My central AC conked out last night. It’ll be tomorrow before it gets fixed. So, as I sit in front of the one window unit and large fan that I coaxed out of retirement, why, what do I see but the universe mocking me with vicious irony:

Yeah, it’s July, but this is ridiculous. Ri. Dic. U. Lous. The coolest places east of the Rockies are Tampa and Houston? Madness. Yesterday, we only broke eight all-time record highs. Today we’re likely to do a little better

Which is appropriate! Today, we celebrate an important anniversary: the 110th birthday of the air conditioner.

Oh, isn’t that just perfect, fuck you very much. Seriously, I utterly fucking loathe summer. There’s not a single redeeming feature of it. I want to hang and burn it in effigy. As far as I care, the months from early May to late September can just cease to exist. Sorry about any birthdays or anniversaries that get caught up in the purge, but even a just war produces some collateral damage.