It’s the Fourth of July and it is hot. Here in Vacation Land, that is.
My children are all in Texas and they are all wet, rivers running in the streets. Here it is hot and dry.

How hot is it, you ask? I know you didn’t ask, but give me a break.

It is hotter than a $2 pistol at the battle of Bull Run. It’s hotter than your first date. Or maybe your last one. It’s “almost” as hot as your first car. Although there is room for discussion here it is hotter than when you first, shall we say, “discovered” yourself.

The all time show stopper is, of course, it’s hotter than Hell. There are no witnesses to this claim but just saying it perhaps makes the would be perpetrator think twice. I’m taking my chances myself.

Even though I decided early on to take the day off, I did dutifully attend to my exercise program. I knew it was hot when I could feel the sweat running down my back and through the crack of my ass. ( I’ll remember this particular pleasure sometimes in March )

It’s so hot I had a beer at 4 PM! Hell, it is, after all the Fourth of July!

It’s hot. And I love it.

1 Comment

  1. <html><head></head><body style="word-wrap: break-word; -webkit-nbsp-mode: space; -webkit-line-break: after-white-space; ">Hey Rog, I am sure there are no security cams at the pond of choice, so go on in. &nbsp;Love to feel the coolness as you enter the murky deep.<div><br><div><div></div></div></div></body></html>

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