body's heat-coping mechanisms work, they deserve to rot and lose all their children, and if I were able to move without pain during a heatwave I would languidly beat them to death.

"Eighty five degrees (F) ain't that hot"

You know, civilised people try not to live in Florida, Mississippi, or Texas. You folks are bipedal, but not sentient. You probably watch Football, and you are not my type.

The sentient beings and I shall now retire to a cave deep underground, where the permafrost is constant and there is an air-conditioning aparatus for just these occasions. You are not invited. Please stay on the surface watching sports and Fox News. And boil to death.

At the appropriate time, once we have sufficiently recovered from these horrible conditions, we might indulge in a chilled shrimp salad à la Créole (with tomato, peppers, finely minced scallion, and celery salt; plus a little chopped herring added for a creative touch), as well as a big coupe of chopped ice fruit with watermelon chunks and peaches.

Big buckets of ice tea quite likely also possible.
Hong Kong or Southern. Both are good.

I blame the Red States for this weather.
Damded heathens.

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