“Christ, what an asshole.”

114° out. Heading to 118. Street temps have been hitting 170. Brutal. Shvitzing doesn’t even describe it because the sweat evaporates as quickly as it forms, leaving behind crusted cakes of Lot’s wife. The chafe in my thighs would make Chafed proud. We get pit stains but no actual moisture.

Well, the mountains are lovely.

Birthdays, lest we forget, and there’s many of them today. The Holy Roman Empire managed to get two real winners in a row; a guy who took “get bent” literally; the last man who knew everything; a guy whose equations weren’t actually his (but was still the equal of Einstein); a guy you’ll remember the next time you see a concert; the REAL Sherlock Holmes (at least until Jeremy Brett came along); the British Mary Avara; a real polymath who figured out what happened to the dinosaurs; a guy who could tell you what your life was all about; the center square; a guy who walked the fine boundary between genius and madness; the guy who inspired generations of TPers; a candidate for the dumbest and least effective member of Congress; a guy who never quite shook off Alex deLarge; a piece of shit who was far less entertaining than his cousin Keith; an actor who is a real dick; and another two for one BOGO.

Whew. Now we’re ready for Links.

 

Breath of fresh air. America is back. Whatever.

 

How conveeeeeenient.

 

Wait, you mean my employer might have rights to see the shit I do that they pay me for? Horrors!

 

Those, poor, poor things.

 

Those poor, poor things.

 

Meet the new boss. Same as the old boss.

 

Old Guy Music is something easy and mellow to go with the heat-induced torpor. This guy is good. They ought to name a guitar after him.