July 3, 200. Hot Fun at the Pole

Hot doesn't cover the heat I feel. A burning sensation travels across my skin, oozing from my pores and dripping from each gland. Antarctica sounds like a nice place to visit at this point and time - empty of two legged creatures with attitude - bulging with properly suited feathered populace. I'd love to spend just one day watching the black and white parade, their happy waddles as they slide into the sea, herding their little ones from hither and yon. Some ice blue coolness is what I crave, one with a sunny disk shining down on me as my mood takes flight and soars from a pole I'm no where near. Far from the hectic rat race, close to the relaxed tuxedo march. If warmth is necessary, I'll sip on my thermos of fine Earl, piping hot and laced with his friend Johnny W. What better way to wile away a hot summer day? No margaritas or people displaying rolls that need to be behind tent closures. Only furry friends who honk their greetings as I slide around and enjoy the freedom of complete and utter silence.