Brooklyn, New York, present day

Actually, no. This isn’t a guide at all. It’s too fucking hot to piece together the necessary expository skills to create something as useful as a guide.

Maybe you’re in one of the places in the country that isn’t having its fourth consecutive humid day in the high 90s. If that’s the case, fuck you. But for those of you who ARE suffering at the moment, you’re no doubt having to withstand the insipid and inevitable small-talk conversation that always, always, ALWAYS goes like this:

Guy: “Man, it’s hot.”
You: “SO hot.”
Guy: “I mean really hot.”
You: “Seriously.”

Well, fuck that. Spice it up. Show that fucker that he doesn’t know hot, YOU know hot. Mix it up with these handy phrases:

- “It’s Africa hot.”
- “It’s Do The Right Thing hot.”
- “It’s Officer Miller hot.” (“A man’s not supposed to notice or say anything, he’s just supposed to stand there with a big smile on his face. Stand there, in his thick, scratchy, blue uniform. Maybe he forgot to wear his t-shirt that day, and his nipples are on fire! Because they’ve been rubbed raw against the stiff wool…” )
- “Tarzan couldn’t take dis kinda hot!” (Biloxi Blues)
- “Hotter’n two cats fucking in a wool sock.”
- “Today on the countryside it was a-hotter than a crotch/I stood alone upon the ridge and all I did was watch” (Bob Dylan, “Tough Mama”)
- “What is this, a Faulkner novel?”
- “I can’t tell whether my ass is sweating or if this is just diarrhea.”
- “I feel like Korey Stringer.”

So… maybe not that last one.