Now, in Houston, it gets hotter than a motherfucker. Today, the odometer in my car read 105 degrees. Farenheit, not Kelvin. That shit is hotter than a motherfucker. I don't know how people in the wild west days lived in Houston without any air conditioning, unless the whore houses back then offered ice cold pussies. Anyways, I was walking along, doing my thing, when I began to feel a discomfort within me. With every step, I was becoming incredibly disoriented, and the sky was becoming fuzzy. But I couldn't stop; I knew I had to make it to Target. So I willed myself, like MJ in his prime, to focus and walk another 100 yards to Target. I succcessfully made it, and once inside Target, I bought a bottle of water, took a few drinks, and I was fine. But this is one thing that westerns do not address. Where is the dehydrated cowboy? Where is the cowboy passed out on his horse cause it's hotter than a motherfucker outside? That would be me though.

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