Welcome to the ten Minute Storyteller. That's me Bill Simpson, your host, narrator and author. We hear at the ten minute Storyteller endeavor to entertain you with tall tales or rendered swiftly and with the utmost empathy. We pledge to pack as much entertainment, emotion, and exploration into the human condition as ten minutes will permit. Mini novels on steroids. This week we meet Gary Gary Edward Earl, better known as Gas, Gas and Earl. He's been tasked with fixing the supply chain problems. He could do the job from his home office in the Garden State suburbs, but what fun would that be. Gas wants to hit the road, get out of town. Everywhere he goes, it's hot, hot, hot, broiling hot, and humid despite it being late October. But no big thang. AC's hummin' baby, it's humming, pushing out its cool dry air limos, airport terminals seven eighty seven's office buildings or restaurants, hotel lobbies, hotel suites. It's hot, but hell, it ain't that hot. Gary Edward Earl steps out of his asphalt shingled macmansion, cooled to a brisk sixty eight degrees on this crazy hot and humid October morning. The calendar says fall, but the weatherman's saying hotter than a witch's temper out there, more like the dog days of August. Gary doesn't stay there long. He slides into the back of the company limo, cold enough to store potatoes. Gary needs a sweater. Gary, He's feeling good, looking forward to this trip to Singapore and Zurich to check on the supply chain. The higher ups at corporate have been bitching about delays and getting their meds to market, especially their latest and greatest high priced anti anxiety and anti depressant meds. All the rage among high school and college students post pandemic. Fix the goddamn chain. Gas, Gary Edward Earl's boss told him a couple days ago, got to get the engine running, smooth man. Got to get it run and smooth and make that money. Gas. That's what his teammates nicknamed him nearly three decades ago when he ran the offense for his prep school hoop team. Gas and Earl Gas was and still is high energy type a go man, go pedal to the metal, step on the gas and lets get her done, Gary Gas and earl a thoroughly modern, happy, successful man. Eehah. He could easily take care of the problem from the comfort of his home office. Some phone calls and a handful of zoom conferences would undoubtedly get the supply chain or run unsmoothly again. But what fun would that be? Gas wants to hit the road, get a little breathing room between his self and the family, between himself and the wife and the kids, take a little break. So at the airport, Gas spends mere seconds in the heat and humidity before passing into the enormous high ceiling terminal that maintains a year round temperature of sixty nine degrees no matter if it's four below zero or forty degrees celsius around one hundred and two fahrenheit outside. Gas relaxes in the superbly air conditioned VIP lounge for an hour or so before boarding. He SIPs espresso and sends a few emails on his laptop. He feels excellent, cool and composed, on top of the world and elite frequent flyer, Gas boards early and settles into his first class berth. It's a grueling nineteen hour non stop flight to Singapore. But no matter. Gas has a wide, comfy seat that turns into a bed, a good looking flight attendant to bring him various foods and beverages, plus movies and sports on a high res video screen. Hell, Gas even brought a book. He has meds to help him sleep, and more meds to wake him up. And so away, Gas goes up, up and away into the clear blue yonder. It's only going to take that airbus around seventy thousand gallons of seven dollars a gallon jet fuel to haul Gas and his fellow travelers from Newark to Singapore. That's right around a gallon burned per second. High above the world, Gas googles the high res photos of his soon to be delivered contender thirty two st deep sea fishing boat. She's not brandy new, but she's awful pretty, especially with that pair of Yamaha XTO four twenty five outboards hanging off her Stern pump A few hundred gallons of high octane fuel into the twin tanks and the st will haul Gas and his buds out to the canyons in record time. Sure, the ST burns through a gallon in less than a nautical mile. But the faster Gas gets bait in the water means more time time fishing and less time boten. Gasl be able to tie her up right in front of his house on the canal, just a stone's throw from the Manasquan Inlet. That would be Gas and Earl's vacation house, not quite as vast as his five thousand square foot macmansion up in the wooded burbs, but still three or four thousand feet demanding heating and cooling three hundred and sixty five days a year. It's crazy hot here in Singapore, ninety seven degrees a touchdown almost one hundred percent humidity. Not that Gas connects even briefly with this tropical mass. He's entered the International terminal at the airport through a portal, never for a second encountering anything but dehumidified sixty six degree air. Even the parking garage is air conditioned. Gas slip into another limo and is whisked to the Park Royal on Marina Bay. Almost cold in the lobby and even colder in his premium two room suite with fantastic views of both the city and the South China Sea. Gas spends the next three days in meetings, he asks a lot of questions and demands detailed answers. It's hard work, stressful, demanding. Gas earns his exorbitant paycheck and bonuses and stock options. He gets to the bottom of the supply chain mess and immediately starts to implement changes that will quickly bring order to the chaos. Gas stays cool during these long, grueling sessions with managers and suppliers and foremen who work the line, always cool and calm in his short sleep button downs and wrinkle free khakis. Ah, I don't sweat could easily be Gas and Earl's mantra. Always in every office and every boardroom, every restaurant and hotel suite, the air conditioning hums incessantly and pumps out its cool, dry air gas lets it encircle his slim fit one hundred and eighty pound frame. And then it's time to head for corporate HQ over in Zurich, a quick twelve hour flight across Asia and Eastern Europe, Gas again flies first class with all the comforts of home. He spends his time planning the family's Christmas getaway to the Islands. He's thinking maybe Saint Lucia, maybe Jade Mountain. It'll be crazy hot and the girls will get fiery sunburns. But with the pools and the placid Caribbean, and of course the entire resort resplendent with boone chilling ac even in the outdoor dining venues, Gas feels sure he'll be able to stay cool above all else. Gas likes to stay cool, even Zurix hot mid summer hot in late October twenty and more degrees above the normal high. But no big thing. Limos hotels offices all icy cold. A sweater or a jacket a must. Gas reports to the big wigs. Supply chain problems solved well, they are all smiles and backslaps and handshakes. Excellent job, Gas, well done, Well done, young man, well done. Back home in the Burbs, the Earl family decides to head down to the beach house for the weekend, even though one of the kids needs to get back early on Sunday for a soccer match. Gas says he'd like to stay until Sunday night or Monday morning so he can play with his new contender, take her out for a spin, burn some petrol. So instead of the Earl family of four all riding together down to the beach house. They decide to take both vehicles. It makes sense, much more convenient for everyone. Gas he drives his ram fifteen hundred Laramie crew cab with its massive five point seven liter V eight Hemi. The way Gas loves to push that pedal to the metal means the Laramie will likely average right around twelve miles per gallon for the trip. His wife's almost as thirsty Chevy suburban with its four hundred horsepower V eight and six thousand curb weight, will do a little better, maybe as high as a whopping fourteen miles per gallon out there on the Garden State Parkway. So let's go, boys and girls, Let's roll on the road with Gas and Earl and family. It's hot, but Hell it ain't that hot, at least not yet. Hey, thanks for listening to this original audio presentation of It's Hot, but Hell it Ain't that Hot? Narrate it by the author. If you enjoy today's story, please take a few seconds to rate, review, and subscribe to this podcast, and then go to Thomas William Simpson dot com for additional information about the author and to view his extensive cannon. The Ten Minute Storyteller is produced by Andrew Pleiglici and Josh Collotney and as part of the Elvis Duran podcast Network in partnership with iHeart Productions. Until next time, this is Bill Simpson, your ten Minute Storyteller,

Welcome to the ten Minute Storyteller. That's me Bill Simpson, your host, narrator and author. We hear at the ten minute Storyteller endeavor to entertain you with tall tales or rendered swiftly and with the utmost empathy. We pledge to pack as much entertainment, emotion, and exploration into the human condition as ten minutes will permit. Mini novels on steroids. This week we meet Gary Gary Edward Earl, better known as Gas, Gas and Earl. He's been tasked with fixing the supply chain problems. He could do the job from his home office in the Garden State suburbs, but what fun would that be. Gas wants to hit the road, get out of town. Everywhere he goes, it's hot, hot, hot, broiling hot, and humid despite it being late October. But no big thang. AC's hummin' baby, it's humming, pushing out its cool dry air limos, airport terminals seven eighty seven's office buildings or restaurants, hotel lobbies, hotel suites. It's hot, but hell, it ain't that hot. Gary Edward Earl steps out of his asphalt shingled macmansion, cooled to a brisk sixty eight degrees on this crazy hot and humid October morning. The calendar says fall, but the weatherman's saying hotter than a witch's temper out there, more like the dog days of August. Gary doesn't stay there long. He slides into the back of the company limo, cold enough to store potatoes. Gary needs a sweater. Gary, He's feeling good, looking forward to this trip to Singapore and Zurich to check on the supply chain. The higher ups at corporate have been bitching about delays and getting their meds to market, especially their latest and greatest high priced anti anxiety and anti depressant meds. All the rage among high school and college students post pandemic. Fix the goddamn chain. Gas, Gary Edward Earl's boss told him a couple days ago, got to get the engine running, smooth man. Got to get it run and smooth and make that money. Gas. That's what his teammates nicknamed him nearly three decades ago when he ran the offense for his prep school hoop team. Gas and Earl Gas was and still is high energy type a go man, go pedal to the metal, step on the gas and lets get her done, Gary Gas and earl a thoroughly modern, happy, successful man. Eehah. He could easily take care of the problem from the comfort of his home office. Some phone calls and a handful of zoom conferences would undoubtedly get the supply chain or run unsmoothly again. But what fun would that be? Gas wants to hit the road, get a little breathing room between his self and the family, between himself and the wife and the kids, take a little break. So at the airport, Gas spends mere seconds in the heat and humidity before passing into the enormous high ceiling terminal that maintains a year round temperature of sixty nine degrees no matter if it's four below zero or forty degrees celsius around one hundred and two fahrenheit outside. Gas relaxes in the superbly air conditioned VIP lounge for an hour or so before boarding. He SIPs espresso and sends a few emails on his laptop. He feels excellent, cool and composed, on top of the world and elite frequent flyer, Gas boards early and settles into his first class berth. It's a grueling nineteen hour non stop flight to Singapore. But no matter. Gas has a wide, comfy seat that turns into a bed, a good looking flight attendant to bring him various foods and beverages, plus movies and sports on a high res video screen. Hell, Gas even brought a book. He has meds to help him sleep, and more meds to wake him up. And so away, Gas goes up, up and away into the clear blue yonder. It's only going to take that airbus around seventy thousand gallons of seven dollars a gallon jet fuel to haul Gas and his fellow travelers from Newark to Singapore. That's right around a gallon burned per second. High above the world, Gas googles the high res photos of his soon to be delivered contender thirty two st deep sea fishing boat. She's not brandy new, but she's awful pretty, especially with that pair of Yamaha XTO four twenty five outboards hanging off her Stern pump A few hundred gallons of high octane fuel into the twin tanks and the st will haul Gas and his buds out to the canyons in record time. Sure, the ST burns through a gallon in less than a nautical mile. But the faster Gas gets bait in the water means more time time fishing and less time boten. Gasl be able to tie her up right in front of his house on the canal, just a stone's throw from the Manasquan Inlet. That would be Gas and Earl's vacation house, not quite as vast as his five thousand square foot macmansion up in the wooded burbs, but still three or four thousand feet demanding heating and cooling three hundred and sixty five days a year. It's crazy hot here in Singapore, ninety seven degrees a touchdown almost one hundred percent humidity. Not that Gas connects even briefly with this tropical mass. He's entered the International terminal at the airport through a portal, never for a second encountering anything but dehumidified sixty six degree air. Even the parking garage is air conditioned. Gas slip into another limo and is whisked to the Park Royal on Marina Bay. Almost cold in the lobby and even colder in his premium two room suite with fantastic views of both the city and the South China Sea. Gas spends the next three days in meetings, he asks a lot of questions and demands detailed answers. It's hard work, stressful, demanding. Gas earns his exorbitant paycheck and bonuses and stock options. He gets to the bottom of the supply chain mess and immediately starts to implement changes that will quickly bring order to the chaos. Gas stays cool during these long, grueling sessions with managers and suppliers and foremen who work the line, always cool and calm in his short sleep button downs and wrinkle free khakis. Ah, I don't sweat could easily be Gas and Earl's mantra. Always in every office and every boardroom, every restaurant and hotel suite, the air conditioning hums incessantly and pumps out its cool, dry air gas lets it encircle his slim fit one hundred and eighty pound frame. And then it's time to head for corporate HQ over in Zurich, a quick twelve hour flight across Asia and Eastern Europe, Gas again flies first class with all the comforts of home. He spends his time planning the family's Christmas getaway to the Islands. He's thinking maybe Saint Lucia, maybe Jade Mountain. It'll be crazy hot and the girls will get fiery sunburns. But with the pools and the placid Caribbean, and of course the entire resort resplendent with boone chilling ac even in the outdoor dining venues, Gas feels sure he'll be able to stay cool above all else. Gas likes to stay cool, even Zurix hot mid summer hot in late October twenty and more degrees above the normal high. But no big thing. Limos hotels offices all icy cold. A sweater or a jacket a must. Gas reports to the big wigs. Supply chain problems solved well, they are all smiles and backslaps and handshakes. Excellent job, Gas, well done, Well done, young man, well done. Back home in the Burbs, the Earl family decides to head down to the beach house for the weekend, even though one of the kids needs to get back early on Sunday for a soccer match. Gas says he'd like to stay until Sunday night or Monday morning so he can play with his new contender, take her out for a spin, burn some petrol. So instead of the Earl family of four all riding together down to the beach house. They decide to take both vehicles. It makes sense, much more convenient for everyone. Gas he drives his ram fifteen hundred Laramie crew cab with its massive five point seven liter V eight Hemi. The way Gas loves to push that pedal to the metal means the Laramie will likely average right around twelve miles per gallon for the trip. His wife's almost as thirsty Chevy suburban with its four hundred horsepower V eight and six thousand curb weight, will do a little better, maybe as high as a whopping fourteen miles per gallon out there on the Garden State Parkway. So let's go, boys and girls, Let's roll on the road with Gas and Earl and family. It's hot, but Hell it ain't that hot, at least not yet. Hey, thanks for listening to this original audio presentation of It's Hot, but Hell it Ain't that Hot? Narrate it by the author. If you enjoy today's story, please take a few seconds to rate, review, and subscribe to this podcast, and then go to Thomas William Simpson dot com for additional information about the author and to view his extensive cannon. The Ten Minute Storyteller is produced by Andrew Pleiglici and Josh Collotney and as part of the Elvis Duran podcast Network in partnership with iHeart Productions. Until next time, this is Bill Simpson, your ten Minute Storyteller,