It’s already Halloween and the sun’s still glowing like a Fourth of July sparkler. We’re roasting down here, and that just ain’t right. You know what else isn’t right? I just saw my neighbor pacing the sidewalk in sweaty Joker makeup, no shirt and a Speedo eating a melted Almond Joy. (At least I hope it was an Almond Joy.) It was enough to make me want to turn on the Bat Signal, and by “Bat Signal” I mean my garden hose and spray him away from my front lawn.
Just this past Monday is was 90 degrees. Ninety degrees! If it had been nine degrees hotter it would have been officially cooler on the inside of my body.
This time of year in other parts of the country the leaves change color because it’s autumn. In the Inland Empire, the leaves change color because the trees are on fire. Our birds are too freakin‘ hot to fly south for the winter. Our animals don’t even hibernate. They just fall down and pass out from heat stroke.
It’s raining and snowing almost everywhere else except in the Inland Empire. Why is that Mother Nature? Why is it that when the weatherman shows a map of the United States, where we live there’s a laughing cartoon devil with a pitchfork and little screaming people running away from lava? Sometimes the weather guy doesn’t even bother to give the five-day forecast for the IE. He just shakes his head and starts praying.
Are you mad at the Inland Empire about something, Mother Nature? Because whatever it is we did, we’re sorry. We’re especially apologetic for all those jagoffs with the monster trucks, “tribal” art tattoos and the “Not of This World” car stickers. Then again, I can’t blame you. I mean if I were you, Mother Nature, I’d probably try to use the sun’s rays to fry them to a charred crisp, too. Here’s a little hint: Next time use a magnifying glass. They’ll burn quicker.
I thought we had a deal, Mother Nature. Beginning with October you’re supposed to put the Heat Miser in the deep freeze. OK, maybe not the “deep freeze” but we’d settle for a couple of days in the 60s. C’mon, Mother Nature, don’t tell me you don’t remember the 60s either?
I don’t really care how you do it. Get one of those half-man, half-goat creatures to skip through downtown Riverside blowing into a pan flute and sprinkling pixie dust. Just make it rain once in a while so my gardener doesn’t look so ridiculous mowing the same patch of scorched earth in front of my house. Speaking of which, if lawns around here don’t start growing soon, most of our gardeners may be flying south of the border for winter, too, if you comprende my meaning.
Look, Mother Nature, I know how super busy you are, what with terrorizing Thailand with tsunamis and earthquakes every other month. But I bought this bitchin‘ velour track jacket at the Cabazon outlets and I can’t really wear it until the temperature dips below, ooh I don’t know, 85. And at this point I’m considering cutting the sleeves off of it. (Then again, in a sleeveless velour track jacket you might confuse me for one of those jagoffs with the monster trucks.)
My air conditioning has become encrusted in the “on” position since March and my electricity bill has more zeros in it than my 401k. It’d be nice if for once if I could just open a window to cool down and reinvest those funds into something more useful, say a decorative seasonal gourd.
Plus Thanksgiving and Christmas will be here before long and you know what that means? Love handles and a double chin. And I think we all can agree ’tis the season for a few less tank tops and a few more turtleneck sweaters.
So what do you say Mother Nature, how about a few more cold fronts, a drizzle my nizzle and a little fog for gosh sakes? Oh and I have a few names if you have any spare lightning bolts lying around.
Contact Jeff Girod at email@example.com