Helter swelter

It was fun today walking around inside of a coal-fired bread oven all goddamn day. Oh -- wait, you're saying it was the planet Earth I was on? Not Mercury? I've made mistakes before, but, never that cosmologically unsound.

This is where the people live. Notice how their wills to live are melted like so much bomb-pop, running gooily over their fingertips and wrist.

This is the source of the heat. Damn you, Helios on your chariot! Go make pizzas in the open air somewhere else, you fiery, gaseous bitch!

These are the avian lifeforms, enjoying their last few moments on Earth in a splashed puddle of beverage, seconds before they flash-fry into neatly prepared cornish hens. I still don't know where the rosemary and sea salt crust comes from, but there they are, butterfly-roasted on the pavement.

And this is what the dead people call "a change of plan," as the graves immolate from within beneath the topsoil, cremating the remains of the Civil War's dead without so much as asking what Jedediah might've wanted done with his body minutes before the flamey apocalypse has its way with us, sweaty and deodorant-free.