un temps merdique

I take the expression "It's the pits" to mean "It's just like my armpits."

A: How's the weather today?
B: It's the pits.

That about sums up the humidity issue. However, there's an interesting wrinkle: it's worse inside our buildings than outside. Why? Because some administrative butthole made a command decision, over the weekend, to conserve power by not switching on the central A/C unless temps rose above 30 degrees Celsius (86 Fahrenheit).

This ties in to the question of energy waste and efficiency. How, exactly, does it help matters to make people suffer now in order to avoid the suffering of our children later?

Before you reply that I'm just being a selfish bastard, consider this: my testicles are constantly manufacturing spermatozoa that may or may not be fired in a vaguely womanward direction at some unknown point in the future. The testicles are housed in a scrotal sac whose purpose is to keep the sperm happy and mobile. Sperm motility is a crucial indicator of semen quality; if my spoo is malfunctioning, I'm likely to father a series of demented freaks. Does the world really need more untouchables? More drooling, seven-fingered idiots who gleefully shit on grandmothers and whack off, shrieking, in the echoing interiors of cathedrals?

Mark my words: today's warmth is tomorrow's lazy sperm, and tomorrow's lazy swimmers are 2026's Third Division of the Army of the Damned-- a vast horde of the malformed, a throng of brachiating morons rampaging through the streets, dry-humping trees, devouring house pets, and vomiting their names in the snow.

All in the name of saving some power. Is this really what you want on your hands, Smoo Admin? Fine. Then be prepared to sow what you reap, because my frog-eyed, web-footed progeny are coming, baby. And after they're done fucking you through the earholes, they're taking over the entire city.

WHO RULES BARTERTOWN?


_