Groan

God, I hate summer.

So hot.

This insane heat makes me sooo cranky.

Things I said this last weekend:

• "I'm an evil undead scientist. I don't work in the sun on 95 degree days. I burn easily."
• "If I ever talk about transfering to my company's Florida office again, please kick me square in the nuts."
• "Is it wrong to want to rub a lime popsicle all over my body?"
• "I don't know what you're complaining about... you try living with sweaty, sticky balls.
• "I'm an adult, and I contribute a not insignificant part of my salary to the mortgage...that's why I feel I am perfectly within my rights to sit in front of a box fan, in my underwear and nothing else, while drinking a cold beer. I don't care if your mother is coming over."
• "If these fucking dogs don't stop laying on me or against me, I swear to god I'll give them the needle myself. It's like sitting with a furry, panting, hot pillow on my lap."
• "Don't touch my leg with your leg! It's like I'm sitting against a microwave-warmed slab of meat!"
• "You're not a doctor. How do you know that extreme heat doesn't give me diarrhea?!?"
• "Oh god! I've got sweat in my ass crack!"
• "It's a vast global conspiracy against me! The CIA's targeting Cleveland with a orbitally platformed laser just to get me. And stop looking at me like I've lost my mind!"
• "My brain's melting."

I'll be in my crypt until this heat wave passes. It's cooler there and Mrs. Zombie told me I'm not allowed out until I promise to be nicer.

Like that'll happen anytime soon.