It Ain’t the Heat? Bullshit!

Checked the temp for today on the weather thingie (that’s the technical term). Says it’s 33 degrees, to which I can only respond, “The weather thingie is broken.”
There’s a little widget that indicates a “Feels Like” temperature. It says 46. The little Feels Like widget knows what it’s talking about. Jesus On Skis, it’s fuckin’ HOT. Summer in Taiwan…
What’s that saying about mad dogs and Englishmen? Not even the English are crazy enough to venture out in the blistering inferno that is Taiwan from June through September.

Global warming, my ass! Take your damn CO2 emissions and stuff ’em. I’m sick of all this fear mongering over the environment when the problem is clearly that someone (and I suspect George Bush, ‘cuz he’s to blame for every damn thing else) has yanked the sun out of it’s normal position in the center of our solar system and hauled it a few dozen million miles closer to Taiwan.
There’s no other explanation for the blast furnace that greeted me the other morning when I walked out the door. The worst part was that it was only 9:00 AM when I first realized my skin was literally melting off my skull. I dashed into the nearest 7-11 and crawled into the ice cream freezer, trying to figure out how to get to work and remain solid at the same time.
I bought eight bags of ice, crammed seven of them into my clothes, strapped one under my helmet and made for the bike. That was my second mistake. Usually, the breeze created by flying down the street at high speed is a refreshing break from the heat. Not this day. The faster I went, the hotter the wind blew. As far as I can figure, China has abandoned their short-range ballistic missiles for a giant fucking blow dryer set to “Roast.” By the time I’d covered a block, I was trailing such great streams of melt water that small children with inner tubes were playing in my wake.

Thank God for the convenience stores! The sheer concentration of them seems ridiculous until the thermometer begins its seasonal climb to dangerous levels. It doesn’t take too many 40 degree, 92 percent relative humidity days before you become profoundly thankful for the air-conditioned goodness that soothes you as you enter the Family Mart. I’m pretty sure the clerks are beginning to wonder if I’m ever going to buy a popsicle, or just stand there with my entire torso stuck deep into the icebox, patiently browsing.


2 Responses

  1. I think it’s actually spelled ‘thingy’

  2. Perhaps. If I can get it hooked back up to it’s counterpart – the majigger – I’ll check the instructional booklet

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