BACK IS BLACK

I want to discuss how hot it is outside, but looking back, I've already written extensively on the topic. That's not to say that every hot day is the same, I mean some melt popsicles faster than others, but I don't want you to feel like I have 100 hot day anecdotes filed away in a shoe box mistakenly labelled "Polaroids of boys with silly eyes". The silly eye box actually has my collection of magazine ads with lingerie models who look like Christopher Lloyd, which I keep in case the Internet breaks so I can quench people's thirst for memes and become king of the new world. Are you confused? I hope so. Everything I own is mislabeled in case my worst fear comes true where moving companies take over the world by stealing and moving everyone's stuff to a dog-guarded, cat-encrusted mega warehouse where they'll stage a garage sale that will make them the richest labour force in the modern world, richer than the guys who clean volcanoes . If the unthinkable happens, I'm covered. Good luck categorizing my shit, AMJ Campbell.

Don't worry, I'm not actually going to stop myself from spewing out sentences about myself living in summer. I'm a mature man now. I own two bathing suits. One's for oceans, lakes and chlorine pools and the other is for ponds, rivers and streams. Just joking, they're both for water no matter where it gurgles, except that one is aimed at making blondes melt while the other gets the brunettes weak at the knees. I keep laminated copies of my phone number stashed in each suit's underpant lining just in case I meet a hot slice of Eve down in the depths.

Surprisingly, I haven't heard too many people complain about this latest stretch of heat. You know what would stop people complaining altogether? Palm trees. Palm trees looks like a reggae man's head, produce delicious palm treats (genus - nut, species - coconut) and can be found in Earth's mist acceptable hot ass places. When it's hot outside and I stop to scope out an extra-white birch tree I'm all like "you make me want to hang myself". You see, deciduous trees are just like us - they hate squirrels and they change with the seasons, so when we look at the them it's like we're looking at our frowning selves staring back at us. When you look at a palm tree you see Summer Dude who cringes at sweaters and has never even tasted snow.

Not THE summer dude, but A summer dude

Here's a summer poem written last summer. That means it's "vintage" now and THAT means it's smellier and cheaper but more fashionable than last time.

The Weather this summer

Holy shit it’s been hot
Imagine you were a bear?

Those guys have body beards
And sweat their fair share

Hairy men suffer too
But enough with the gents

Are tits like insulators?
Are vaginas like vents?

Maybe women are like camels
Their humps keep them icy

But hot milk goes sour
Does heat make tits smell not nicey?

Picture a bear with big tits
she’d be in summer hell

Full circle poem huh?
Hot, bear, tits, milk, camels

This one is all wrapped up
So feel the damn heat

And men just remember boys
Chill out your wife’s teats