Today it hit one hundred two degrees in Independence. There was absolutely nothing to do but read and watch football. It was too damn hot to even sit in front of the PC. Jigsaw the Cat and I laid around like snakes the entire day. Moy took advantage to go Web surfing all afternoon. My creative juices dried up like spit on the sidewalk.
The Kansas City Shits (or is that Chiefs?) played in Jacksonville, and gave the Jaguars an ass-kicking of 28-2. The losing team had not scored two points in a decade, according to the TV stats, and there had never been such a score in league history. Doubtless if they had played here in Arrowhead Stadium, it wouldn't have been the same. Their lazy asses would have curled up and died in this heat.
This town deserves far better. I haven't seen such fan fervor since I left San Antonio and their adored Spurs. People paint Shits logos on the roofs of their garages here. Two of the brethren went to Church in Shits jerseys this morning. The Shithole allowed us to wear Shits jerseys on Fridays during the NFL season (well, that kinda makes sense). And so it goes. They owe these poor lemmings at least one world title. I've been here ten years and it's gone from decent to atrocious throughout that time. Perhaps this year they'll reach the semifinals. We'll see. Super Bowl? DWI's will increase 500% on that day.
On Dead Man's Pond, I was sent a Cover Art inquiry by Prizm Books for the cover of Stxeamtown (that's Streamtown with a red paintbrushed X over the R), my steampunk novel. I was thinking along the lines of an R. Crumb cartoon, with his signature industrially polluted cityscapes. They were asking me if I was thinking of writing a sequel. I would write a sequel to anything I've published. After all, they say you can't get enough of a good thing. Might as well strike while the iron's hot, they wouldn't want to wait until they have to find me with a shovel and flashlight.