Damn, it is hot down here. Not just hot. Hawt. Bastard hawt. It's like someone fed the Sun some extra spicy chili, and the fiery ball of fusion is shitting a plasma storm of bright, bright death onto the state of Georgia.
This week in Macon, we're expecting 5 days where the temperature will meet, exceed, and possibly decimate 100 degrees. My air conditioning is working overtime. That poor bastard is hiring illegal Mexican A/C units to work night shifts for him just so he can take a fucking break.
The heat nailed me and Kell this past weekend when we took a short trip down to Savannah. Being in Macon, the drive doesn't present too much of a challenge... unless you're dying of heat stroke on the return trip. Which I was. Fuh-GOW, Savannah's humidity was off the charts. I'm not just talking about regular charts either. The weather people shipped in charts from Shaolin temples, and the humidity still could not be contained... nor even comprehended. At one point, the humidity reached 115%. The very illogical nature of that number nearly created a rip in space, time, and sanity.
But's it all good, people. As the midday Sun baked Kelly and I into crispy McNuggets, I killed a few homeless people (in Savannah, a few won't be missed) and created a makeshift tent for shade.
When that didn't work, I bought us some shaved ice! WOOOOOOO!
What's cooler than cool? The wisdom of Outkast would say unto thee, "Ice cold." I smashed that shaved ice right down my throat. I've never felt better about damaging my internal organs with frost bite.
Side note: Never... never ever... NEVAH try to check in early to a Savannah hotel. They tell you it is possible, but their words are lies filled with untruth and venom and kryptonite.
In any case, next time I attempt a visit to the historic city by the river filled with homeless people, I will do so in the winter.
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