What is it, August already? That’s horrible. Awful. Heinous. And if Thesaurus.com is to be believed … iniquitous. 

August is a summer month. A collection of dog days. These days are lazy, hazy, and crazy. And glazey and ablazey. And mayonnaisey. And I don’t like it. 

August is truly the worst. It’s the hottest, the humidest, the substandardest. It’s the crap-crap-crappiest season of all. Let’s have two Septembers instead. 

Oh, what’s that you say? You love August? You never want summer to end? You hate the colder months? You worship the sun and wish you could ride a comfy tube down a cool river into oblivion, swanky sunglasses on, fruity drink in hand? 

Well, golly. I just don’t remember asking for your opinion. 

May is fine. June is fine. July is pushing it. August can jump off a cliff into a plastic wading pool full of broken mason jars. 

August is like when you eat a big juicy apple only to realize on your final bite that it’s chock-full of grubby little worms. And disillusionment.

”

May is fine. June is fine. July is pushing it. August can jump off a cliff into a plastic wading pool full of broken mason jars. 

MIKE PAULUs

I just stepped outside and … how can the grass be crispy-n-brown while the air feels like an old blanket soaked in hot swamp water? 

How can things simultaneously be overgrown and shriveled and brown? What vile sorcery has impregnated this bedeviled month? Why must good people like me (who tend to sweat a lot) suffer? When will it end?

Autumn. 

Autumn is when the world is set right. That’s when the madness of August is finally stuffed back into its cursed puzzle box. Sometime in September, the cool winds of the north slink their way southward, wrapping their sweet tendrils around August’s throat. And they squeeze. Oh, how they squeeze.

And we, the Children of Fall, wake up. With us we bring sweaters and scarves and light-weight, earth-toned jackets. We bring butternut squash and hay bales and the leaves of yellow and red. We chase the mosquitos from the air. We drive the ants underground. We flip off the air conditioners. 

We head down to the beach, and we pop your novelty floatation devices. 

We invented Oktoberfest and Halloween. We carved the first pumpkins. We summoned ghosts in the dark, dark forest. We sold that big old house on the corner to a witch. Black cats tiptoeing across the cemetery wall? Yeah, that was our idea. 

Slip-n-slides are great and all, but have you ever strolled down an orchard path ’neath a blazing blue sky to buy a bag of warm apple cider donuts? Come on. 

You have to agree: bonfires are better in the fall. It’s just science. So are hikes and camping trips. 

But, but, but what about your beloved days down at the ol’ swimming hole? Lakes have leeches, you know that, right? Rent a canoe. 

Now, some of you might be wondering why I need to be so adversarial about all this. Why is this an “us against them” kind of thing? Can’t we all have our own favorite seasons, and just leave it at that? Can’t we all just support each other’s wants and needs, and can’t we all just celebrate what makes each other happy?

No. 

The Summertime Industrial Complex has grown too powerful. Its influence reaches far too far. Now is the time for all good people to step forward and end Summer’s Tyranny. We can no longer sit here, doing nothing. Sweating. Because it’s hot.

I just checked, and it’s still August outside. But not for long. Enjoy it while you can, Summer Child. Because your days in shorts and flip-flops are numbered.