Even The Donuts Hate Me Tonight.

Summertime is here, and it's hot. It's just so damned hot. I mean to say it's hot where I live. I don't know where you live, Dear Imaginary Reader, and if I'm being honest, I don't really care. The heat's getting to me, I think.

I'm sitting in the dark, thinking about how hot it is outside, and I'm filled with dread because I know this is only just the beginning. It's only the end of June, after all. Things won't begin to cool down around here until mid-September. That feels so far away at the moment, distressingly out of reach. 

So how's your Summer going? Me, I can't complain. That's not strictly true, of course. I can and do complain whenever I so choose. I think people can always find something to complain about. Even if things are just peachy fucking keen, we can still complain. We're nitpickers by nature.
 

Actually, I suppose we are literally nitpickers by nature. It's an ape thing. You've all seen the chimpanzees at the zoo, grooming each other in that fastidious manner, patiently sifting through their companion's hair in search of little creepy crawlies. That's nitpicking. That's us. 

So we can always complain. When we say we "can't" complain, what we're really saying is we choose not to complain. Here I am, complaining about the oppressive seasonal heat, which has become something of a running gag here on this wretched little blog. That's nitpicking, really. 

After all, it's not like Summer snuck up on me. I knew it was coming. It happens every year. And when Summer arrives, it brings the heat. That's just part of the package. Awful, awful heat. 

I still bitch and moan about it, because hot weather makes me absolutely miserable, but it's really an unavoidable side effect of living in most parts of this miserable world. I've come to accept this, despite my misgivings, because there's really nothing I can do about it. 

Aside from complaining, of course. 

I finally finished watching Dark Shadows a few weeks ago. 1,125 episodes. That was quite the journey. It took me six months, but I got it done. Five long years of endlessly convoluted supernatural melodrama, and now it's all over. I already miss the Collins family, those poor, beleaguered souls of Collinsport, Maine. I suppose I can always visit, if I'm so inclined, and I believe I will from time to time. But for a little while, I was a resident, a fly on the wall witness to a series of bizarre and bloodcurdling events that occurred in and around that haunting, romantic old estate called Collinwood. 

Ah, my blu-ray of Howling II: Your Sister Is A Werewolf has arrived. This pleases me.

But before I disappear into a haze of B-movie ridiculousness, allow me to introduce the latest episode of Sweep The Leg, Johnny! This episode, entitled Nerds Gonna Nerd, deals mostly with how far former talented sane person Frank Miller has fallen in recent years, the abject stupidity of the comic book mini-series Spider-Man: Reign, and why Gotham is a terrible idea for a TV program.

So enjoy it:

Chapter 86: Nerds Gonna Nerd



I guess that's it. That's all I've got for now. I suppose I might return in a few days to mark the anniversary of the birth of the failed experiment that was the United States of America, but I'm not totally committed to that. I may have more important things to do, like drinking myself to death while watching reruns of It's Always Sunny In Philadelphia. It's all up in the air right now. So yeah.

THIS IS THE END OF WRESTLING.