Hotness depends on context.

Summer sucks immense hoary, green mule phallus. Even at that, it isn't even in that happy "Hey Randal, what-the-fuck-are-you-doing?!" kind of way.

Indeed there are some plus sides, warm and sunny weather does tend toward skimpier clothing on pretty women. I'd have to be in a coma for an attractive woman not to brighten my aesthetic environment on general principle.

On the other hand, everyone is wearing less clothing. Brutal statistics assure that there will be many more you wish were more bundled up. No other time of year do people push the dress code as hard as they do during the summer. It might be a vague nuisance at a supermarket or cafe, but an adult store tends to bring out hidden depths in people; depths just as rancid and unsavory as a week-old mass grave. Just because they managed to make it in the door in a pair of ratty shoes and a jock-strap, it does not mean I'm not going to turn them right back around again with extreme prejudice. The mental process that leads folks to go from "they have movies with naked people" to "they don't have a dress code" is intensely frightening. I'd even characterize it further as morbidly depressing.

Then there are the ranks of the rank. Dozens of people who have been laboring, sweating, ripening in the heat. The waves of fermented human musk alternating at random with the miasmas of too generously applied colognes hang in the stale, overheated air. The fan is more than a prayer for a cool breeze, it's my talisman against nasal curdling.

Finally, nothing that comes out of a pocket on such a tropical day is going to be anything less than uncomfortably moist and warm. It makes the entire exchange of payment for product thing, remarkably unpleasant.

I'll be glad when the heat-wave breaks at least.