Friday Nite Heat Blogging!

"It's hotter than a witches' teat strapped into a bone corset, under a blouse, under a petticoat, under a cloak as she stirs a boiling hot cauldron hanging above an open flame during a heatwave." Says Friday, dipping a rag into a bucket full of luke-warm water, squeezing it out, and wiping it across his forehead. The water drips down onto his dirty tank-top shirt, making small pools on the webbing of the aluminum folding chair he sits on. "And what the hell's the deal with THAT INFERNAL BUZZING!"

A small man with glasses and hair that may have been blond, but is now pasted down with sweat looks up from his seat on the floor. "That's the fans, m'lord."

Friday leans back and puts the damp cloth over his head. "I haven't got the will to move...once again laid low by a woman." He mumbles.

CUT TO:
INT. UNIVERSITY LECTURE HALL - DAY
PROFESSOR BARNHARM STANDS WITH AN OLD BOOK IN FRONT OF A SMALL CLASS. HIS GLASSES, GREY HAIR AND GOATEE SUGGEST YEARS OF WISDOM.

"So. What do we think this means?" He asks. The class, by this time in the semester, is too smart to go off half-cocked. Nobody suggests anything.

"Well," He begins afresh, what does Friday mean by, "Once again laid low by a woman?"

A chunky woman's-study major rises to the challenge. "Because he's afraid to acknowledge his male power has no effect on the force of nature." She finishes the sentence strongly, but tinged with hope...nearly a question.

Barnharm pauses for a moment, as the spunky woman will need a touch of finesse. "Since we've all, at this point accepted, that there are traits, either masculine of feminine attatched to all natural occurrences...I think it may be pertinent to bring up last month's lecture on Old Man Winter."

The class has a shared and baffled look.

"From your look, I take it nobody's read the assignment." numbers heads nodd. Barnharm has been in this spot before. He's not so much angered as disenchanted. He finds his place in the book and begins to read.

Summer stood in the corner. Her bronzed skin highlited by a perfectly white bikini, thru which her nipples peeked out. She stood on stripper-heels, and she ran a hand up, to put back a stray lock of hair that had come loose from her pony-tail. "Why Friday," She spoke in a sultry voice, "don't you like it hot?"

Friday's servant, with the pasted down hair and a sweat-soaked shirt looks over and exclaims, "Gjod she's so...HOT!" and promptly vanishes in a puff of vaporized smoke. Summer walks smoothly on long legs, towards the immobilized Friday. Then begins the beginnings of a lapdance over the folding chair. Friday merely puts the rag back in the bucket, and dampens his head again.

"Woman, didn't anyone tell you there was such a thing as too hot?"

Barnharm looks up from his book. The words written therein have had a strange effect in the climate controlled classroom. Back rows were already without clothes, genitals exposed and being used. And the front (closest to the authority figure, him,) were past making out, and had moved on to heavy groping, soon the floor would be a massed orgy. He's seen the same thing in the exact same lecture too many times to be surprised or astonished anymore.

He gathered up his papers and other books, and began to walk out. There was a thing as too hot, he thought. At the door he looked back, and realized, this wasn't it. Papers and volumes fell to the floor as he laid eyes on the brunette from the second row. Would it really matter, (he thought) infact, what more could a student hope for in a 3000 level class called "The Effect of Summer On Weekend Literature?" than an orgy? As he groped for a breast, he wondered if he would put any of this on the final.

Happy Friday!