It’s hot. Damn hot real hot! Hot as things, my shorts, I can cook things in ’em. Little crash-pot cooking.
Fool! I told you ‘gain, were you born on the sun? It’s damn hot!
Look, I tell you it’s so damn hot, those little guys in the orange robes just burst into flames! It’s that damn hot!
(interlude and Walter Cronkite mumblings, then:)
Basically, it’s hotter than a snake’s ass in a wagon rut.
– the best I can remember from Good Morning Vietnam
And it’s apt, too. It’s incredibly hot here in the Land of the Chosen. It’s that kind of heat that hurts your cheeks and makes your eyelashes sweat…somehow. It’s exciting for me to see my truck’s outside temperature gauge climb into the 30C’s, bu the novelty is wearing off quickly.
Granted, it is currently a mere 33C here in Hollywood, while it is a soul-burning 42C in Phoenix right now; but if you live in the desert you’ve gotta come to expect that sort of thing. We are more fragile here in Hollywood. There are various precious silicone things one must thing about. There is botox that could rupture. There is dyed hair that could frizz beyond repair. Pity us.