Sunday, December 21

putting the win in winter

happy winter, neighbors.
that's it.
today is the day,
and the ley lines and solar revolutions and back-bent far-reaching lean
of the earth and the stars and the moon and that,
and the deepening darkening days have all converged at a nadir,
on the assigned and designated day, to complete a cycle of birth, life, and death.
that's what's happening around us right now, above the equator,
facing forward, and headed north.
believe it.
the winter solstice,
the whole thing,
right in front of your face,
shortening those sightlines by removing the sunlight,
and the creating some semblance of sameness with sparks and fires an' sh!t.
y'know what i mean?
it's real, and it's definitely a good thing.
from here on out,
things get brighter,
in infintessimally incremental units of luminescence,
but eventually....
i think we all are well aware of how long it takes to get to the opposing side
of the darkness.
light purple flower buds.
like, the plant that invented the color lavender?
i'm 'bout it, guys-
just go ahead and check the teleport:
i GOT they.
because i'm thinking it'll be so expert in a scone.
what's that, now?
that's cake.
i baked a little bit of cake already this morning.
i mean,
there's a big deal big berfday coming right up tomorrow,
and i'm not gonna miss out on celebrating,
because some indifferent box-mix b!tchbaggery is standard issue
among the less-capable and inactive audiences that compose
the ancestry my peoples are descended from.
y'feel me?
active participation means being involved,
and bringing the big action with me in a cakey case,
down to the waterbaby butthole of new england.
word up.
i come bearing gifts,
and i come bearing arms.
my sincere hope is that with the aid and assistance of both,
i'll bear the time spanned with poise.
of course,
berserker barbarian battle beastly scourge-and-flail fury will do just as nicely.
it's infinite nature,
versus infinite focus,
versus indefatigable just-be-dopeness.
i'm taking all three traits to eleven all day every day,
so really,
it's a contest i can't lose,
and that's no joke.
i'm winning at winter outright at the onset;
never quiet, never soft.....

Saturday, December 20


there's been snow on the ground for a month,
and currently it's only nine F*ing degrees outside,
today is still actually the last day of autumn.
tomorrow, all sorts of stellar cosmic heavenly sun-and-moon sh!t
starts poppin' off and activating.
it's just really flippin' cold.
worry not, my worthy warrior poets and active participants.
the season may have unofficially ended forever ago,
and the day may be a busted, albeit bright, blemish
on an already unfulfilling month,
but you can still rely on one thing from the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress,
nestled away, out of sight, and mostly mindful,
tucked into the rolling foothills of the woodsly goodness-
expert treats for your big dumb faces.
check the sophisticated-holiday-hottness-type teleport:
are you drooling?
if you aren't, your salivary glands need checking,
because that is the super-sexxxy sour creamy coffee cake you WISH
you had on your plate this morning.
real talk,
to get the crumb and the bite to be all hannukah-grandma-yiddishy,
i hit it off with that vegan sour cream, AND plain unsweetened soy-yogurt.
it's so perfect.
mini chocolate chips in full-on overdoo-doo-it overdose inside the cake,
with so much orange squeezed of it's juice and microplaned of it's zest.
i mean, a LOT of that, all up in it for megadoses of dopeness,
and then, on top?
MORE of both.
i even used bigger burlier chocolate chips,
for bolder boulders of sprankle magic,
blended all in together now with those zesty jauns.
oh, yeah.
and cocoa powder powering down deftly for a dusty grown-up presentation,
representative of a more intense and focused approach to dessert.
that's right.
super-fancy unnecessary and super-delicious meets expert holiday flavor,
and then gets a little more of all of it for good measure.
don't forget-
too much is the right amount.
i mean,
what are you?
an A*-hole?
don't you dare play around when it comes to treats.
i won't stand for it.
that's word.
this is it.
today is the day.
the last one of fall.
it's the first day of winter,
and the last day of the astrological length of sagittarius.
then things'll really get going,
once pile-of-crap-ricorn shows up.....
firsts and lasts and worse and worst,
it's all really happening.
time travel, into the future, over and over,
spinning spirographs of concentric circles in thought, and word, and deed,
a top view,
bird's eye-style, of a tornado.
that's what these changes of season seem like....
rings, interlocking, and rolling along, picking up bits and pieces,
and pushing them around until they're thrown out or placed somewhere else.
goodbyes still suck sh!t,
even when what you're saying adieu to has been gone for months,
in practice, if not on paper;
never quiet, never soft.....

Friday, December 19


hello, neighbors.
we're getting down to the last minutes of holiday preparation.
i'm just sayin',
i lose a whole week of gettin' readiness,
because i live in the woodsly goodness,
and my peoples are all down along the doo-doo butteriest byways
in the weakest and wateriest babyhole.
connecticut is pure crap,
it holds all my genetic lineage and legacy,
so i gotta go see e'rybody for a few.
my daughter has a big-time big-deal activated berfday coming right up,
so there's that too.
i do what i have to to meet or exceed expectations.
and that includes donating a week to the low-interest bank of
my folks and my kids,
and the collateral damage report including my sisterly siblings,
and all those exes that make ex-mas so expert.
that's not real. c'mon.
but also the spouses and houses and my niece, too, neighbors.
there's a lot going on,
with all of them,
and all of that,
all week long,
the thing of it is-
real life doesn't give a F* if you're ready or not,
if you're into it, out of it, off your game, on point, or anything.
the days are dwindling away;
winter is nearly here;
and the spirit and memory of times gone by,
those happy and hapless, helpful, hindering,
humbling hard-headed hopes and hard-hearted hates,
the bygones and never-weres, the should'ves, could'ves, and would'ves,
and all the rest are nestled in and waiting to be rekindled or diffused....
there's no telling what's going to happen,
but whatever it is, all of it is really gonna, with gusto.
it's christmas in connecticut,
and we're all bracing for impact.
that calls for treats, doesn't it?
i think so.
something smooth,
but with a little textural variety.
maybe sweet and cool,
creamy and crawnchy,
and chocolaty, with seasonal flavors and flair.
check the teleport:
pepperminty candy cane chocolate creme pie!
so many powdered and pulverized miniature candy-style canes,
mixed in, melted down, and added into and onto and around.
the minis are better, when you consider the diameter-density-to-crush-ratio.
they're better for bashing, because there's less white core proportionately.
that means more stripes, by volume, and that means it looks better.
cocoa and graham crackers and all the usual bits and bobs
for an especially thick crackery crust.
creamchee' and butterish and confectioners' and vanilla and sooooooo
many more crushed candy canes, for that soft and silky frosting flair
that's keeping it so luscious all around the edges.
and sprankles, duders.
sprankles for DAYS an' that.
you know the way i do it.
too much is the right amount.
that's my style.
i'm downing slice after slice of this icy-cool and refreshing action.
it tastes like winter in your mouth,
and it looks like a brown circle covered in glass.
awwwwwwwwwwww, man.
truth tellers, y'feel me?
it's feel-me-friday, friends,
so maybe make a little more of an effort;
never quiet, never soft.....

Thursday, December 18


cocoa is pretty dry on it's own.
i mean,
it's basically delicious brown chalk, isn't it?
it is.
with melted butterishness and brown sugar,
and melted chocolate chips, and a splash of vanilla added to it?
double-dutch non-alkalized extra-sexy batter gets birthed from the bowl.
and once all the other other crap gets mixed in,
and a blast or two of chocolate chips gets pushed inside it, as well?
well, well well well,
what do you have then?
you've got yourself some soft cakey cookie dough, yo.
check the early-morning-treats-type teleport:

i think they look kinda cool.
you can go ahead with your christmas cookies,
but i'm steady reppin'  my krampus crankles,
with that crackle-wrinkly confectioners coating all broken and busted open,
for extra-special-effective effect.
they start out so mellow, and then that chocolate hits you right in your face.
a brown bomb of burly richness,
after the soft dissolving dopeness of that sugary skin.
i love treats.
and i need to make 'em in order to feel like my day off was worth a damn.
no joke.
i do what i do,
and i do it the most.
loud fresh hardness, and soft sweet cookies.
this is What Is,
and that's all there needs to be;
never quiet, never soft.....

matching fire-spitters.

hey man,
it's like, no fun at all to be worrying about shystie piles.
y'heard me?
that's the truth.
nobody likes a short stack of cheap gifts.
and if you meet some mincey, minky liarmouths who deny that?
you know the type-
the ones who says they'd be happy with just a card?
just a card?
that's right up there with 'remember the reason for the season'
shuuuuuut up.
too much is the right amount,
and an onslaught of carefully selected, site-specific, seasonally appropriate
considerate, objectively expert objects cannot be objected to
by any  but the most basic bottom-rung weak-sauce waterbabies.
it's not about a lot of thoughtless crap.
it's ALL about paying attention to what's good,
and then wrapping up the biggest and most beautifullest.
normally that's NOT the case, but at XI-mas? it is.
however, regardless of the size or beauty,
as always the object is (still) MORE.
if you know a repeat bad gift-giver,
or an indifferent or reluctant observer of holidays?
that'd be the perfect opportunity to manifest some latent mutant x-factor jauns.
meting out a blast of tele/psycho/cryo/pyrokinetic devastation
is absolutely the apropriate response when dealing with that level
of missing the whole point of  a warrior poets' uncivilizational
all-american faith-free christmas.
family? feelings? peace? genuflection?
sweet baby jeezus on a berfday biscuit, b!tches......
a berserker barbarian battle beast cares not for any of that noise.
if you can't hang out with overdoing it,
and adding that hot fire and explosions to it,
then just stay home, and stay away from me and mine.

don't misunderstand me, here, either, guys-
gratitude and generosity are in play here,
no doubt,
but don't play dumb about the true meaning of this woodsly goodsly
holiday merriment magic and time-spanning
it's a F*ing contest, neighbors.
don't you dare doubt that for even one second.
oh sure,
showering your peoples with presents is a semi-sh!tty way to say
'i love you MORE',
.....but it works.
and that means no shystie piles.
going XI-mas shopping in the rain,
and spending stacks on beefin' up those stacks
works up a righteous appetite.
i had some red chili and garlic paste,
and i had some red chilis and garlic and green chilis, too.
with red onions, and celery and little mini carrots,
scallions, peas, broccoli, and potatoes,
braised with black pepper and g.p.o.p.
and then soaked in coconut milk.
and that coco-loco jauns?
it got spiced so nice with roasted cumin,
cilantro, coriander, basil, ginger, ground mustard,
and hot smoky paprika forever and ever,
with so much lime juice and zest for all that bite and heat and sweetness.
a little bit of beige-hues pea-protein,
and a lot of coconut-jasmine rice, too?
check the teleport:
that's what's up.
i overate.
i had to.
even though it was terrorizing my tongue with hot hot hottness,
and that was certainly the harbinger of hotter holes to come.
dinner for three, eaten by just one.
that is how it's done.
a long day of picking out perfect presents for my girls,
and a long night of burning holes in my guts.
it's all really happening.
that's the whole point;
never quiet, never soft.....

Wednesday, December 17

nutrient-rich self-destruction.

i know you like chipotle.
i mean,
chances are,
you're a regular person, who enjoys food, and knows what's up.
you wouldn't be here,
you'd be reading sports stats or watching morning talk television.
....and that's just not cool.
chipotle is cool.
because chipotle has just. too. much. vegan. sh!t. for me to hate on it.
where else can i eat a couple of pounds of tortilla-wrapped wreckage
for under ten bucks?
word up.
check the XI-mas-shoppin'-refuel-type teleport:
that's it!
a single serving foodstuff the size of a swaddlin' babe?
it has everything i can have in it.
that's no joke.
brown rice, with a strip of white rice, too, for variety.
both beans, b!tches, because i'm not about to discriminate.
fajita veggies?
of course. don't be dumb.
plus that smoky no-joke sofritas jauns all over all of that, too.
which one?
what do you mean, which one?
ALL the mother'ucking salsas, stoopidhead. obviously.
what are you?
an A*-hole?
romaine lettuce, for that crawnch;
and that gooshy green guac', too,
because an extra two bucks and change isn't gonna beat my dinner up.
did i squeeze lemons in it?
did i drizzle that greenish ho' sauce on it?
.......are you even paying attention?
i want it ALL, kids.
i'm sayin',
-and this is real talk right here-
if they don't have to at least wrap it up in more tortilla,
to hold in all the hottness??
then you are clearly F*ing up.
i need to know i'm doing what i'm supposed to,
and usually,
the look of disgust on the burrito-makers' faces,
coupled with the skeptical glances in my direction from those
basic b!tches and weak sauce wimps in line,
with their chicken bowl or whatever,
lets me know i'm gettin' there.
it's the burly burrito blowout that confirms it though.
double wrap at a minimum,
or your sh!t is NOT poppin', y'all.
and also,
it shouldn't take more than six minutes to destroy.
if it doesn't hurt a little, you're doing it wrong.
portland, maine,
in the rain,
at the mall,
in crazy holiday roadway and walkway and register-line congestion.
all of that,
coupled with indigestion from stressful holiday shopping lists,
aaaaaand too much chipotle,
made sure that by the time i got home,
i had nothing left over for anything else.
today, however, is a new day,
and i've got plans for TREATS .
treats on treats on treats on treats, even,
because it's not just burritos that the rules apply to-
too much is the right amount forever and ever.
do the things you like until you hate yourself, guys.
i think that's a thing;
never quiet, never soft.....

Tuesday, December 16

wrapping it up.

it's time to start slicing with the scissors,
and adhering with the magic-style scotch tape.
the preparations are still underway,
as is the purchasing,
but it's high time to get busy bundling up the boxes.
oh, hell yeah!
you already know i got my metallic foil printed wrapping paper
with all those crisp edges and sharp corners, kids.
rules is rules.
my tissue paper is coordinated;
my secret scented tea light treats are ready to infuse the fabrics
inside of the packages with all of the XI-mas aromas;
and now,
all that i'm missing to take this presentation from a perfect ten
up to an eleven are all the bows and ribbons that really make it look good.
what's the first thing you put in a stocking?
the dopest present, the big banger, the encore track, the grand finale freshness.
yeah, obviously.
the toe-present is the last thing you pull out,
and it determines the success of the first course of present opening,
so it kinda HAS to be the most expert.
after the toe-kicker goes in,
then you get to packing up the whole middle with chocolates
and candies and F*ing lip balm or whatever...
but then, for that last third?
you gotta blast it off with all the wrapped up little rad bits of holiday hottness.
that's right.
the mutha-ucka' has to look all picture-postcard perfect,
so your present-opening-time snappieshots make alllllll the moms jealous.
i mean,
c'mon, neighbors-
if you aren't winning at holidays,
what the heck are you celebrating for?
and seriously,
all the 'good' moms out there hate it so hard when my old-and-busted
bearded-weirdie spindly loudmouthed self,
all long limbs and awkward angles,
totally dominates their faces right off in the theater of christmas cheer.
word up.
gift-giving is a key element of lightning-striking viking virtue-
gratitude and generosity are both strong attributes of proper presentation.
i say this same sh!t every year,
but only because it's still the truth, and it bears repeating.
i'll admit it isn't what it used to be, though.
don't get me wrong,
my dear darling daughters,
the sterling starlings who make my heart sing,
or whatever the F*,
are still getting the new hottness in the old tradition.
shystie piles of presents can't come to the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress, after all.
it's the part where i go bananarama apesh!t cuckoo-crazy all-out extravagant
for an appreciative and actively participating partner that i'm missing.
awwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww, MAN!
these days,
i have neither the means to go as mental as i previously have,
nor is there a real-life real-time real talk recipient for that focus...
which is arguably listing my laments in the opposite order.
i still have a basket of sweetheart-specific stuff, for sure.
i mean,
i don't wait until the last minute like an irresponsible and/or indifferent dummy.
they're wrapped, too, (without ribbons)
in the preferred pattern of my ersatz partner,
awaiting the right moment to be given away as an early,
and incomplete, christmas gesture,
or maybe as a bittersweet parcel of parting gifts?
everything gets harder,
even when practice has made it perfect.
real life documentarianism means telling the truth,
and the truth is a real piece of sh!t.
it's all really happening, anyway.
so, yeah, umm,
happy hanukkah, b!tches;
never quiet, never soft.....

Monday, December 15


hey neighbors...
it's a sunny monday in the woodsly goodness,
the brightness of the day and the relative warmth in the air
have yet to reach the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress.
i mean,
the environment is picturesque and site-specifically seasonal and appropriate.
there are big white blankets of driven snow, twinkling lights,
boughs of evergreen, ribbons and ornaments,
and everything else that should bring holiday cheer
to the deepest cracks and crevices in the hearts of the most bah-humbuggered
berserker barbarian battle-beasts.
while all of that is in place and performing at optimum efficiency,
the tone is taciturn,
the light isn't illuminating this darkened doorstep,
and the hottness is turned down well below eleven.
the good news?
just like every year,
i've gotten myself a present or two.
i like what i like,
and i do what i do.
check the teleport:
triceratops is my favorite,
and it's also the best one.
i was missing this particular specimen in my collection.
and now i'm not.
i get what i want for myself, because i know what i want for myself.
and that's important.
knowing what you want, i mean.
it's the first step in acting in accordance with your beliefs.
what you think should determine what you say should determine what you do.
if that's all out of sync, you gotta reassess the whole dang thing.
that's why if i was a dinosaur, i'd be a try-ceratops, i think.
or maybe a try-even-harder-next-time-ceratops.
oh, c'mon.
trying hard is one of the main components of being dope.
trying is the first half of doing.
the other half is not quitting once you start.
whew, it's simple enough to say,
it's a lot of work, trying to be the best version of yourself,
i think a few stony spikes jutting out of my head would probably
add a degree of protection while i'm introspecting and introverting.
plus, that way, when you butt heads over ideologies and perspectives,
there's some small comfort that you're most likely going to poke a few holes
in the opposing opinions.
get it?
oh, stop.
y'ever worry that if you were given two options you'd always pick the worse one?
wow. you're pretty lucky, or a big liarmouth.
i don't know if i can say the same.
i think, sometimes,
that if i were even given the opportunity to choose between being right,
or being happy,
i'd pick being right every single time.
the thing is,
that's not usually a choice we get, is it?
on the other hand,
if i'm already unhappy,
then at the absolute very least,
i'd like to take some small comfort that i stand on the side of what's right.
the difference in the sentences is slight,
but the difference in meaning is monstrously big.
i'd LOVE to be right, and happy about it,
but how often does that work in real life?
it's a matter of principle,
it's a beautiful day out there,
but it's a furious ferocious blizzard in here.
that's right,
and so am i;
never quiet, never soft.....

Sunday, December 14


todd knows about what's good.
this guy:
activation is what's good.
as in-
the interaction and high-level communication that comes from
being involved in good times, surrounded by good people,
having good conversation over good food.
like i said-
he knows what's good.
and after dinnertimes,
a hot cup of tea and a fistful of peanut chews?
that's good.
and if that just so happens to follow a guided tour,
listening to wu-Tang whilst driving through the heights of the
woodsly goodness's luxurious locales, alight with holiday delight,
accompanied by a luxurious slow-burning sungrown stogie,
in it's own turn lit by a luscious new torch lighter?
that's good.
he came bearing gifts,
but after all, he IS a wise man,
so i suppose i should've seen that coming.
i am very lucky to know him.
the kind of people i surround myself with are few, and far between,
and usually also far away.
my friends are all based on their individual merit,
and not the history we've shared.
if they used to be cool, and they're not cool, not no more??
you gotta abandon that crunch, neighbors.
rules is rules, and no amount of old times' sake can change it.
y'know how it goes, even at XI-mas-
just be dope, or F* right off.
it's simple enough,
but there are only a handful of folks out there who can hang out.
i am grateful for the times and the places and the moments they make.
it's all really happening,
and that's the whole point.
creation and destruction,
and everything is connected even when it is not.
uh huh.
the secret universal plan is a real motherF*er.
we pick which circles we spin in,
but they all overlap each other eventually.
broken echoes and sentence fragments,
implications and accusations and dislocations,
all playing their part in a bigger pattern.
...truth and consequences are just a couple of the ghost rings i haunt in,
and they're also the two emptiest ones.
and EW.
oh well,
at least todd can hang out and hold his own.
the ricochets of cultivated coincidences can't always be predictable,
so it's a goddamned boon when the orbit of another 'nother
worthy warrior poet, doing the work, and working the plan,
returns to the local loop for a little baby bit.
hard styles and long nights cold air and no sleep?
i'm still going strong.
a lovely evening with a good buddy was a welcome respite,
but even the best guest goes home eventually.
and when that time rolls around,
there is always a remainder of 1;
never quiet, never soft.....

Saturday, December 13

stay or go.

y'ever heard of how prisoners are sometimes healed,
just so that they can be killed, like, extra hard later on?
capital Punishment with a capital P is SO a thing.
if you're going to be executed,
it's oftentimes because you're an evil awful terrible bastard,
so the powers deciding your fate don't want it to seem like mercy-
if you're injured or sickly,
you get made whole and wholly well again,
just so that your forcibly inflicted demise is a fitting punishment
enacted upon a healthy specimen.
it'd be like patching up bullet holes sustained while apprehending a fugitive,
to insure that he can face a firing squad without it looking like a do-over?
i dunno.
sounds a lot like most close interpersonal relationships to me.
but maybe i'm just doing it wrong.
i don't think i'm an evil awful terrible bastard, anyway.
then again,
whenever i get patched up, and work things out,
and start relating to others at a more than superficial level,
it sure seems like what is really happening is a little bit of building up
for a whole helluva lot of tearing down.
awwwwwww, man.
in a way, that's warrior poetry at it's most appropriate,
destroy what you create,
and create new destroyables from the debris.
 over and over,
refrain, sustain, sustain, refrain.
y'see what i did there?
i don't have anything good to say, today, neighbors....
other than a little self-indulgent diatribe against goodbyes.
yes. goodbyes.
i F*ing hate 'em.
that's what constitutes my lethal injection, my hangman's noose,
my lightning-striking viking electric chair.
i can't help but reason it out,
and there are so many reasons for that, too.
oh, c'mon.
the mathematics of endings amount to if-then statements.
and those are completely conditional.
there's inductive arguments based on previously existing examples
and data from earlier events,
and there's deductive arguments based on rules, facts and definitions.
the thing is,
they're both arguments.
if rules is rules,
and wisdom comes from experience and information,
that means i'm a superconductive inductee into the pantheon of both.
you know how it goes, don'tcha?

if you're going to talk, say what you mean;
if you aren't going to talk, then listen with both ears;
if you're going to make promises, don't break 'em;
when you're wrong, you don't get to decide what makes it right;
when you're making choices, the consequences are on you;
accountability for all of those things is what makes you worthy of
the time and space and active participatory activation that comprises
uncompromising co-operative, interconnected, overlapping life and love.
word up.
the long-term plans that come from competent, culpable,
capable communication and dedication are the result of trust and truth.
if you can't do any those things,
you'd better be an actual little kid.
syllogism suggests you might really be an A*-hole.
two or more accepted truths can compose a conditional clause for almost anything.
liars are A*-holes,
promise-breakers are liars,
promise-breakers are therefore A*-holes.
the thing is,
we ALL get a choice.
don't cut off your leg and then complain you're limping,
but don't cut off my leg and think i'm going to thank you for it.
real talk.
our choices define us,
and no justification, rationalization, or explanation speaks louder than what we DO.
what are you gonna do?
never quiet, never soft.....

Friday, December 12

fancy flavors.

if you like chai, for real,
then you've probably had it done right.
extra spicy, peppery, hot, and extravagant.
unlike coffeeshop chai,
which usually tastes like a sickly sippable slice of cinnamon toast.
word up.
i got this bengal spice sh!t that goes to eleven.
that's no joke...
and i used it to it's fullest potential in a fresh new treat!
check the teleport:
cranberry-chai cake, kids.
that's some seriously decadent and indulgent white people action.
i mean,
the flavors, the textures, the color, the shape,
all of it screams out 'sophisticated and arrogant'.
i love it.
especially because i keep it ghetto good with my south hamden roots.
i'm sayin'-
if i gotta come out my 'hood bag, to balance out that croquet-style treat?
i'm always down to bring the thunder, the lightning, and the hot fire.
i can't imagine that's needed when we're eating this cake, though.
there's just so much goodness going on.
it's dense, but only because it's so rich and powerful,
because it's also moist and super smooth,
except for the cranberry bits,
which have been cooked from hard red circles into soft red sauce.
that's right.
trademarked albie rock-style cranberry sauce, in vanilla apple cider an' that,
added into the batter to bind it together and soften it up.
the soymilk had a set of sachets full of  that bengal beverage business
infusing the F* out of the wetness with ALL that spicy hottness.
and there's uncut spice shrapnel scattered throughout the batter.
i mean,
buttery, sugary, chai-heavy hangouts occurred
well before the rest of the ingredients arrived at the party.
gotta give it a chance to make an impression.
the completed cake caught itself up in all the creases
and crevices of my new bundt pan.
awwwwwwwwww, MAN.
there was a good amount of collateral battle damage
incurred in the cooling rack transition.
that's why i'm showing you one sexy slice,
instead of the whole haggard half dome.
if you're wondering how to take this specific treat up to the next level,
off the charts, off the hinges, off the hooks, and all the way to eleven?
cardamom-lemon-nog icing, duders.
and with lemon zesty sprankles, too?
if you don't know about for maximum new freshness for the holiday season,
you may possibly be a huge stoopid butthole-face.
recognize the truth when you hear it, homie.
i had myself a big slice for breakfast, because i know what's good,
and i know what to do when there's good in my midst.
overdo it?
gluttonize my gorge?
dominate and destroy every last crumb of evidence?
csi couldn't convict me, y'all.
too much of it all.
that's how i'm livin';
never quiet, never soft.....