Mother Nature must have a fever

It’s absurdly hot out today. It’s so hot, Hot 97 blazin’ hip hop and R&B changed their name to Moderate compared to today’s weather 97 and tepid R&B. It’s so hot that I tossed a box of spaghetti into the east river and in six minutes, it was ready to serve-indescribably disgusting filth aside. It’s so hot ants are burning on the asphalt without sadistic kids holding magnifying glasses overhead. It’s so hot if I had to choose whether to adjust the temperature to a slightly warmer level or a slightly cooler level, without hesitation I would opt to lower the temperature. Seriously, I wouldn’t even deliberate. It’s so hot that when I tried to put on some anti-perspirant earlier today it just laughed at me and said “I’m not getting paid nearly enough to work this damn hard.” It’s so hot that the heat index is actually the heat middle finger today, meaning fuck you, that’s how hot it is.

If you ever find yourself in the unenviable situation of having somebody tell you they love you when you don’t feel the same way, rather than crushing them with a lack of reciprocity, tell them you love them too. Then at a later time, ideally when both of you have had a couple of drinks, tell them that when you said “I love you too,” you meant love in the tennis scoring sense. They’ll probably get confused and or upset depending on their familiarity with the game of tennis, but hey, that’s your mess to figure out. I already got you out of the initial I love you predicament- you’re on your own now.

I want to produce a spin-off of MTV’s show Room Raiders called Womb Raiders in which 3 guys judge single pregnant women solely based on the condition of their womb. I figure that would make for better television than Womb Raiders was about abortions.

How many people buy Brita's thinking, sweet! Nice cold, purified water anytime I need it. Then it comes time to change the filter and you go to the drugstore or supermarket and you see that those things cost like $15 bucks a pop and you just say fuck it, tap water isn't going to kill me. Me too.

Yesterday I interviewed with a guy for a new show on ESPN classic. He used the phrase the whole megillah thrice in the ten minutes we spoke. That was three more times than I had previously heard the phrase in my entire life. I wish I had found a way to smoothly incorporate the whole megillah into my thank you email because it’s important your employers know you “speak their language.” Alas, I’m not sure I get the whole gestalt of the meaning of the whole megillah.

Also yesterday I went to one of my favorite area comedians Andres Dubouchet’s weekly show. I planned on attending and asking Andres afterwards if I could perform sometime in the future. Five minutes after the show’s scheduled start time Andres approached me and asked if I would want to perform. Apparently a booked guest did not show. I agreed to fill in and gave the crowd six minutes of not so well disguised prepared at the last minute material. All things considered it went pretty well. I am going to return and perform a more polished set on July 26th. Mark your calendars. Anyone ever looking for something fun and free to do on a Tuesday night ought to check out Andres and co. show. It’s delightfully silly. Here’s that info.

As long as you’ve got your pen out to mark your calendars, put a little some sumpin’ for next Wednesday, the final Rejection show before a little summer hiatus.

Here’s wishing you speedy relief from your sweat-drenched (groin area) discomfort.

p.s Happy Birthday Cookie!

p.p.s. I don't actually use anti-perspirant. It makes my pits feel awful, all suffocated and dry yet simultaneously sticky. I hate it.