It’s the time of year when it gets so humid you pray you don’t drown by simply trying to breathe air. It’s also the time when my patience wears thin and my contempt for the “iced coffee price gouge” boils over. Why does iced coffee cost more than regular coffee, because they are marketing and sales geniuses who take advantage of sweaty caffeine fiends. That’s why. Let’s break it down.

1. It’s ridiculously hot outside and coffee shops aren’t going to sell as much hot coffee.

2. Iced coffee is made from old, leftover coffee. I worked at an ice cream parlor and we never brewed coffee for the sole purpose of using it for iced coffee. The iced coffee urn was full of days old coffee. Yummy!

3. You get less coffee in iced coffee because they fill the admittedly larger cup full of ice. However, I bet a large iced coffee only has as much coffee liquid as in a medium hot coffee. In fact, I’m going to investigate it today and will get back to you.

4. Iced coffee costs up to a dollar more than hot coffee of the same size.

This is a racket. You get a smaller amount of coffee liquid, it isn’t fresh, and you pay more for it. Where does the added price come from? Some claim it’s the cost making ice and refrigerating the old coffee. True it probably costs money to make ice and paying higher fuel costs in the summer, but sodas are still cheap and they’re packed with ice too. Plus, some places will only charge you a few cents for a cup full of ice.

The reason is supply and demand or in laymen’s terms, “because they have us by the balls.” We need coffee, we’re addicted consumers, and it’s too damn hot outside.

I’m not writing this to get people to boycott ice coffee, or picket stores for screwing us. I mean what can we do? Anything short of an anti-trust lawsuit will not break this Axis of Iced Coffee.

UPDATE: Rumor has it that ING charges the same for iced and regular coffee. Give them your business.

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The funniest site on the web other than this one (crickets chirping) is The Onion, but have you seen ONN, the Onion News Network? No, well watch this and laugh your ass off.

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All right, team, the quarterly earnings are down and this company needs a shot in the arm. Each and every one of you has to be a proactive go-getter because we’re experiencing a paradigm shift and some of these old dogs are gonna have to learn some new tricks.

The bottom line is what’s on the line for all of us. The world is changing and we need to be adaptable problem-solvers who can think outside the box 110% of the time. FYI - If you’re not a detail-minded self-starter, you might as well quit now. I want your primary action item to be maneuvering this company to the next level. Make no mistake, we have to be a team of deadline-oriented, success-driven leaders who can stretch their bandwidth when needed.

All right, let’s circle back and touch base again tomorrow.

Contempty says: Everyone knows that you have no idea what you’re doing and that you think using these ridiculous terms makes you sound smart. Well, you’re wrong. You are actually shining a spotlight on your own deficiencies. Guess it turns out that three credit course in Business Lingo Basics at DeVry was a waste of money after all. Ass.

Think you have the worst Boss? Enter the My Bad Boss Contest.

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While you’re there, check in with the Excessive Cubicle Decorator.

Make meetings less boring by bringing along your very own Bullshit Bingo card!

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The summer weather can be uncomfortable. This week in Premature Exasperations Bryan explains his physiological functions and reactions to the heat.

Sweatin’ to the Summer
By Bryan

As I write this, my belly button is sweating. That’s right, my innie is crying salty tears like it just found out it had sex with a tranny. It’s summertime and the livin’s stinky. I can’t even begin to tell you the amount of sweat I can produce during this season. I produce ungodly amounts whether under a noonday sun or a crescent moon. Time of day is of no consequence.

On the subway, you’ll find me huddled under an air vent, my hair matted to my forehead and my pants looking as though they have been pissed. It’s just crotch sweat. Everyone gets it, but no one wants to embrace it.

When I look around on a hot summer day, I expect to meet eyes with other miserable skin leakers. Instead, most people look at me with smug, collected, icy glares. Sometimes they wear sunglasses. Sometimes they wear long sleeves and jeans. WINTER CLOTHES IN SUMMER! How are they not dying? I’m convinced these people are the undead wearing layers of clothes to hide their rotting skin. And we could get along so well since my damp skin probably smells very similar.

Well, take this as an open invitation for all of those haughty non-sweaters to go climb an equatorial dildo tree. I don’t even know if that’s an insult, but it doesn’t sound appealing, and I would hope it would make them uncomfortable and sweat.

I know other people sweat. I’ve seen the fat businessman poring buckets off of his glistening bald dome. I just give those people a smirk and a nod as if to say, “I feel you, brother-in-sweaty-underarms.” I’ll normally take out my paper towel square and wipe off my face, neck and behind the knee crease. Then I’ll raise that soggy, tattered hanky to my fellow pore pariah as a surrender flag.

“I give up! I can’t sweat no’s more!”

Then my skin creates a new hole on my nose and a drop of sweat drips onto my suede shoe. When I look up on a crowded platform to see if anyone noticed, the fat man is consumed by his own problems, while a chic looking couple stares at my shoe and huff as if I offended a sensibility. Then a Mitchum deodorant ad mocks my current deodorant and emasculates me.

Then I cry. Well, my belly button cries.

FUN SUMMER FACT: Turns out Denver regularly sees 300 days of sunshine a year. Who knew? I’ll tell you who:
“Ah the sunshine state, unbe-, Denver, Gorgeous! Gorgeous!”
-Mitch Martin

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Dude, this rooftop bar is tha-shiiit! It’s such a nice night out. Oh, what’s that a whiskey sour? Yeah that’s going to give you a hangover. I would’ve gone with something with a clear liquor—not as many toxins.

Such a nice night out. Man, 9/11, what was that shit about? I remember I saw the towers fall. That shit was crazy. Man, could it be any nicer out? Twin towers, saw that shit from a rooftop not too much unlike this one. Oooh looks like you got a stain there. Again, should’ve gone with something lighter than that whiskey.

This is fun. Who do you know here? Oh you went to college with that girl? Nice, nice. Yeah college was a blast, right? I remember smokin’ bomb kush back in the day and just getting fucked up! Speaking of bomb, what’s with all of these kids killing each other in college now? Fucked up shit, man. Back in my day kids would never just go in and shoot other kids with guns, I mean maybe a fist fight, BAM BAM, but never would get guns involved. All of that senseless bloodshed, man, really makes you think. PAR-TAY!

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While you’re there, enjoy a flick with the Movie Theater Dick.

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Here are some links that you may like. Or not. No pressure.

They say a picture is worth 1,000 words, but this picture weighs in at 1,234 lbs. (Not Safe For Lunch)

This YouTube sensation may just be the best song ever written about diarrhea.

We get an absolute shit load of spam here. I’m convinced that the circle of hell right above the paparazzi is reserved for internet spammers. Why do they get off easier than paparazzi scum? Because God has a soft spot for the dim-witted.

Thank the maker they got the ol’ Internet up and running after yesterday’s crash. The team at The Onion has full coverage (via What the Blog).

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It was bound to happen. While all of us sat in stunned silence due to the news of Lindsay Lohan’s recent arrest, the fucking aliens have arrived and caught us all off guard. Well, that’s just great.

I, for one, remember a time when E.T. didn’t just stand for Entertainment Tonight. While all of us have been diverted by Lindsay’s busty, drunken shenanigans, the green ones have been plotting to take over our planet and harvest humans to use as insulation in their vacation homes here on Earth.

I suppose the human race had a good run. If our alien overlords allow me to live, I look forward to discovering which annoying behaviors piss them off the most and then writing mildly amusing sarcastic profiles about them.

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If the three walls of my office cubicle could talk they wouldn’t say a word. They’d SING! You see my collection of knick knacks, doodads, and wacky conversation starters makes Pee Wee’s Playhouse look like an exercise in minimalism.

My collection of Family Circus comics cut from the newspaper tells my coworkers that I know how to read and can operate scissors. I don’t usually “get” the comics, but I just love cutting things.

The Mardi Gras beads tell you that I have a wild side. How did I get them? Wouldn’t you like to know!? I actually bought them at the party store to hang in my cube.

The collage of my vacation pictures tells you that I’m well traveled and invites people to inquire as to where I’ve visited. However, I’d rather not talk about the awkward casual sex I had with various locals on my many trips or the resulting venereal diseases I brought back as souvenirs.

I also have more motivational posters per square inch than anyone else in my department, which indicates that I’m a hard worker with a love for Grand Canyon sunsets and kittens dangling from branches. What’s not to love about an animal in peril? Hang in there, Pussy!

I recently saw some coworkers with action figures posed in their cubes. Not one to be left behind the trends, I ordered a complete set of Star Wars figures off of Ebay. It cost me $2500, but it pays for itself in the amount of young males who flock to my desk to talk about the adventures of Lou Skywalker and Darth Vapor. Live long and prosper, fellas!

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While you’re there, share a meal with the Co-Worker Who Eats Your Food in the Fridge.

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A group of children said being famous ranks as the #1 thing in the world closely followed by “good looks” and “being rich” according to a survey taken last year in England. Sorry, God, you only ranked #10. But, hey, if you can launch a $50 million dollar opening weekend or “manifest” yourself up some platinum albums call me. I have a feeling that somewhere Adam Smith is gleefully spinning Karl Marx in his grave, although Big Karl can probably take some consolation in the de-emphasis of religion. But what of those people who aren’t celebrities and are merely blessed with the good looks of our blessed stars?

Like this woman for example who during last call at the Purple Shamrock is frequently told she’s a dead ringer for Julianne Moore. Surely that must rank in the top five.

What do you make of the hassle of living in the skin of this girl who is constantly harassed and cat-called at drunken San Diego surf parties due to her mirror like resemblance to Scarlett Johansson? As Bruce Campbell once said in Army of Darkness, “Oh that’s just what we call pillow talk, baby, that’s all.”