Tuesday, August 08, 2006

did I mention I hate summer?

My scrotum and I agree: summer sucks.

Yesterday, we Seoulites experienced a glorious, mid-afternoon thunderstorm... for barely an hour. Huge, fat raindrops. A bit of cool, a bit of cloud. I had contemplated stopping what I was doing and getting my hike in while the rain lasted. The idea had only enough time to bloom in my fevered skull before God turned off the waterworks and brought that taskmaster, Brother Sun, back to fix us with its baleful glare.

Today, the five-minute walk from the local bank to my dorm was enough to make me look as though I'd wet my pants: rivulets of sweat gathered from all points of the bodily compass and poured down my bee-hind. The backs of my thighs were soaked. I'm about to step out again; am now wearing my Gore-Tex running pants (in which I never run) to prevent the world from seeing the awful goings-on just south of my crotch. Not gonna be pretty: these pants encourage sweat.

More summertime haiku fo' yo' ass:

when the sun beats down
superheated testes have
been known to explode

Sol, that angry god
transforms us into godlings
my asshole shoots flame

perineum drowns
crotch hairs, waving in the stream
--how like kelp they are

horrid gasping noise
but my mouth is not open
better check my pants


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