Forgive us Apollo, Light of the Sun, for we have offended you mightily and I know not how. Was it our unrelenting pollution of the earthly body of your grandmother, Gaia? Was it the postmodern turn taken in the arts of music and poetry? Was it… *whispers*… women in the workforce? Please send an oracle with your demands.

50 degrees in San Diego is a new ice age. But 100 degrees in San Diego is the apocalypse and the only bit I’m looking forward to is the rain of frogs because we really need the rain. My delicate body has been spoiled by a Mediterranean climate and now it is frightened and angry.

I call on you Ra, who is Horus of the Two Horizons. Your cattle are sweltering. Shut your fiery eye and show us mercy! Hathor, you are the sky sometimes, right? You’re not wearing that ridiculous cow horn solar disc hat for nothing. Get a grip on ya boy!

This weekend I grimly sponged my wriggling baby down with a wet washcloth, and that seemed to help. But where oh where can I find a mighty giantess to sit me on her lap and wipe me down with a wet washcloth?

Hou Yi. You aren’t a god but I’m praying to you anyway. I heard you shot down 9 of the 10 Chinese suns when they played in the sky together and overheated the world. You’re a baby killer and that makes you a monster, but you’re the hero Gotham needs. I mean San Diego needs. It’s fucking hot.

I’ve bought two fans but I think I need twenty more. I’m going to nail rickety shelves at strategic points all over my walls so that no moment passes in which I am not being blasted with air. It’s hot air so it feels like I’m strolling past the mouth of hell, but it’s better than nothing.

Crom, I have never prayed to you before. I have no tongue for it. No one, not even you, will remember if we were good men or bad. Why we fought, or why we died. All that matters is that two stood against many. That’s what’s important. Valor pleases you, Crom… so grant me one request. Grant me cooler weather!

And if you do not listen… then to HELL with you!