Trump's hair is on fire

          It was dark this morning, cloudy, strangely silent, and it smelled of, er, heat. Like a cat had broiled her feet on a tin roof somewhere in my vicinity. It was, again and again, hot.

         It has been so hot that Donald Trump’s hair quit the presidential race and went to lay in the freezer of the Trump’s refrigerator.

         HOT, again and again and again, it's been as hot as, oh, I don't know, Hell in summertime.

     They say this incredible run of 100-plus days are about to come to an end. Then we can go back to normal, you know, mid-90s and such.

     Yesterday we hit 106. That’s not an Atlanta Braves infielder’s batting average. That’s not that strange beast called heat index. That is 106 degrees. Like, really.  The only time I’ve ever experienced 106 temperatures was the night I covered a Nevada Reno vs. Nevada Las Vegas football game in Las Vegas. It was 110 at game time, 6 p.m. But they kept telling me it was a dry heat. All I knew was my toenails were roasting like peanuts.

         I know everyone says it's no big deal if you keep hydrated, but when the water in the bottle is on a slow roll, hey, it’s 106.

         I stood outside a school bus helping little ones find their bus (pig here, dog picture there), the sun hitting the pavement and introducing its beams right on into the soles of my feet.

         It's brain-numbing, body exhausting, sweat-producing if you’re lucking and you haven’t sweated it all out too soon hot.

         It's so hot my golf shoe exploded. Seriously. Bottom of shoe left the fairway before top of the shoe was ready. Poppppppp.

         It's hot enough that local chickens are laying hard boiled eggs. No, really.

         It's hot enough that everyone in Coushatta is wearing sweat pants, clothes are ironing themselves, white collar workers have red necks like the rest of us, we’ve gone past global warming arguments and are now fighting about global melting, and all the beach sand on Grand Isle has turned to glass.

         I'm talking hot, folks. I read yesterday that deer in the area are wearing sun screen.

         We are talking hot.  

         We're talking the kind of heat that will pop corn still on the stalk. So hot that there was nothing to do but send a call right on into the throne room of God asking for a bit of Lord love. 

         I'm reminded of David looking up one summer afternoon and letting all his woes and worries simply crawl on out. He writes, "I look to you, heaven-dwelling God, look up to you for help. Like servants, alert to their master's commands like a maiden attending her lady, we're watching and waiting, holding our breath, awaiting your word of mercy. Mercy, God, Mercy!"

         Saturday, I saw a digital sign at the Bank of Coushatta that had 111 on it. One hundred, eleven degrees. It wasn't that hot, but I think the sign had been fried. Literally.

     Friends, it's so hot, …I saw a fire hydrant chasing a dog yesterday!

         It's so hot, I’m sweating like a politician on election day!

         It's so hot, all the bread in the Rivertown Market was already toasted!

         It's so hot, the cows are giving evaporated milk!

         It's so hot, the birds have to use potholders to pull worms out of the ground!

         It's so hot, yesterday I made INSTANT coffee from water from the hose!

         It's so hot, my car overheated before I cranked it!

         One of my dogs tried to drink water from the toilet but couldn't because the water was boiling

         It's so hot, former Tour de France biker Lance Armstrong tested positive for water!

         It's so hot, my Reese’s peanut butter cups turned into Reese’s peanut butter milk!

         It's so hot, my change melted in my pocket!

         It's so hot, I saw a fox chasing a rabbit and they were both walking!

         No, seriously, It's so hot we've realized in Coushatta, La., that asphalt has a liquid state.

         A friend told me it is hotter than a billy goat in a pepper patch, than two cats fighting in a wool sock, that a firecracker lit at both ends. 

         It's so hot that yesterday my wife Mary and I went to get a milk shake at Dairy Queen and when I opened the top to put a straw in it, the straw hit nothing but cheese.

         It’s so hot that Satan called and asked to have his weather back. Boy, I wished I could give it to him. He deserves it. But when I told him that it was 106, he said that’s too hot for him.

         I sympathized.

         Man, it’s hot.