Perfect weather for a run...

My brother, Kevin. Kevo. O'Rich. O'Stupid.

(Normally, smart kid. Today wasn't his day, however.)

PROLOGUE: It's approximately seven hundred degrees outside. OK, maybe more like ninety. But it's stinkin' hot.

Speaking of which, I need a chocolate ice cream Reese's blizzard, pronto.

ANYWAY: I get home at lunch, and a few minutes after I'm home, Kevin stumbles in the door. At this point, he redefines the word "scarlet". You could also use him as an example of "sweating-like-a-pig". (I've always wondered... how much DO pigs actually sweat? Never having been in close proximity to pigs, I don't know. But I digress...) Poor guy looked like he would either (a) explode, (b) begin bleeding from his ears, (c) die of heat stroke, or (d) die of heat stroke.

THE OBVIOUS QUESTION: What the heck is wrong with you?

THE ANSWER: "Oh, I thought to myself, it's blistering hot outside, and there's nothing more refreshing than attempting to run four miles out in the sweltering heat of the noontime sun." That wasn't actually his answer. I can't remember what he said. I was too dumbfounded... in absolute awe of the fact that my brother was this color. Literally.

NOT THE BRIGHTEST PENCIL IN THE FRYING PAN.

Speaking of suicide-inspiring heat, (just kidding), Mom is pretty good to us. (Cue trumpet fan-fare): We now have a second fan for our third-story apartment! I won't have to sleep out on our deck (not kidding) on top of a sleeping bag! LOVE YOU MA.