The truth about August

This is the sound of my soul... And she' not happy.

90% of regular people, at least here in Italy, spend the whole year waiting for these 31 days: the holy month of August.

It's holiday season, it's summer, it's empty cities and bikinis, it's sunshine and midnight dips in the sea, it's big drinks and small tents.

It's a pain in the ass.

If you have to chose a month to go visit a large city this is the right time, that would be a clever choice as none of its inhabitants and their cars will be there.

But please, please, don't come to the coast.

I love June, July and September campers and I can even tollerate those psychos that come by in May, but oh (oh) those August morons.

Well, I should say firstly that not all are moron. Just the thin 95% of them are.

People that go on holiday on August are those who work usually corporate jobs or in factories so they spend the whole year under someone else: not low enough to be humble and not high enough to afford manners. Just regular dicks.

They live taking orders and silently executing them. They go to bed every night saying to themselves "one of these days..." and never actually stand up for their rights.

They call their working place "my company" "my agency" as if by using an incorrect possesive they can gain a bit of their bosses' wealth or rank.

When they go on holiday they finnaly find someone that, they think, is underneath them: the emplyees of their resort/bar/restaurant/hotel/whore-house or wherever else they decide to go.

But, you see, not 1€ of your money is worth dignity: not mine that you are trying to rip into pieces nor yours that you obviously forgot at home.

This is why rude people never really upset me: the pump my ego showing me what I'm not.

The truth about August is really simple: it sucks, so if you can avvoid it.

It's too hot and crowded shores, long lines and high prices, it's traffic and no AC, it's hot tempers and dead cold brains, black-outs and cold showers.