Tales from the Hangover

No, not from drinking. Every time I actually slip and a have a few, it feels like I've swallowed several pints of raw Hell. And let me tell you, there is pain in passing Hell through your digestive system.

Anyone who has seen a U.S. weather report may have noted that the southwest is experiencing what is locally described as "fucking hot" weather. Pretty much the hottest July/August on record, not so much with max temperatures as every day being over 110, and it never cooling off ever. I've never missed the concept of cool weather more. I have erotic dreams about shivering from a cold breeze.

Perspective, right?

When I get in the mood to really start bitching, I do that thing us old fucks do, reminisce about when times were really hard. Like when I was a kid and going on vacation meant mom kicked dad out of the house. That meant we could actually watch the shows we enjoyed on television and we didn't have to tip-toe in the morning for fear of rousing the hung over grouchy bastard. I've been through worse.