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Mr. Wrong

Yet Hot American Summer

Emily Flake

By Joe MacLeod | Posted 8/9/2006

Hey, news flash: Itís still Summer, OK? In point of fact and Exhibit A, if you will, on my Gregorian Calendar, itís fucking August, the eighth month of the year, which is in the Summer, so keep that back-to-school bullshit crap outta my face for another month, dig?

September is "back to school," not August, and I donít care if youíre in school right now, and I donít care if you go back to school in August, itís not back to fucking school yet, and itís not time for Fall Fashion, and itís not Fall, itís Summer in the fucking city, got it?

And fuck you and your back-to-school buy-a-new-laptop with the fingerprint-ID thing, whichever computer company that is. Itís like, my fingerprint is sweating and itís August, as in Not yet the Season of Fall, but on the teevee itís the next OBEY/CONSUME season, you know? And all these goddamn ads for the new teevee shows in the Fall? First of all, whatís with all these bummer shows about people stealing shit and being professional scumbag lawyers? Jeez, donít we all get enough of that in our respective day-to-days? And for fuckís sake, youíre not making me like Live on the Sunset Studio 360 or whatever the fuck itís called more than I wanna like it now since I havenít seen it yet, umkay? And fuck you for that Netflix early-ordering of free-teevee show premieres scheme. Iím loyal enough to my fucking network teevee, donít push it.

Anyway, itís Summer, man, so, like, quit Autumning all over my Summer. Iím still sweating bullets down my hind crevice on my bike, and on the goddamn commercials itís fucking Old Navy or whatever with clothes for Fall and back-to-school. Fuck you. Iím still looking for a pair of madras shorts, man, so back the fuck off with the Fall fashions. I wanted some nice madras shorts, you know? They are light and comfortable, so whatís the deal with the shortage of madras shorts, hah? I thought madras was, like, a classic material or something, jeez, but they got fucking argyle sweater vests on sale at the Old Navy and itís a hundred fucking millionkabillion degrees outside, where it is August, as in Summer.

And speaking of more shit that I donít like, fuckers, you right now quit telling me I gotta take a sleeping pill before I go to sleep just because in my mind Iím running things over, things I gotta do tomorrow, you know? Itís called thinking, and I understand They donít want us to do that shit anymore, and so if youíre telling me if it interferes with my sleep I gotta drug myself, well, then I reject your diagnosis, Doctor Motherfucker. Everybody should lose a little sleep once in a while, especially if it means they are working their brain while they are not thinking, but if itís, like, to the point where you really canít sleep, then thatís what my friend Television is for, man, I guarantee it. I prescribe you one of those Law and Order: Criminal Intent marathons on the teevee, man, seriously, youíre gonna be stackiní Zís before Vincent DíOnofrio starts gettiní all Psychological and/or annoying on The Suspect. And if youíre all worried in your head about, like: Wow, I couldnít sleep because I was lying awake wondering if I should take a pill like my teevee told me I should whenever I canít sleep due to too much thinking in my brain and now Iím trying to be a good citizen and watching some Law and Order as a way to dampen the hum in my skull from all those thoughts flyiní around in there but now I donít wanna fall asleep because I need to see whodunit because Iím never gonna catch this particular episode of the Law and Order ever again because, fuck, man, thereís like a quadzillion episodes of the L&O out there, and, damn, I gotta know who the Killer is, man, but the other night when I couldnít sleep when I drove by the Walgreens, where they keep all the drugs, and the red dot-sign with all my Instructions on it said 150 ct filler $3, and thatís just some bullshit, man, itís not back to school yet, why they gotta be doing loose-leaf paper price announcements when itís so boiling humid hot Summer out here and still not even close to being Fall, and then I go inside the Rite-Aid because whatís the difference, Walgreens, CVS, Rite-Aid, Happy effing Harry, itís all just part of the Habitrail now itís gotta be thereís a fucking drugstore on every goddamn corner and the Rite-Aid down the street sells beer, which is perfect, and they got goddamn fucking cough drops, the Ricola and the Halls Mentho-Lyptus at the checkout, but itís not fucking Autumn yet, man, they got the cold-weather shit out and Iím sweating and canít find any madras shorts and Zzz-z-zznxxx . . .

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