Ricky Fitness & Deep in the Heart of Darkness
Texas is a Bogforsaken place and even the Texans, dim and ignorant as they are, know it; the give away? Every structure in Texas is thoroughly air conditioned. It's not like the nigh-miraculous AC in Las Vegas, but quite intentionally Las Vegas bears as little resemblance to reality as possible. But the Texans know that their blighted homeland in an inferno and so they have taken every effort to hide from its heat, all the while still proclaiming "Texas über alles!" Lousy hypocrites.

The one exception to the enthusiastic air conditioning policy is the exercise room in our apartment complex. When the Mountain and I leave at the end of our workout, part of the daily routine is to set the air conditioner's controls to 70˚ Fahrenheit and "Auto," so the AC will kick in only when the temperature rises above 70; we're not dictating that anyone works out in the frigid 60s or anything. We both feel that this is eminently reasonable. Yet some dastardly Texan has been thwarting our efforts. How do I know the saboteur is a Texan? Because the thermostat is set to 78˚ F and the AC is turned off. Only a Texan could be so dense. What's the point of setting the thermostat to a specific temperature, any temperature, if the whole unit is deactivated? Clearly a product of Texan brainpower. The daytime highs here are in the low 90s; the last two days, the exercise room has been at a lovely 82˚ F upon our entrance. By the time we are done sweating and struggling an hour and a half later, the temperature has only fallen to 74˚. We put the Wilson in "sweating like a Wilson," you fiends, we don't need those extra few degrees of encouragement.

But, the Mountain is soon to depart for Ohio and I shall evacuate well before Labor Day; so, soon enough we shall quit this madhouse and be free from Texan stupidity.