Uh-oh. Somebody’s upset Mr. Sun and he’s taking it out on all of us!
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So I invited Mr. Sun and his lovely wife Diane over for drinks on the weekend. Just to catch up, you know. We haven’t really had the chance since he took that job heating and illuminating the world. Quite a nice time, too, we had cream pastries and some really nice candy cane steak, very relaxed. Then he challenges me to a Duel.
What you have to know about Mr. Sun is he’s a bad loser. He takes it very personally. And as best out of three became best out of thirty-one, well, let’s just say the evening took a turn for the edgy. He didn’t look too happy when he left.
So now the air is melting. Ice cream sales are soaring. Restful sleep is elusive and everybody and I mean everybody smells like badly buttered popcorn.
We don’t have “air conditioning” the way you humans do. Instead, we emply a multitude of very tiny fairies to work the doors and windows keeping the cool air in and the hot air out. Unfortunately, half our fairy workforce is out sick this week with malaria.
The Institute is swampy and uninhabitable. Indeed, it’s nigh unbearable. I’m perspiring like a donkey, Renfield is turning into pumpkin soup and even Cinderbottom is complaining about the heat. C’mon, Mr. Sun, lighten up! It’s just a game!