None Like it Hot, or "Yes, I Put that Frozen Dinner in My Pants"

Normally, I keep the humor around here very highbrow. For an example just re-read my post extolling the virtues of card games, "Young People Play Cards, Senior Citizens Frightened at Loss of Pastime." Classy stuff indeed. If you need further proof of my sophistication as a writer check out my auto-biographical series "The Life and Times of the Drunken Rogue" the latest installment of which was my most viewed blog ever (thank you all very much). Today, I am afraid, I am tackling a subject that doesn't deserve classy discussion. In fact it calls for down and dirty frankness. (Is frankness a word? Forget it, I'm classy enough to cover up the invention of new words).

For those of you that live up north, or I suppose in the arctic (I do have international readers), you might not have noticed, but the rest of country (and most of the world) is currently suffering a sever heat wave (who knew Al Gore was right?). For those that have never lived in the swelter...I'm mean the south, let me try to give you some examples of the level of heat in this part of the country.

1. Rather than have to take a trip outside, the dog just stops drinking water, so as to avoid the need to pee.

2. Instead of brown bag lunches in the park, workers take popsicle breaks in the meat freezer.

3. You actually wonder if deodorant would work on parts of your body it was never designed for.

4. Morning coffee has been replaced with a double-shot icee.

5. Having a bully flush your head in the toilet just strikes you as refreshing.

The point is it's hot. Hot to the point where your day just becomes a series of short activities, divided by showers as you try to maintain some sort of personal hygiene. The good point is everyone else is also suffering so your sweating, panting and distinct odor are generally ignored. What are we to do, in this stifling heat that transforms even the most outgoing, active young man (which I am certainly not) into an air-condition loving, slothenly homebody (that's me!)?

I propose we adopt one of the more reasonable customs of our Latino friends, the siesta. The siesta, for the unacquainted (and know who you are), is a practice that helps the simple (and let's face it backward) peoples of the southern hemisphere (as well as parts of Asia, they're backward there too) escape the oppressive heat of the afternoon by enjoying a nap, or short sleep in the early afternoon. Workers are happy, because they work at more reasonable times of the day, and employers are happy because it increases productivity. But let's face it, the real reason everybody likes this whole "siesta" thing is that it lets you slip in a little "afternoon delight" before you head back to work. And who's not for that?

While our neighbors to the south have historically been known for their phenomenally bad ideas (Speedy Gonzales? Please), I believe they have hit on something with the "siesta." The name, though, has to go if we're going to market it to civilized...I mean, American people. With our fast paced lifestyles and love for technology I'm thinking something like, "Human Recharge 3000" or "MySleep" (to appeal to the social networking crowd). I think if we just told college kids it was bad for them (or used those annoying Mac vs. PC guys in the commercials) it could really take off.

So how did the dirty...I mean, noble Mexicans come up with something so ingenious? After doing some research, I have come to the conclusion that my Grandmother was right. Grandma always said that God favors the weakminded. Of course, Grandma also used to say that Mike Wallace was the illegitimate son of Hitler, so I'm not so sure how reliable Grandma really was. But she seems to be right about the Mexicans.

So what do you say? Let's do things the Mexican way! No, silly, I don't mean cross the border and accept difficult labor at a human rights infringing pay rate. I mean take an extra hour for lunch, enjoy a beer with your food, and lie down for a nice "MySleep" (copyright pending). If your boss yells at you when you come back, just tell him "You're not respecting my Latino Heritage!" That of course probably won't work if you're black...or blond...or well, use that at your own risk!

***Lawyer's Note*** The opinions expressed in the preceding blog are not reflections of the opinions or beliefs of Blogger, MySpace, Twentieth Century Fox, or Joel for that matter. Any racial slurs or slanders are not intended for reprint or belief, but merely used for humorous purposes, because let's face it, what' funnier than making fun of minorities? The only serious reference in this blog is the heritage of Mike Wallace. He is indeed the illegitimate son of Hitler, and a cruel, cruel man.

Any hate mail, death threats, or love letters (especially those originating in prison) should be sent C/O Hookem, Catchem and Skinem 5000 Crooked Road Way, Sharksville, LA. Any monetary donations should be sent directly to Joel, message him for delivery instructions. ***End Lawyer's Note***