Hello? Can you hear me? Are you receiving my transmissions? Ah, good. This is Will Peterman coming to you live from the surface of the sun. It’s currently a balmy 9,980 degrees Fahrenheit, and I am currently experiencing the equivalent of 1,000,000 microwaves worth of radiation…wait. Hold on. I’m getting a message in my earpiece. Oh, dear. Oh my. I have a shocking announcement: I’m not actually on the surface of the sun. I’m currently sitting in my apartment where the recorded temperature is 96 degrees at 3:45pm, and I’m hallucinating that I’m giving a local tv news report from space.
Y’all, it sucks so much here right now. It’s so god damn hot. All those years people spent fucking around (with coal and crude oil and natural gasses) and here we are, finding out (with crippling heat waves). It’s so hot that we went away for a few days and all of our plants died. It’s so hot that the hand lotion on our bedside table completely melted and is now a permanent piece of the furniture. IT’S SO HOT that I can’t even think of a funny third escalation to this joke!
We don’t have central air in our apartment. We don’t even have a window unit. We do have a floor A/C unit, though. Unfortunately, our apartment building was built during the medieval dark ages, I assume, since the wiring is so shitty that if we try to run the A/C in our living room, even with everything else unplugged, our circuit breakers trip instantly. Well, we figured out that if we plant the A/C in the bedroom and close the door, we can have one room where you can’t cook an egg on the floor.
So, for the times when sitting in the bedroom isn’t viable (like when I’m crafting these wonderful, perfect, FREE essays for you all) I’ve developed a system for surviving in the sauna that is our living room. Step one, open up all the windows and pray as hard as you can for a breeze. Step two, get some rags, soak them, and toss ‘em in the freezer. Once those bad boys are almost solid, put one on your neck and one on the top of your head and for a moment, you’ll feel as if you were some kind of king or queen who can afford a living space with working A/C. Step three, get really mad. I’m talking like extremely grumpy. Let every little thing bother you 100 times more than it should. Neighbor closes the door too loud? Incredibly mad. Knock your phone off the desk? Easily as angry as The Hulk. Realize you’re hungry but cooking food would mean introducing even more heat into the already sweltering kitchen? Fury with the force of 1000 suns all of which are currently blasting heat into your living room. Step four, write an essay about it. This one is going to be hard because it’s hot enough that your brain is probably melting out of your ears, so make sure to proofread a little extra closely because there will be planty of tims when u lose focud nd iT get hrd 2 tipe gud, spetially wen da kaibord start melttting.
So, what about you? Got any hot tips (get it? Because it’s unbelievably hot out) to dodge the heat?
Cold showers. That’s the only way.
They say comedy comes out of pain, which may explain why this one is so damn funny. Absolutely hysterical, and as they also say, "it's funny because it's true." Then again, Trump is a morbidly obese sociopath with a complexion that says "I just ate my way out of a vat of whatever those orange marshmallow peanut candies are called," and that's true but not...no, actually now that I've written it, it is a little funny. But I digress. This was a great one. You deserve a nicer apartment. And a very happy birthday. I hope you get both!