 |  |  |  |
| ...And the Livin's Easy |
| Sunny really hit the skids after the FDA banned Raisin Bran. |
Seasons can be damned hard to figure out, right up there with “which one is my left hand
again?” and “is that woman fat or pregnant?” And with summer right around the corner, John
Q. Public needs to be able to figure out what season it is. Nobody wants to be caught in some
nebulous nowhere in between spring and summer, forever behind the times. That’s why I’ve
created this handy guide. What follows are the signs of summer. Whenever one of these
things happens, you can rest assured that summer has begun.
Will Smith starts getting radio play again. A little known fact: radio stations that bill themselves
as “urban” are required by the FCC to play “Summertime” at least three times an hour in
between Memorial Day and Labor Day. Those that fail to meet this requirement(or accidentally
play “Parents Just Don’t Understand”) have to switch over to an easy listening format and can
no longer use the word “crunk.” In related news, a recent Johns Hopkins study has found that
those who regularly use the word “crunk” are up to forty percent more likely to ice their grill.
An independent study conducted by SurlyTaco.com has found that sixty-four percent of people
who read that last sentence have no idea what it means.
Kids are nowhere to be found. With no classes and no homework, kids will start spending 23
hours a day playing their Xbox and eating Cheetos (the other hour will be spent shitting out
orange processed cheese-powder). And the kids who do make it outside are the ones with
ADD so bad they can’t even play video games. The kind of kids who run out into the street
without looking. This makes driving more hazardous during the summer, but hey, why should
you have to slow down? Should the worst happen, don’t do anything crazy like trying to clean
the blood off your hood with bleach. That shit will ruin your paint job. Just stick to plain old
soap and water.
You can’t drive for more than five minutes without getting swamp ass. The bane of pants-
wearers everywhere, swamp ass occurs when an inordinate amount of sweat builds up in the
area between the small of your back and the place where your ass starts cracking. Last year I
got swamp ass so bad the EPA declared it a protected wetland and wouldn’t let me shower
until fall. Or autumn, if you want to be a pretentious asshole. Either way, my friends stopped
talking to me.
The smell of freshly-cut grass fills the air (unless you live downwind from a rendering plant or
Kevin Federline). An aphrodisiac for anyone who’s ever worn a John Deere hat and not
produced their own show on MTV, this is the foremost smell of summer, even edging out
chlorine and barbeque. And speaking of barbeque…
Homoerotic eating habits skyrocket. Whether you’re at a cookout or a ball game, I guarantee
you can’t toss a copy of Insecure Straight Guy Monthly without hitting someone eating a hot
dog. The only other time people eat this gay is during Oktoberfest, the traditional German
celebration of feathered caps, lederhosen, and phallic symbols made of intestines. Mmm,
nothing like wang-shaped, leftover animal parts. And speaking of wang-shaped food…
Here comes the ice cream man with a truck full of popsicles! I know, you don’t care about
popsicles, but there’s always the chance he’s a drug dealer. Besides, if you have kids, the
sound of the ice cream man’s bell is the only thing that’ll get the fat fucks away from their
Game Cube and out of the house for five minutes. Just enough time for the missus to say no
to a quickie. Come on, did you really expect her to be drunk at 2:30 in the afternoon?
And on that note, I think I hear Will Smith playing on the radio. Remember, whenever you’re
unsure if it’s summer or not, just hit up SurlyTaco.com. We’ll set you straight. Or lie to your
face. Kind of depends on my mood.
again?” and “is that woman fat or pregnant?” And with summer right around the corner, John
Q. Public needs to be able to figure out what season it is. Nobody wants to be caught in some
nebulous nowhere in between spring and summer, forever behind the times. That’s why I’ve
created this handy guide. What follows are the signs of summer. Whenever one of these
things happens, you can rest assured that summer has begun.
Will Smith starts getting radio play again. A little known fact: radio stations that bill themselves
as “urban” are required by the FCC to play “Summertime” at least three times an hour in
between Memorial Day and Labor Day. Those that fail to meet this requirement(or accidentally
play “Parents Just Don’t Understand”) have to switch over to an easy listening format and can
no longer use the word “crunk.” In related news, a recent Johns Hopkins study has found that
those who regularly use the word “crunk” are up to forty percent more likely to ice their grill.
An independent study conducted by SurlyTaco.com has found that sixty-four percent of people
who read that last sentence have no idea what it means.
Kids are nowhere to be found. With no classes and no homework, kids will start spending 23
hours a day playing their Xbox and eating Cheetos (the other hour will be spent shitting out
orange processed cheese-powder). And the kids who do make it outside are the ones with
ADD so bad they can’t even play video games. The kind of kids who run out into the street
without looking. This makes driving more hazardous during the summer, but hey, why should
you have to slow down? Should the worst happen, don’t do anything crazy like trying to clean
the blood off your hood with bleach. That shit will ruin your paint job. Just stick to plain old
soap and water.
You can’t drive for more than five minutes without getting swamp ass. The bane of pants-
wearers everywhere, swamp ass occurs when an inordinate amount of sweat builds up in the
area between the small of your back and the place where your ass starts cracking. Last year I
got swamp ass so bad the EPA declared it a protected wetland and wouldn’t let me shower
until fall. Or autumn, if you want to be a pretentious asshole. Either way, my friends stopped
talking to me.
The smell of freshly-cut grass fills the air (unless you live downwind from a rendering plant or
Kevin Federline). An aphrodisiac for anyone who’s ever worn a John Deere hat and not
produced their own show on MTV, this is the foremost smell of summer, even edging out
chlorine and barbeque. And speaking of barbeque…
Homoerotic eating habits skyrocket. Whether you’re at a cookout or a ball game, I guarantee
you can’t toss a copy of Insecure Straight Guy Monthly without hitting someone eating a hot
dog. The only other time people eat this gay is during Oktoberfest, the traditional German
celebration of feathered caps, lederhosen, and phallic symbols made of intestines. Mmm,
nothing like wang-shaped, leftover animal parts. And speaking of wang-shaped food…
Here comes the ice cream man with a truck full of popsicles! I know, you don’t care about
popsicles, but there’s always the chance he’s a drug dealer. Besides, if you have kids, the
sound of the ice cream man’s bell is the only thing that’ll get the fat fucks away from their
Game Cube and out of the house for five minutes. Just enough time for the missus to say no
to a quickie. Come on, did you really expect her to be drunk at 2:30 in the afternoon?
And on that note, I think I hear Will Smith playing on the radio. Remember, whenever you’re
unsure if it’s summer or not, just hit up SurlyTaco.com. We’ll set you straight. Or lie to your
face. Kind of depends on my mood.
Comments? Email me, Jimi Changa, at Admin@SurlyTaco.com
Like my silly babbling? Then head back to Salsa