Kelly 
Every year, summer returns like an unwelcome sequel—bigger, hotter, and somehow even less necessary than the first installment. The sun cranks itself to maximum power, laughably disregarding the limits of human endurance. We are over it. We demand relief. We want a restraining order against this season.
It’s reached a point where our collective survival instincts have been replaced with sheer pettiness. We’ve tried bargaining with the atmosphere, pleading for one crisp breeze, one merciful cloud—but no. The sun has clearly decided against compassion.
The Bad Ideas We Might as Well Try
- Challenge the Sun to a Duel: Show up at high noon with a water pistol. The sun won’t fight fairly, but neither do we.
- Move Into a Walk-In Freezer: Grocery stores have cold storage. Is it legal to squat in one? Unclear. But at this point, does legality even matter?
- Pretend Heat Stroke is the Latest Fashion Statement: A sweaty, exhausted look? Chic. Collapsing from dehydration? High drama.
- Declare War on the Weather App: Delete it. If we don’t see the temperature, it can’t hurt us.
- Wear a Full Suit of Armor: No direct sunlight means no heat, right? Wrong. But we refuse to acknowledge facts anymore.
The Good Ideas We Are Too Defeated to Appreciate
- Sleep Through the Entire Season: Wake up when autumn arrives. Skip summer entirely.
- Convert Cars Into Mobile Ice Baths: Take the backseat out, fill it with ice, and live inside a rolling refrigerator.
- Stage an AC Fan Club: Gather in a cold room. Share war stories. Cry together when the power bill arrives.
- Carry Portable Fans Like They’re Status Symbols: Hold them up dramatically like royalty commanding a breeze.
- Resort to Ritualistic Ice Cream Consumption: Worship the frozen gods by eating popsicles at every meal.
Desperate Measures
We have now reached survival mode. At this point, society is breaking down. Humans are reduced to puddles, sidewalks are lava, and AC units are treated like divine artifacts.
Some are even attempting full underground hibernation, burrowing into basements and cellars like mole people. Others have taken up reverse sunbathing, opting to just roll around in a kiddie pool filled with ice cubes.
It’s unclear if summer is an actual season or some kind of ancient curse. Either way, we accept defeat. We surrender to sweat, knowing that if heat exhaustion doesn’t take us, the absurdity of it all will.
Someone, please, turn down the thermostat on Earth. We’ll trade you all our dignity for one single, crisp breeze.
Until then, we remain trapped in this fiery doom, questioning whether we are actually living inside an oven.
About the Author
Jaime 
Daniel L 
bdirt