No me gusta verano. Anyone who considers summer to be their estación favorito should immediately attend a medium-sized (one that is small enough to be personalized, but large enough to have the necessary apparatuses and preparation) mental institution. Stat. There are many of you summer-lovers, no doubt, but y'all are sick, sick, sick. Ninety-three degrees is the mean, median and mode for Richmond's next five days of temperatures. Do you know how hot ninety-three degrees is? Here are some appropriate answers:
1) Ninety-three degrees.
2) More than ninety-two degrees, but less than ninety-four degrees.
3) It's hot. It's hot. It's too darn hot.1 4) So warm that Matthew is not going to play disc golf until the weekend unless he goes out some evening.
5) Matthew, I would appreciate a more original method of stating a large number of potential rejoinders to a query than this tired technique taken to this tedious and tremendous termination.
6) Also, Matthew, I'd would prefer less alliteration, and while we're at it, if you wouldn't mind not talking to yourself through a faux third-person individual you've created to make this list more appealing, that would be agreeable, too.
Autumn is the loveliest season by at least five fathoms. Maybe six.
---
1 That is a lame song, even if it is apropos.
oh so lovingly written by
Matthew |
i sincerely do not know what you are doing here. are you lost? were you
looking for your delicate calico cat, and did you follow her up two flights of stairs
to this room? she is not here. she was here, yes. we gave her a warm bowl of milk, we talked with her about campaign finance reform for a time, and then she bid us good day. i believe she was
going to the post office two blocks down, but i don't quite recall.
for surely you did
not find your way from prinsiana, the least traveled site on
the internet. if you did, though, perhaps you are looking for humor. perhaps you are looking for profundity. perhaps you are looking for answers.
i'm sorry, but you shall go naught-for-three.
