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AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH! |
Read this post on my static website here!
Howdy, Farmhands.
I am so sick and fucking tired of living in unprecedented times. This is bullshit. Everyone hoarded the precedented times before I was born and now we're stuck with whatever the fuck all this is. Apparently, the EPA is trying to claim greenhouse gasses actually aren't bad for anyone. Fuck everything.
It's Hot. Too hot. Too hot to even think. Do you wanna know how many showers I've taken just to shed some heat? Stop thinking about me showering, that's weird. It's so fucking hot. It's 98 degrees Fahrenheit outside, as it has been all week. It is 80 degrees Fahrenheit inside, as it's been all week. "Gadda, surely you just need to get someone out to take a look at your aircon, shouldn't you get a good 20 degrees of relief?" We did. We called a guy who came out and looked at our aircon and said to our faces, "I'm not even going to charge you the 300 bucks I should for the appointment because there's nothing I can do for you. Your house is just too old to retain it's temperature and you've got a tin fucking roof."
Ok so maybe he didn't say fucking. Maybe I added that to spice up the story a little bit. Give me an Aircon guy who says Fuck. God I'm so hot I can't even pretend to be interesting. It turns out, that in order to be a creative and functioning individual, first your physical needs must be met. Isn't that bullshit? You mean to tell me that My Creative Output relies on first being relatively satisfied with my material existence and only then can I expend the energy for Other Things? I want to write the sun a sternly worded letter, complaining that it's preventing me from writing my blog, but I firmly believe the paper would ignite the moment it was touched by the light of day.
There are a couple of solutions to this problem. The first option is I get a gun and pop a cap in that blustering gas-ball's ass. The second is I move because wow guess I'm a climate change refugee. (God I shouldn't have left Maine i'm told it's Not Bad this time of year now.) The third is that I just sit down here and do what I'm doing which is typing out nonsense so I can express my emotions about how Ball Blisteringly HOT IT IS AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH.
FUCK.
Until next time,
Farmer Gadda