Air conditioning. That's all I really need. When it comes down to it, as long as I have air conditioning, I can scrape some happinees off the floor. I prefer to be cold. Slightly at least. I'm not a fan of the sticky, sweaty, smelly morning blah, waking up in your own stink, peeling open your eyes which had been painted shut by the heat induced goo.

That's no fun.

I like to be slightly shivery, enough so that I need a few covers to be comfortable. That's the way most people like it, I imagine. The problem with that is, of course, you don't want to get out of bed. You don't want to get out of bed, of course, because once you do, once you committ to that day, that getting up, going to work, complaining about getting up and going to work, being tired sort of day, eventually you're going to have to face the heat. And the heat, my friends, is vengeful.

I played golf today. Golf. What was I thinking?

The golf course, of course, was not air conditioned. In fact, the air on the golf course was distinctly unconditioned, conforming sheepishly to the humid, fetid lake of wavy heat that pervades everything in the summer. And I got out of bed, out of my comfortable, slightly shivery, air conditioned bed for this. Dumbass.

I don't know why I play, I can't afford it. The only way I can play is if my uncle or my dad offer to treat me to a round, which , of course, is what was the case today.

I make it a point never to pay for golf. You see, the way I see it, if you pay for golf, you're merely contributing to the lavish, unfounded lifestyle of the obscenely arrogant and pompous employees of the country club. The Country Club is, of course, our enemy. The country club, with its towering fairytale architecture and stone construction, is a monument to superfluity. It's a money pit. It sucks your money from your wallet, and then redistributes it to its employees...club professionals, rangers, bar and grill attendants, waitresses, the blind guy in the locker room...so that these darling individuals can continue being as arrogant and snobbish as hhumanly possible, in order to adequately make you feel like an ass.

I could barely stand to be in the building itself because it stank so of waste. The metaphorical kind. It wasn't like the locker room guys and the members were flinging their feces at one another, although God knows what they do in there when people aren't around.

I was feeling less bitter about the whole affair before I needed to use the restroom, and the bar girl gave me such thick attitude that it was almost tangible. Apparently, she's much better than me. How was I to know? I mean , I guess it should have been obious to me that she's in a class all her own, working at the country club and all, and in a little bar room no less, well that's just super. And how could I miss the way she wasn't doing anything at all productive and how her eyes rolled so smoothly at me. She was clearly above me.

Needless to say, I don't play lot of golf, and as a direct result of that I pretty much suck at golf. However, this is a fact that I'm very proud of, because it merely attests to the fact that I am not, nor will I ever be, a member of the country club. Well, it doesn't really attest to the fact that I'll never be a member, but I'm telling you right now, just so there's no confusion, I'll never be a member.

I think I've grown somewhat bitter...but I might be way off. I only say that because I used to look at big houses and nice cars with envy, and now I look at them with contempt. I used to think people with lots of expensive stuff must be smart, now I just think they're misguided.

But I digress.

Anyway, I don't know why I even bother playing, it's too expensive, it's time consuming, I suck, I barely enjoy it, and I hate all the other people. Especially that last part. I hate those people. Take the "ranger" for example. Now here's an old useless retired guy, with nothing better to do than ride around on a golf cart all day telling me to "speed it up." He's lucky I didn't speed it right up his boney little ass. What an arrogant prick this guy was.

What he does is, he rides around the course, of course, making sure that the rules are obeyed and that people keep a decent pace so as not to slow up other players. And I can imagine that if he'd talked to us like four times, he might have lost his patience. But the first and only time he approached us, well me, he was such an arrogant prick, as I mentioned earlier, that I felt like beating him to within an inch of his life. I was just waiting for him to say something to me a second time, but the chain saw I was holding might have spooked him.

Anyway, I hate frickin golf. That's it. Of course.

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