Heat Wave Makes Air-Conditioned Nightmare More Tolerable

The world of man-made horrors and invented demons has become much more appealing for hippies and luddites alike over the past week as temperatures across many portions of the country soared over 90 and 100-degrees, creating a force of oppressive heat encouraging naturalists and artisans to be more accepting of a world mindfucked by technology, indolence and boredom, where at least temperatures can be kept at a comfortable 74-degrees.

"It's just too hot to write in here," said creative writer, poet and summer intern Damien Hibben from his room as he poured over his Dell laptop, trying to finish "a novel that will inspire people to dance into the forests and copulate freely, provided we have plenty of ice."

"I've been trying to finish this thing for the longest time, but this summer has just been too hot and oppressive," he said of the process of writing his orgiastic masterpiece to-be. "I can't write outside because my laptop screen gets too dusty, and my studio on the fifth floor is way hot, so, as much as I hated to, I went to the coffee shop down the street that has A/C."

Hibben looked away ashamedly and, pouring a glass of cold water from his Britta purifier, professed that he would never sell-out like this again and accept the false comfort of a compromised world, offering to eschew things like gas heat, electric blankets and socks once winter arrives.

"But they use fair trade coffee, so I figure it's okay," added the stunted naturalist about the temperature-controlled establishment as he packed up his laptop and cordless infrared mouse in preparation to go back to work.

Hibben expects that his work will inspire people to leave their climate-controlled "bubbles", and go off prancing into the humid, bug-infested glory of the Creator's invention, unless the heat index reaches above 105-degrees, whereupon he recommends that his readers stay indoors and drink lots of fluids.

"The Air-Conditioned Nightmare", Henry Miller's convincing treatise on the mechanization of the American psyche and the vain search for something authentically "American", has inspired many to write imitatively bad prose about a sexless suburban existence, Mom and Dad's deathlike state, and the gentry's endless baboon scratching. Unfortunately, the high humidity and uncomfortable sleeping conditions have forced many to quit their bitching until the next cold front comes through.

"Fuck the fucking orange grove," said one naturalist matter-of-factly of his former plan to live entirely within an orange grove because "oranges are perfectly round, like life should be". "It's fucking sweltering out there."

Some have attempted to rationalize the sudden welcoming of recirculated air by reasoning that the weather would not be so warm in the first place had man not interfered.

"I bet the summer used to be, like, not much different than the fall," said Darcy Tremmel, painter and newspaper deliverer, standing in front of the local grocery store's ice cream cases with a few friends, who were nodding approvingly. "But then man came with his pollution and guns and war, and before you knew it the temperatures were going way higher than nature ever meant them to. It's no wonder we need air conditioning every now and then."

"Society," scoffed one chum, and the four spent the next several minutes guffawing and looking on the floor for change to buy a carton of ice cream.

Teenagers have been hit especially hard by the oppressive weather. Despite being in a state of constant rebellion against ones elders, many adolescents have found that Mom and Dad's temperate living room, no matter how restrictive and fascist, can be preferable to the heat outside or the not-much-better conditions of the local loft apartment of the guy down the street who's a loser to his own age bracket but all the rage with teens.

"I'll run away next week," said one local teen lazily, laying contentedly on the carpet and watching television. Moments later, her mother asked her to turn down the volume a bit.


Still, the optimistic look to the heat wave as a source of inspiration.

"I'm also working on a piece called 'The Centrally-heated Nightmare'," said Hibben. "I hope to get it done before winter sets in, lest anyone forget that life is supposed to be miserable, and that a good vocabulary is one's only true salvation. By the way, have you got a cigarette?”

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