Deadspin Up All Night: The Sun Don't Shine

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Thank you for your continued support of Deadspin. It's super duper hot out, man. Last night I tried to be cute and wear a tight gray v-neck to the bar to have a couple of drinks with a friend, because I've recently been doing lots of pushups and sit-ups since I've learned from my mother that my little brother now outweighs me. I'm prepping for a Thanksgiving showdown. My body's responding alright, and I've been feeling more confident, so I pulled out my tight gray v-neck. I make the eight-minute walk from my apartment to the subway without incident. But then I walk down the steps to wait for the train, and there's no air conditioning, which is understandable. But it's still really, really hot down there, and what's worse is the platform's packed because I have to take the F uptown. The F train sucks, and it's coming from across the East River, so it takes forever, and thusly, the platform's always packed. I wait like 20 minutes for this train. Well, 15. It comes, but by then I'm seeping through my shirt. And here's the rub: Usually, the good thing about the subway is that the cars themselves are air-conditioned, and once you're on, it takes a pretty short time to get where you're going. (I'm only going like 20 blocks, so four stops.) But now, I'm sweating, and you can see the stains through my shirt, and the best thing for me would be to spend as much time in the air-conditioned car as possible so I can stop sweating and some of the moisture can dry. But I'm only on the train for like five, six minutes, so when I get off, not only am I still sopping wet, but I haven't even stopped sweating yet. I mean, my thighs are starting to chafe. Still, I walk to the bar to meet said friend. She's coming from the Jay Z/JT concert, so she gets there like three minutes after me. We walk up to the bouncer together, and I'm thinking about the air conditioning in the place and what time I need to be home so I can be up and sober enough to work the Saturday Deadspin shift, and the bouncer stops me at the door. Turns out the place we're going doesn't allow t-shirts. Initially, I'm not worried. I've dealt with this before, and I've been able to talk my way past security a couple times before, because I'm cordial. But I'm wearing a gray shirt, and I might literally be dripping. I look like a bum. I look guilty. I don't even try to wheedle the dude; I just turn around and walk away. I'm telling you all this to say that tonight's a pretty slow sports night, and so you might be better off braving the heatwave and going to a bar where you can get in some socialization. If you do so, I suggest you wear a darker shirt. Personally, I'm going to wear a shirt and then another shirt over that one. That way, bottom shirt sucks up all the moisture, and top shirt is dry to the touch. This is crucial if you're planning on hugging, dubbing, cuddling, or engaging in just about any human interaction at all tonight. I know this is obvious advice, but it bears repeating, because...I'm serious, man. This heat is a motherfucker. Now is not the time to get cute.