THIS WEEK'S QUESTION: HOW DO YOU BEAT THE HEAT?

My secret? Going to the movies! Partly for the movie... but mostly for the air conditioning! Haha! This weekend: Spider-Man!

—Kristy Denby, project manager, Southeast Portland

Just so we’re crystal fucking clear, you natural-born shitwit: So you cram yourself inside a 100-degree car, sit in gridlock until you get to a rat-infested multiplex, pay for a ticket, pay even more for garbage food to stuff into your garbage mouth, get lice from a sperm-crusted seat, sit through two hours of insipid CGI bullshit, then squeeze back into your 100-degree car and back into your miserable life? At first I was worried publishing your “secret” in the Mercury would spoil it—but then I remembered your oh-so-brilliant scheme has been known by unwanted stepchildren and back-row perverts for fucking decades, you fucking imbecile!

The new Spider-Man sucks, by the way.—Frank Cassano


It’s actually very simple. First, install blackout curtains. Then, use a portable AC unit and box fans to keep the air circulating. Create a cross-breeze, and check that your ceiling fans are turning in a counter-clockwise....

—Clifford Evans, web developer, Northwest Portland

Cliffy, everyone’s so impressed... that you have this much time on your hands! Here’s a tip, dipshit—if you’re the kind of pedantic imbecile who thinks it’s fun to construct elaborate systems of fucking fans, you’re also the kind of pedantic imbecile who will die alone on the toilet! By all means, fiddle away with your curtains, gawp at your ceiling fan, and craft a perfect little masturbation cave for yourself—because so long as you’re obsessed with cross-breezes, you’ll stay the hell out of the gene pool! Jerk away, fucko!—Frank Cassano


Ice cweam!

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—Jenni Powell, kindergartner, Beaverton

A simple answer, from a simple mind. Now, dearest little one—before you next shit yourself, how about you put the slightest motherfucking modicum of thought into your stupid goddamn response? “Ice cweam”? Do you mean vanilla? Mint chocolate chip? Rocky fucking road? Because while some flavors of “ice cweam” will indeed cool you off, others will merely coat your buck-toothed, slack-jawed mouth with sour milk that will curdle in the sun, thus further contributing to your humiliating speech impediment! Oh, and another thing, you diabetes time bomb: Move. It’s new arrivals like you that are ruining Portland.—Frank Cassano

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In person at the Clinton St. Theater 10/29 & 10/30