No Habla A/C

Well, I'm just going to pretend I live in England. I can't get anyone to return my phone call re: my air conditioner. Junie said he'd call back. He didn't. I called again. No voice mail, no nothing. No habla a/c? Pendejo!



I'll look at the bright side: at least my electric bill will be really, really low this summer. And if there's another black-out? These Enron/ConEd fucks can't blame me for zapping out all the current.



The Fatkins Flopping Syndrome has already begun: Miss Muffin takes two or three steps then thrusts herself dramatically onto the floor. It's very "Hamlet", really, Kenneth Branagh would be impressed. That's what I get for having a window that faces the sun directly from sunrise to sunset. My front room will be 98 degrees and I ain't talkin' crappo boy bands, either.



If you see me imitating Miss Muffin, just call an ambulance. Heat stroke is going to be lots of fun.