Blood Is Thicker Than Urine

It's been so goddamned hot this past month, I thought the world was coming to an end. The leaves on the trees were shriveling like... well, like leaves shriveling in the oppressive heat of an old, malfunctioning oven, perhaps. Perhaps I could have chosen a better analogy there. The heat must be getting to me.

Where was I? Right, it's fucking hot. At least it was hot. Don't get me wrong, Dear Imaginary Reader, it's still hot. It's just not quite as hot as it used to be. In my neck of the woods, anyway. Trees might be spontaneously combusting where you live, but it's cooling down just a bit where I hang my hat. I don't have a hat, but that is a common expression, so I'm using it here.

I used to have a hat. A ridiculously large cowboy hat that was given to me as a birthday gift from my father. But my father's an asshole, so I never wore it. Just to spite him. I used to worry that I would spontaneously combust. For several years, every time I felt inexplicably warm I feared that it was finally happening to me. I was certain I would shortly burst into flames and die an agonizing death in my comfortable second-hand chair. Then I stopped caring about everything and just let it go.
Nihilism is a wonderful thing, my friends.

The point I'm trying to make has something to do with the hot weather that most of our rapidly disintegrating nation has been experiencing as of late. The Heat Bubble Of Doom hung over our heads for many a day, and the angry, angry sun punished us with a perverse glee. Then it started to rain several days ago, and the Heat Bubble Of Doom burst like Mr. Creosote after sucking down that wafer-thin mint in Monty Python's The Meaning Of Life.

I stood out in that deluge, arms raised high like Andy Dufresne after he crawled through a river of shit, and I gave thanks to Rll'hor, the pagan god of fire, for answering my prayers and numerous small animal sacrifices. Now if only a real rain would come and wash all the scum off the streets...
But that's not important right now. The real reason why I, the Laziest Man In Kansas (Four years running!) have graced you with the gift of my words is to present the latest installment of the most popular podcast on the internet, The Podcast Of Lies! I gotta tell ya, this one's a real doozy.

Recorded some time last year, mostly in a moving automobile (!), this podcast goes to some pretty dark places. If you think humorous discussions of late-term abortion and rape aren't funny, then why are you reading this blog? But it you're a sick fuck like me and my deranged cousin Ky, then you're going to have a ball! Just sit back, relax, and try not to vomit as you let the comedy stylings of The Rock 'n' Roll Abortion Clinic wash over your precious eardrums.

And as you listen, keep this in mind: the podcasts only get worse (or better, depending on your point of view) from here on out. Enjoy!

P.S. - Those reviews I promised in the previous post? They're still coming. Eventually. I'm just so fucking lazy. After all, I have to defend my title, which means more to me than life itself. Not my life. Yours, maybe. My life is precious to me.