New York City at 100 Degrees Fahrenheit
A storm just broke over the city. It spilled its guts all over us. It broke up temperatures that had reached the upper nineties for three days in a row and pushed in some storm-cooled air flowing down out of good ole Canada. In an attempt to find out what level of Hell New York City at 100 degrees fahrenheit was at, I came across the Dante's Inferno Test:
It's a long test, but, damn, it's pretty accurate. I was sent to the 2nd Level of Hell by the testmeister general--the level where they send the lustful. I took the test as a woman thus my landing in a rather tame level--a perpetual wind tosses me around a stormy sea for eternity. It's a fun site; lots of other tests on it besides this Dante Inferno Test.
I took the blasted heat until I could take it no more so I got me to me Irish pub up the street and drank Heinekens and eventually ended up eating a Kansas City 7 steak ( a T-bone cut in half), topped off with my favorite, vanilla ice cream crowned with a shot of Kahlua [didja ever hear of a Flaming Bozo?]. Very cute waitress from Longford; my lust ranneth over.
When you live on the 2nd Level of Hell--my room here in Gotham--your ambitions are thwarted by the heat but not your lusts. That's why you land in the wind storm--your lusts are already fiery so they need cooling, which is hell on a soul who wants its lust out of control. All I lust for in this heat is something cold. And, Hell yes I caved in. I thought I could bear a little time in a tiger cage, a little time in a sweatlodge, a little time in hell, but, nope, I chickened out. I caved. I ran into that air-conditioned pub and I wallowed in cool luxury for three hours. Then the rains that delayed the Yankee-Seattle game came and swooned the temps back into their normal ranges, and my room is now clammy but almost grandly cool.
Sparse are the thoughts of a man in Hell.
for The Daily Growler
Sparse though these past few blog posts have been, they were written under duress.
Condo-leasing Rice is making peace between Israel and Palestine. Yeah sure.
The "president" let fly a curse word--oh my God, he said SHIT. Shit yeah he said shit and he says shit every other word, and he says fuck, too; but all the media think it's so cute, except one anchor jerk who said, "I say that word and I get fined by HIS FCC," then he realized how he had a cool job and he shut the F up on that line of thinking. Everyone in the World of War thinks it's cute of Baby George, Little Georgie Porgie to cuss. "He's so precious when he says 'shit'." How precious this idiot is to the media; that knocks me a couple'a blocks closer to the Belleview Hospital Psychiatric Ward, which is right straight dead-end up the street from me.
I just saw a headline on teevee that said "An End to e-Mail?" so now I have to go checking to see what the hell that means. Nope, I couldn't find a thing about that. I did see where AT&T's gonna get to testify in secret instead of before We the People on charges AT&T helped our Grand Little Boy-Cute "President" spy on us, giving forth all our phone records, to hell with our privacy--and the little Bush boy keeps on playing "president" like a spoiled little rich brat and everybody thinks he's cute, except those horrified innocent Baghdadian men and women and children under 24/7 fear of whether in this their new DEMOCRACY they are going to make it alive through another day, they sure don't think this little polecat is cute. Even their children have deep fear in their eyes. I cuss, man, I cuss because I grew up thinking war was a fun kid's game; those Iraqi kids know even as babies war ain't no fun, and it ain't no kid's game, though it is being fought by kids and a lot of those kids are taking it for a game, too--OH MY GOD, I'M GETTING FIERY AGAIN. Pub time. Don't look in their eyes; that's how you tell the guilty from the innocent. The guilty show no fear.
for The Daily Growler
We apologize for our procrastination.