Summer Flannelbane 2: The Revenge of Swamp Ass

Two years ago, Summer Flannelbane set the world on fire. Now it’s time for Summer Flannelbane 2! As I’ve gotten older and grumpier, I can say with nary a doubt that summer is my least favorite season. It’s hot, smelly, stuffy, smokey. I have the option to go out anytime because it isn’t raining. Unfortunately, if things aren’t already on fire, I will burst into flames unless I slather on enough sunblock that I look like a storm sewer dwelling rodeo clown.

Go ahead, freak out and yell at your screen. Stand up and pace around the room while scratching your head like a detoxing addict. Mutter questions as to why I feel this way. Call me names. Declare that I’m wrong. It’s okay, at any given time fifty percent of the internet disagrees with you.

Done? On a scale of one to stagnant and inexplicably immortal water puddle off to the side of a big box store, how wet are you? Getting worked up like that during any other season wouldn’t be an issue. You’d look fine and wouldn’t be the least bit glowy. However, in summer everyone can see you sweat. Unless said freak out took place in an air conditioned building and in the buff, at the very least, you have to be a little clammy.

Summer Flannelbane is hot. The environment is dry and the people are wet. I can’t remember the last time that I wasn’t moist. My dew point has been lowered, raised? Ah, I don’t remember how dew point works. Not that it really matters because it’s not droplets of water forming on the outside of a cold glass of ice water. It’s my sweat pouring out of me.

I’m soaked to that point that, if some crazed berserking bro-jock came at me with a wet towel, I could retaliate by removing any article of clothing. From as something as substantial as a t-shirt to something as minimal as a friendship bracelet. My weapon like vessel of vengeance doesn’t so much matter as much as the fully saturating sweat that it’s imbued with. The subsequent swipe would be so cruel, so violent. His final words, as his body is being liquified, limbs blasting off like rockets, head bouncing like a recently abandoned basketball, would be a simple and astonished, “Bro?”

Summer Flannelbane is the time of year where I begin to believe that I may have latent super powers. My inherent ability is to be varying degrees of moist at all hours of the day. While I haven’t tested my theory, I assume that I’m some degree of fire retardant at all times. With some points being near one hundred percent.

Perhaps Professor Xavier just hasn’t noticed me yet in his scans. It could also be that he doesn’t require the Human Slug on his team. Even if he did, yellow and blue spandex aren’t exactly in my wheelhouse. Not to mention that would wick the sweat away, thus nullifying my unique talents. No, I’m afraid I’d have to run around in a mesh shirt and fishnet stockings at best.


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