So while I was sitting in a nice cool windowless government office today eating mince pies and savouring the best the local vietnamese slave bakery has to offer, I kept myself amused by spamming Twitter on my iPhone. So anyway it turns out that it was really hot today and everybody except me knew about it. Everyone was carrying on like the sky was falling, posting things like "MY FACE IS MELTING OFF" and "IT'S SO HOT MY KIDNEYS ARE FAILING" and such. I found it very entertaining - probably how Arnold Schwarzenegger feels at the end of Conan The Barbarian, sitting on his little mountain of skulls ruling the known universe. Comfortably.
However the most promising thing about summer is that whenever you step out of an air-conditioned office smack bang into a wall of flame and humidity, you know that for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. Newton, bitches! I'm talking about the epic storm that is soon to follow, bringing lightning and thunder and drowning kittens to the masses, people watching from their hospital beds as they recover from the day's heatstroke. It's a well known fact that thunderstorms fucking rule, and everytime I see my street flooding I can sit and watch it for hours. It's very therapeutic, if not a little bit morbid.
So here we are on pretty much the hottest day in months, and it's 9:30pm. I'm sitting in my room STILL wondering why I donated my electric fan to the Salvation Army (oh, that's right, nevermind) and typing at my computer, waiting for the storm. Except it ISN'T COMING. That's right, it's the meteorology equivalent of buying backstage tickets to the Pussycat Dolls, wading through hordes of screaming overweight teenagers, sitting through the shitty support acts and then finding out that the hot one has laryngitis and took the night off. FUCK. THAT.
If I can't wake up at 4am tomorrow and catch fish from my second floor balcony I'm going to kick Mother Nature's ass.
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