The thermometer in my living room reads TWILIGHT ZONE FLAMEY EPISODE HOT, BITCH. My sweat is sweating. My toilet seat feels like a hotplate searing my ass. The floorboards are sizzling my feet into puckery melting nubs. My contacts dried out after five minutes, and I had to shove toothpicks in my eyes to peel them off my boiling red pupils. My clothing caught on fire when I touched it. Herbert was humping an ice cube tray. When I turned on the fan, it jumped off the stool and ran out the door, yelling YIP YIP YIP all the way down the stairs. THIS IS ALL TOTALLY TRUE.
Readercon report will be tomorrow, when it's cooler. Until then, excuse me while I crawl into the freezer or burst into flames. Whatever comes first.