It Begins

My heart feels like a ripe peach, so full of sweet juice that it hurts. I should stick a needle in my heart to get rid of some of the juice. That would have to be some long needle, and it would probably hurt. Heavens, it would probably send me to Hell.

It's the weather that does this. Not so much the weather itself, but rather its effect on the ladies' clothing choices. There's only so much flesh I can handle before I have to cage myself at night. Otherwise I'll go into feral cat mode: spraying trees and rubbing my face against people's legs, getting locked up by the police, facing assault and lewd conduct charges, spending my life savings on a team of lawyers, and getting off because I'm a cute white boy who cries easily.

Ah, the heat. The heat makes it so I dare not wear a pair of boxer shorts for more than one day. If I do, I spend the second day ill with anxiety and constantly hunched over, sniffing at my crotch and wondering if that pungent odor is coming from me or the Korean restaurant down the street.

I love summer.