Brownish recluse

The California sun beats the house with a July fury that suggests the end of days but I am inside with cool air of fine manufacture. Might as well enjoy the ride, as they say but the fires o' hell leap and lick at bottom of my feet, such as they are. A "West L.A. Fadeaway" in all its searing irony and I take it because argument is best saved for the bigger fights. And what of Lazarus but I don't want to get into the death thing too heavy so I won't speculate on what he accomplished after he woke up and I want to live on Gumdrop Lane in a house made of Tirmasu with creme brulee used for sealant. Damn, I really do want that, sarcasm aside. Aw well, the vicious heat would collapse it on top of me, causing a sticky mess and only the first few bites would be enjoyable. And how do you win at tether ball? You see, these are the things I have to contemplate in the frozen moments of the summer of 2006 which seems to be going by in stunning black and white but I wear a red shirt as a symbol of protest!
Anyway, comforts are many and I just saw a girl running on plastic legs and she looked happy to be doing it so this is a fine spot to make a stand and let the storm blow over. What I want is to build my own big-mouthed burger and then I'll have it all. A signature three-cheese blend would be cool, too, but you hear a lot of shit when you're tied to the couch by an iron boot.... well, not the boot part. But what do you do when terms like "rib-sticking meals" are hurled at you non-stop and the cat looks like a little taco? What do you do?