The Evil and Impolite: Summer in Texas: With Pictures: Still and Moving

Summer in Texas. I hate it. I'm from Texas, so I'm allowed to say so.

It's not so much the heat, although if your air conditioner pooped out, you would probably die. Adding to your postmortem embarrassment, no one would notice you were dead right away, since everyone smells bad anyway.

It's not so much the dozens of ways you can get bitten or stung by wonderfully vile and vicious creatures, both see-ums and no-see-ums. You become addicted to deet and carry a couple of cans of bug spray with you everywhere, just in case, and hope no one finds out you have a monkey on your back.

It's not so much the bone-boiling lethargy you feel on a hot day that lasts 124 hours, all miserable and well above 90 degrees. And when those hours start to melt, they stretch like hot taffy to make one l-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-ng freaking hot taffy summer, one long enough to gestate a human.

It's not so much the heat or the bugs or the exhaustion or the stink,... it's the heat and the bugs and the exhaustion and the stink. It's like adding injury to insult.

I wouldn't mind it so much if summers were like a Tennessee Williams' play...

Lusty, beautifully inbred characters sashaying around, dressed in white, small white pearls of perspiration dabbed away by fine-embroidered white hankies, gently creaking in white wicker on white-washed floors, "enjoyin' a nyce cooooool drank on the powuch with Big Daddy"...

...or if I had a swimming pool.

Here are some more reasons I hate summer in Texas: