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Me: I think I’d like a sandwich. 
Dog: Can I have one, too? 
Me: No. You have dog food. Why don’t you eat that like a normal dog. 
Cat: Yo, what up, beotches? Can a kitteh get some vittles up in here? 
Me: Dammit, I just fed you an hour ago. 
Cat: Yo, calm down, whiteboy. I just want a slice of that turkey. Is that turkey? That’s turkey, right? Can I get a slice? 
Me: Get off the counter! 
Dog: Hey, cat! Grab me a slice of that turkey! 
Me: Dammit! Get out of here, both of you! 
Cat: Oh, snap! That shit ain’t turkey! Homeboy got some thinly sliced chicken breast up in here! Holla! 
Dog: This is soooo not fair. I have to eat processed chunks of cornmeal and beef-flavored horse meat. I demand a decent meal – or at least a snack – every once in a while. You know how I like chicken, too. This is preposterous. 
Cat: So… I’m just gonna take this here piece of chicken and… 
Me: NO! GET DOWN! [picks up cat and throws him in the other room]. 
Cat: DAAAAMMMMMNNNNNN! 
Dog: You’re a real asshole, you know that? 
Me: This is MY food. I paid for it. With MY money. That I made. What the hell have you ever done to earn your keep around here? 
Dog: Oh, I don’t know. How ’bout not let burglars and murderers in the house? Ever think of that? 
Me: … 
Dog: That’s right. Remember that kid selling magazines the other day? Total burglar! I scared him away. 
Me: You just barked a lot because he’s black and you’re a flaming racist. 
Dog: Well… whatever. He might have been a burglar and you weren’t going to buy Golf Fancy Monthly anyway. Just give me some frickin’ turkey! 
Me: It’s chicken. 
Dog: WhatEVERRR. Damn. You’re a dick. 
Me: [Goes to the fridge to get the mayonnaise. Yes, I eat mayo.] EAT YOUR OWN DAMN FOOD. 
Cat: [secretly climbs his way back onto the counter and starts licking the chicken breast] Guess who’s back up in this mofo! Dayuummmm! This is some good-ass chicken! What is this, Boar’s Head? What, What! Hey, Dog, catch! [nudges a side of the sandwich into the gaping mouth of Dog.] 
Me: SONOFABITCH! Get out. NOW! [opens the back door. Cat & Dog laughing hysterically race outside. Dog is doing the moonwalk and the cat is thrusting his pelvis like he’s violently humping the air.] 
Cat: Yeah, booooyyyyyy! [singing] We gots the chicken. It be nice and tasty. I ate that chicken. Whiteboy be crazy. 
Dog: I’m gonna go pee on the lawn mower.

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A quick check of my dashboard weather app shows the current temperature at 98º, with a high expected of 103º sometime within the next couple of hours. While a few 100º days are to be expected in a typical Richmond summer, they are still too much for this native Buffalonian to handle without an frosty beverage and a portable kiddie pool filled with ice water.

The humidity can bite me. There. I said it. Bite me, humidity. I like to swim, but I don’t like to have the sensation of just exiting a lukewarm pool without ever having entered one. I can’t even get the mail without feeling like the angels are drooling on me with their hot and sticky saliva. I feel like I’m in an invisible giant’s crock pot, slow roastin’ and marinating like some sort of human meat stew. Mmmm. Smells like dinner, Ma!

It’s days like these when I really thank the Gods of Modern Technology for blessing us with sweet, sweet air conditioning. I have so much respect for those of you who have outdoor jobs. I don’t know how you do it, even with the promise of a paycheck. Heck, I’m unemployed right now and if someone offered me an honest day’s pay to nail some shingles to a roof, I’d think twice. If you’re a roofer or a road construction person or one of those sign-twirlers outside the Little Caesars advertising a $5.55 pizza, I salute you. I salute you with a tip of my hat and a raise of this ice-cold Tropical Smoothie.

DISCLAIMER: That being said, I WOULD take an outdoor job, even in this heat. Hey, I need the money and am willing to work hard for it. But I would totally not be happy about it. I might even cry a little bit. Hey – I know the value of hard work. I’m just trying to make the point that it’s frickin’ hot out there with a little bit of humor. So calm down all you people who are about to comment and say that I’m lazy. Because I would dig a ditch or twirl a sign if it meant putting a roast in the crock pot.

So anyway – a little bit of news from the freelance front: I am now a legitimate blogger, as evidenced by my posts on RichmondInsideOut. Click on ‘Blog’ and read about my adventures as I tour Richmond and promote the region’s historic awesomeness. If you’re around on August 27th, I personally invite you to come on out to the RIO party from 5-7pm at Easy Street. The first 100 registrants get a couple of free drinks and are allowed to shake my hand. But you’re not allowed to look me in the eye. Ever. Oh, just kidding. You can look all you want. You can register here.

DISCLAIMER #2 – I spelled ‘cemetery’ wrong in the Segway post. As much as I don’t want to call attention to it, I feel like I need to inform you that I’m normally a pretty good speller. So don’t hold a little misspelling against me. I probably have more spelling and grammatical errors that I’m unaware of, but don’t tell me about them because I’ll get really down on myself and finish a whole gallon of mint-chocolate chip ice cream. So please be aware that I KNOW I spelled it wrong and feel bad about it. Thank you and good day.

Gearing up for an interview on Wednesday afternoon. This one kind of took me by surprise, since I don’t remember applying to this company. And I really don’t have any clue on what position this company is looking to fill. Guess I’ll have to be prepared to talk about my writing or my design or my TV production skills and bring examples of each. Sound a little sketchy? Maybe. But I won’t know until go find out. Couldn’t hurt, right?

As for the Charlotte job, I’m still waiting to hear something. I can’t even begin to tell you how I’ve permanently disfigured my fingers by crossing them. And it’s hotter in Richmond today than it is in Charlotte. So Charlotte is winning the battle of places that I should live because I don’t want to die a slow-cooked death. I mean, really – the neighborhood pool smells like a delicious ham stew.

This is Day 117, folks. Hottest day of the year. Check out the RIO blog. Don’t hold spelling errors against me. Mystery interview coming up. Charlotte on my mind.

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