GRiSO: Let's go for a ride.
Me: It's too hot.
GRiSO: Ride me, bitch! Now!
Me: Yes, dear.
We ride. It's bloody hot for October. 36C. Engine temps rises to 125 (and probably higher), but you, know, that's as high as it registers. Intake temp is at 42 degrees. It feels like it's 50 inside my helmet.
GRiSO: Ride me harder! Twist that throttle!
Me: We're already going very fast (whiney voice).
GRiSO: Don't be a girlie man, give it the berries!
Me: You're going to get me into trouble.
GRiSO: But it feels good. Real gooood. Oooh...
We go thrashing through the back roads. GRiSO races and leaps and cavorts. I hang on for grim death. Finally, when I can bear it no more, GRiSO turns for home.
We slide up into the garage.
GRiSO: Fuqq me drunk, it's hot!
Me: I told you. (wipes sweat from brow)
GRiSO: Sook. Go and have a cold shower and a lie down. Nancy boy!
Me: Why do I let you run my life?
GRiSO: Piss off! I wanna sit here and pant a bit. Alone.
As I go to exit the garage, GRiSO smirks.
GRiSO: You'll be back