We all know the District was built on a swamp, but am I the only one feeling like it was built on Venus? Is that even possible? Every time I step outside, it’s so hot I feel like I'm being vaporized into ash and bone, and I just don't know what to do. So, what the heck can I do to stay cool this summer?
AIDAN:
This summer, beat the heat like a true local. D.C.’s hottest new spot to cool down is hell. Oh, it’s not a club or something like that. I mean, like actual biblical hell. While some folks think hell is hot, it takes a true undergrounder to know that the deeper you go, the colder it gets. So this summer, try and hit as many sins as you can; punch a baby, do premarital, even sow your fields with two kinds of crops if you’re some kind of sick freak. The coldest level of hell is the ninth, where Judas, Brutus and Cassius are being eternally chewed to death, and traitors to family are frozen in cool (Smirnoff) ice. But hear ye, wayward soul, do NOT proceed any further, the only deeper layer of hell is a “nonpartisan political bar” on U Street with $17 beers. NOT worth it.
JACK:
True god-fearing patriots know that there is only one acceptable way to beat this heat. And that, my friends, is air conditioning. How else do you expect us, in the land of the free and the home of the brave, to stay cool? The communists would tell you to hydrate or dress lightly. But our founding fathers didn’t fight for independence for some “scientist” from across the ocean to tell us what we can and can’t do! I'll be damned if I have to change my way of life for some high and mighty Europeans who can’t handle a day over 80 degrees! They’re just jealous they don’t live in God’s favorite country, where fans are always blowing and the ozone layer is always thinning.
FAIZA:
Last year was “brat summer.” I wore slime green, blasted Charli XCX like it was gospel and cried in public for the aesthetic. I ghosted people mid-conversation because the humidity made me feel spiritually unsafe. But this year? It’s time to embrace “fascist summer.” That means rules. That means rations. That means I iron my tank tops, salute the thermostat and live under the strict regime of SPF 100 and emotional repression. Fascist summer isn’t about having fun; it’s about survival. It’s about directly looking at the sun and saying, “Yes, dictator.” And don’t get me started on “wonk summer.” AU keeps saying we’re the future “changemakers,” but I’ve changed shirts three times today and still smell like hot dog water. If being a Wonk means trekking through Foggy Bottom in 102-degree heat with a Hydroflask the temperature of soup and a tote bag full of iced coffee anxiety, count me out. I’m defecting to Canada. Or the nearest walk-in freezer.
DOMENIC:
The first step is to stay calm and not panic. It’s very rare for somebody to melt into a person-puddle (although not unheard of), so you shouldn’t focus on that. Most of us can enjoy our current state of matter, although your face does look a little malleable right now. Like a big tub of Play-Doh. Are you feeling alright? Have you been drinking enough water? Do you drink water? Have you consumed anything besides energy drinks in the last three months? Well, that’s not great. If you do melt, that’s a TON of paperwork for me. Very annoying. I’ve gotta run, but see if somebody else can help you. Maybe get a fan or something.
ERIC:
Well, I’m so glad you asked. See, I’ve recently come into possession of a large candy factory from a billionaire with the voice of Bob Dylan. He and his army of enslaved Snow White rejects have been crafting the perfect popsicle concoction to knock your socks off like Pop Rocks. They’re called “Chilliest Chippers,” and they come in all sorts of wacky shapes and flavors like mulberry, turnip and human flesh, the last of which occurred after a recent factory accident. Don’t worry, no need to call the authorities because the Occupational Safety and Health Administration (OSHA) clearly states that it’s not a violation to kill children in factories as long as you sing a little song about it after, so we’re all in the clear. They, along with the Food and Drug Administration, have absolutely no problem with us murdering children and tossing their little bits and pieces into our candy (it gives our candy its signature crunch), all as long as we sing a catchy little song about it after, preferably with lyrics popping up on screen so viewers at home can follow. What can I say, those agents can’t resist a sing-along. So get a Chilliest Chipper today!
This article was written by the Seagle Staff. It was edited by Aidan Dowell, Alana Parker, Quinn Volpe and Walker Whalen. Copy editing done by Sabine Kanter-Huchting, Ariana Kavoossi and Emma Brown.
