Today was the first day in what felt like a month that I didn’t want to die while walking my dog. There was a bit of a breeze and the humidity was less than 10,000 percent.
But prior to that, like, man. Fuck. New York’s been brutal the past six weeks. We’d trudge up to the park before 9 a.m., and even that early, by the time we got there, my shirt would be drenched in sweat. Mandy wouldn’t even run it was so hot. Just trot and pant.
It’s been fucking miserable, I’ll say it, and I’m one of those people who HATES complaining about the weather.
Thankfully, I’m not bitching about some boring, basic, bodiddly heat wave. No, July 2016 was the hottest fucking month on the planet since we were physically capable of registering this shit.
That’s from 1880 until now. That’s a lot of years. And look how high above everything else July 2016 is. It’s so fucking high.
It was so fucking hot.
After last weekend’s monstrosity of a heatwave, here’s thinking August will register even fucking hotter. Yet it doesn’t even matter. No matter what, 2016 will be the hottest year ever, even if Arnold Schwarzenegger’s Victor Fries comes and blasts the entire planet with terrible ice puns and ice from his ice gun.
Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha. Look at that graph. We’re all gonna die. So, so soon.
NOW WATCH: RIP Bernie Sanders And His Climate Change Plan