Where Tin complains about the weather
Jun. 12th, 2006 01:40 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tinhuvielNine Inch Nails is perfect Summer music. You feel like you're listening to Hell's soundtrack and it just seems to fit perfectly with the South Carolina heat. The only difference is that I do not want to fuck anyone like an animal. I don't want that close to any-damned-body. Keep your animal fuckery away from me unless you're wearing an ice-encrusted body condom. Then, come rub all over me, baby! I'm hot! Not hot as in sexay, but hot as in I'm roasting in my own juices, this is ungodly, please help!
The question keeps arising in my bubbling brain: Can you imagine what it's going to be like in August? Sadly, I can imagine it, and it terrifies me. It's not scary on a "oh gee, this is gonna be uncomfy" level; rather, it's scary on a "all the meteorologists from the Weather Channel are circled about me in black robes and chanting 'burn in hell burn in hell' level. The Weather Channel is going to air a new show called It WILL Happen Tomorrow, featuring South Carolina spontaneously combusting and leaving what looks like a skid mark in Axl Rose's underpants on the map of the United States of America.
I would rather be hit in the left temple with a large hammer than to tolerate one more Summer day here in The South. I would rather have my eyes eaten out by emaciated turkey buzzards than have to see one more Southern sunrise. I would rather be buggered by desperately angry outcasts from Oz than be reminded that it isn't even Summer yet.
There's a host of people who've pointed out that I live so close to the Waystation, that I could walk to work. Why, yes, yes I could walk to work, if the people here didn't mind a wet, miserable soul, gibbering with the madness only the Southern sun can bring teetering in to do her job for 8 hours, if she lasted that long after having suffered a heat stroke. Thanks, but I'll reserve the walking to the 2.5 days of Autumn we might be afforded this year, if we survive the Summer.
The question keeps arising in my bubbling brain: Can you imagine what it's going to be like in August? Sadly, I can imagine it, and it terrifies me. It's not scary on a "oh gee, this is gonna be uncomfy" level; rather, it's scary on a "all the meteorologists from the Weather Channel are circled about me in black robes and chanting 'burn in hell burn in hell' level. The Weather Channel is going to air a new show called It WILL Happen Tomorrow, featuring South Carolina spontaneously combusting and leaving what looks like a skid mark in Axl Rose's underpants on the map of the United States of America.
I would rather be hit in the left temple with a large hammer than to tolerate one more Summer day here in The South. I would rather have my eyes eaten out by emaciated turkey buzzards than have to see one more Southern sunrise. I would rather be buggered by desperately angry outcasts from Oz than be reminded that it isn't even Summer yet.
There's a host of people who've pointed out that I live so close to the Waystation, that I could walk to work. Why, yes, yes I could walk to work, if the people here didn't mind a wet, miserable soul, gibbering with the madness only the Southern sun can bring teetering in to do her job for 8 hours, if she lasted that long after having suffered a heat stroke. Thanks, but I'll reserve the walking to the 2.5 days of Autumn we might be afforded this year, if we survive the Summer.
