Monday, June 29


sure, i'll eat dinner at nine p.m.
oh i know.
and i'm sure for some of you night owls, that's maybe even considered early.
over here, in the woods, however,
on a rainy sunday night,
home alone,
at the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress,
after a looong day of tattblasting and talking for hours, or maybe even forever,
nine o'clock was waaaaay too late to get something great in my mouth.
especially after talking so much sh!t all day.
i started cooking around eight, when i got home, got situated,
and got all my ingredients together.
what's on the menu?
my favorite.
i deserve it, in my own largely biased and self-serving opinion-
and since i'm ALSO the one making it,
it's going to be exactly what the F* i'm talking about....
and what i'm talking about is sourdough crust,
and cold-crushed tomatoes,
and that expert homemade underchee'......
you know where this is going,
so check the teleport:
you know i love love LOVE LOVE that pee eye zee zee ayyyyy.
i made an exxxtra fattie one, all for me,
and i left not one speck of sauce unmunched.
i can't help myself, and i won't help myself,
unless i'm helping myself to another helping of pizza.
i mean, c'mon.
i'm not some sort of fasting diaper baby.
no way.
i'm all about that shark-gluttonous gorging,
and i doo-doo that pizza-pie-for-my-eye-amore-type sh!t.
there is some level eleven underchee' jauns all over the dough.
regular-firm tofu, and cashews, and nootch, and g.p.o.p.,
and black pepper, and olive oil, and a billion cloves of garlic,
and a few spicy spices, food-processed into that rinotta-be-kidding hottness.
it's on there,
and then the simple sauce got slathered, and smothered with shredded collard greens.
that's riii-ight.
daiya(rrhea) dairy-free overchee' by the heavy handful is making a scene on that
irregular circular crusty buster, as well as caramelized red onions, and grilled leeks,
with a big blast of veggie bacon bits and pieces as well.
i like when there's an overabundance of toppings.
then again, who doesn't?
...probably weak-sauce A*-holes, i suppose.
the rules very specifically state that too much is the right amount.
so all you light toppin' types,
keep your shystie pie fixinslves to yourself;
and keep yo yourself in general if you're gonna be comin' at the pizza scene
with frugal add-ons and sparse upgrades.
the real life honest-to-goodness matter of fact-
pizza is dope.
...and more pizza is better.
and bigger, burlier, more barbarically obese beast-mode monster slices
are even better than the best.
i'm about that life.
i didn't choose that pizza love, guys.
that pizza love chose me;
never quiet, never soft.....

nobody beats the biz.

hey neighbors!
sometimes, i'm busy.
other times, i'm also busy.
and then there are times when i'm busy gettin' busy;
and there are even other other times when i'm too busy to get busy;
or i'm busy gettin' busy on some big busy business.
what i mean is,
i don't do a whole lot of nothing.
it's almost as if there are no down times,
except for the nighttimes,
and even then, there's always something.
it's not all work all the time.
for instance,
saturday night was amiable activation with my buddy todd.
indian food, and great talks, and good times, and name brand stumps;
that's that extra manly stogie-style,
because we doo-doo that sort of sh!t over here at the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress.
he's a good dude, and we had a good time, even if it started a little late....
...because i was at work being busy!!
last night, however, was a whole other kind of big action.
that's real.
a quiet night in my woodsly manse,
listening to rain fall down,
and scouring the internet for responsible dog breeders...
at least,
i started in on that once i fiiinally got done with all the business
that comes from the after-hours action of a busy workday,
at the end of a wild workweek,
zapping ALL the people who ,
and tattooing at the shop all alone,
doing all my sunday dirt all by my lonely!
(which was the most expert day at the studio i've had in months, btw)
 it turns out,
the worst part of my job isn't the location;
it isn't the clients;
it isn't even the terrible ideas that somehow seem to all gravitate towards me;
not even by a close margin-
the worst part of my job is other tattooers.
always has been, always will be.
that's GOT to be a thing, because i did six tattoos yesterday-
none of which could be considered career-making feats of artistry,
although they were all important, symbolic, and sentimental to their owners,
and their owners were all great.
i had the best clients/audience i've had in ages...
and none of the collateral side-stage background noise from the far reaches of
the other empty workstations.
so fantastic.
left to my own devices, i do a whole lot of stuff,
and i never notice how psyched i am to work by myself.'s different when the studio is full.
when that's what's up,
i'm relegated to the big back room, and largely excluded,
but not because of my high-profile exclusivity.
we all just can't hang out, for pretty much every possible good reason.
so being surrounded on three sides by frownie-faced layabouts
is not that rad hereabout or thereabouts-
but being alone, like, alone alone?
as in, for realsies, at the shop?
it turns out,
that's actually SO dope.
i guess that's that.
the logical conclusion i'm hop-skip-and-jumping to?
they have to die, so that i may live.
oh, c'mon.-
i can't tell if that's especially douchey, or just another true story,
in a long line of true stories,
that describes the hard head, harder heart, and hardest styles
of a forest-dwelling mountain-manly warrior poet.
maybe i'm just a difficult and demanding duder who is absolutely impossible
to get along with for any appreciable length of time?
i doubt that, but then again, i would wouldn't i?
what was that all about?
oh, you know-
it's called complaining.
i do it.
also, according to science,
it apparently makes you happier,
and lets you to live longer.
(albeit probably unloved in a cave somewhere)
....holy sh!t. though, duders-
can you even imagine the level of displeasure, dissatisfaction, and discontent
i'd be reppin' if i was a more reticent and reserved person?
no way.
this is What Is,
and the infinite nature of one's fundamental core composition always wins.
i talk sh!t when there's sh!t to talk about.
that's competent communication,
and that's the best way to speak the same language when it's all sh!t;
never quiet, never soft.....

Saturday, June 27

feel awful falafel friday.

the sequence went a bit out of order,
but the end result was the same.
fridays are usually big fun over at my real job.
busy business amongst the b!tchbags and bog-monsters
that perpetuate my movie-check-wrecking income generation.
lots of work, lots of people, lots (but certainly not all) of those bodily fluids.
the thing of it is-
by friday night, when i'm headed home alone, to remain alone,
within the deep silence of the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress,
i'm usually pretty spent, and all the pent up energy i began the day with
has dissipated into an oral atmospheric area-effect
of something along the lines of a loquacious laser lightshow.
a lot of talking, and joking, and loud, fresh, hardness escapes from my face
over the course of a day navigating the obstacle course i call a job.
i already feel a little awful....
a little awful won't really cut it, now, will it?
you know the story by now, neighbors-
rules is rules.
and when it comes to woodsly goodsly warrior poetry in it's purest pugilistic practice-
too much is the right amount.
which really just means there's still worse ways to feel,
and that that's worth exploring.
to that end, i'll ask that you now check the teleport:
one very burly homemade explosion of flavor, texture, and mass.
and with the fattie-boombattie foldover?

you like that thickness, huh?
i'm gettin' into gettin' all the way heavy.
the lemon level on that jammie goes to eleven, and then some.
citrus is good for you, i think.
and falafels are great for you.
what's that now?
why are my sandwiches so big?
c'mon, duders.
big is what's up.
i make 'em molto grande, because i want the best there is....
and more is always better, after all.
i felt pretty flippin' full after the first one,
but i wasn't about to go against the cardinal rule of feel awful falafel friday.
no way.
and that's why i doubled down on a whole other dispensation of deep-fried dopeness.
that's the way i doo-doo my f''laf'' thing.
real talk.
and the fold on this one? fat.
my chick pea jauns are off the charts,
and now,
so are my farts!
you guys are so immature.
then again, i'm not really joking.
oh, stop.
it's just that there's SO much garlic in 'em,
i'm immune to vampires, mosquitoes, and women,
and all after just one meal.
if i'm not mistaken, i think that's what we call being expert....?
awfulness is in my predisposed infinite nature.
woven into the fiber of my internal fires an' that.
i can only surmise that that's the reason i'm so good at it.
great food as a means to feeling lousier?
that's high-concept activation right there.
i do it.
i'm doing it.
it gets done.
and there's sure to be so much more of all of it,
which is the most comfortingly upsetting notion i take to bed every night.
hard styles,
hot food,
and detriments,
it's all really happening,
never quiet, never soft.....

Friday, June 26

radiating hottness.

little rad radiators.
that's essential for success.
i mentioned this recently,
and i'm reiterating it for  the benefit of anyone who wasn't listening.
ruffle pastas are the sh!t,
and when it comes to summer starches,
the tri-color jauns can't be beat.
maximum surface area is what's up
where ultimate pasta-salad dressing coverage is concerned.
and i'm concerned about single colored 'ronis,
just as much as i'm troubled by the weak babies who can't hang out
with minced onion in their bowl of chilled hottness.
oh, well, then you might be a diapery little nancypants,
and you're missing out on all that supreme adult flavor.
do you know what i did last night?
i ate a giant bowl of red-onion-laced expert ruffs,
with rainbow veggie magic all throughOUT the triple-hued wheaten ripples.
don't bring your mealy mouth to my mealtime table-
that sort of pick-it-off style of dinnertime surgery is offensive to my
savage shark-gluttonous sensibilities.
take it to eleven, or take yourself elsewhere.
and before you go,
check the high-functioning-adult-pasta-salad-type teleport:
kaBOOMfire, neighbors!
i'll just come out and say it-
if you can't hang out with pasta salad,
we can't be friends.
if you can't eat it with the onions,
we may never be close.
it's a hard style, if you're a weak waterspritzer,
but it's the simple truth if you know what's good.
rules is rules,
and it's been decreed.
that is all;
never quiet, never soft.....

oh snap!

chocolate and peanut butter.
that's right.
if you don't understand why that's such a dope combination,
you must've been living subterraneanly for centuries or somethin'.
i mean,
chocolate is expert,
peanut butter is expert,
and together, they're even better than when they're alone.
it's a perfect relationship.
no fighting, no competing,
just delicious, harmonious, activation forever and ever.
i made snaps, neighbors.
that's a thing.
chocolate snaps, even.
lots and lots of cocoa in a crispy creamchee' cookiedough,
for superior crawnch in each bite.
which, on their own, are more than enough awesomeness to thoroughly enjoy.
too much is the right amount-
and that means we had to stack 'em, and frost 'em,
and wholeheartedly overindulge in taking the entire idea to eleven.
i'd just be eating cookies,
and not dominating the treats situation at the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress.
i can't have that hanging over my head all day, duders.
no way.
so, instead,
i've got a big ol' plate of stacky-stackers for my face,
and a feeling of satisfaction in the knowledge that MORE is what i'm making.
check the teleport:
the cookies are so crisp they crack a little, but they're not even a little bit dry.
the zigzag edges give off a distinctly peanut butt-cup effect,
and speaking of peanut about that sandwich creme?
i'm sayin'-
peanut buttery smoothness has never been more developed.
three brown biscuits and beige 'butt paste, for the big win!!
i didn't even measure anything;
i just fired scoop after scoop of ingredients into the mixer,
and beat 'em up until they achieved what i wanted.
brute force baking might be a thing.
oh, and before i forget...
those flower cut-outs ARE pretty kyoooooooooot, aren't they??
i think we all deserve a few fresh flowers once in a while.
we do.
and i doo-doo that carefully fulfilling cookie crumblin' snappy snappin'.
i do.
it's true.
chocolate snaps and sandwiches made from 'em,
with two great tastes tag-teaming your tastebuds?
it's all that's keeping me from a full-blown barbarian bedlam spree.
if i get closer to the edge of reason,
i can just bake up a whole other 'nother batch,
and rein in the raging stormswept summer savagery until a few dozen more doses
of soothing sugary snacks are consumed.
i need a dog, or two.
some little buddies to hang around here,
and keep my mind ferociously occupied with obedience and rewards.
focus rewards itself with focus,
and patience gets results.
at least, it does when you're dealing with animals, anyway.
people, on the other hand, tend to pounce on the patient ones,
and push until they get an undesirable outcome.
THAT'S no joke.
battle beasts and beastly battlers prefer rules, in reality.
i'm ready to lay down the laws of the land,
the writ of woodsly goodsly guidelines,
rife and replete with lessons on poop etiquette, avoidance, and removal.
the secrets of the universe have got me already nostrils deep
in scorned, forlorn, and environmentally-borne sh!t-salad everywhere else-
i think it's time i got to at least get a bit of appreciation out of my efforts.
^that may only make sense is you know me already,
but jeez, y'all, it still holds true  even if you don't.
doo-doo butter isn't dope,
and piling on more and more of it won't make it smell any less,
but it also won't smell any extra.
that's metaphorical,
but it's applicable to all aspects of interactive participation.
here's the thing:
i can coerce a beast with bits of biscuit fa far better
than i will ever persuade a b!tch-A* watery-sauced adult baby
with reasonable words.
treats work more efficaciously than logic, even when you're not a dumb animal.
.....which probably makes you a dumb animal.
does that make sense?
i dunno.
no sleep, and stream-of-consciencelessness typing don't mix.
it's still ALL really happening, and that's the whole point;
never quiet, never soft.....

Thursday, June 25

don't scorn my scones.

the mutha-effing scone zone, actually.
that's the place where breakfast gets fresh-to-death,
and the baked greatness comes barrel-A*ing into it's birthright.
that's a thing.
the scone zone.
butterish butts, and cream-style chee', and a bit of brown sugar...
with a scoople of vanilla yogurty soy stuff,
and buttermilked lemon-juiced white soy-style non-dairy delightfulness.
we gotta get in the ZONE.
tapioca starch keeps 'em soft,
and the added fats i attach keep 'em fluffy.
that's right.
i want my scones thick, but not heavy.
dried blueberries, and dried cranberries, and vanilla bean paste,
added in at the last instant, make the whole dang thing come together
in an orgiastic organic onslaught of expertism.
believe me.
then believe your own eyes, man.
check the sconery-poppin'-triangle-type teleport:
y'see what i mean?
18 folded, flipped, and flattened forays into the floured fray,
for thirty-six wu-TANGy chambers of breakfast-style hottness,
represented by an equal number of flaky layers of buttery bangin' biscuit business.
thanks for noticing.
...and big crystal raw sugar sprankles, too.
i'm not going to tell you that your sh!t is weak
if you're having a bowl of cereal this morning,
but it's not the hot fire that i'm enjoying in my castle at sunrise.
there isn't much better than a cuppa tea, a gently toasted scone,
and tippity tap typing of true stories told truly.
my life at home sure seems smaller than it used to be years ago;
compared to the larger-than-(your)-life albie rock show
that starts at noon each day,
but manages to go to eleven the whole entire time,
i'd have to say this particular performance is a masterstroke masterpiece
of understated and professionally appreciated conspiratorial cookery,
and i for one am pleased to be enjoying a wedge of this wonderful treat
in my morning robe, in my morning spot, while the birds perch at my window,
jealous that the seeds i've tossed across the plinths of the patio
have not got jack-sh!t on the full-blast repast that i'm breaking my fast upon.
it's not a grandiose grandstand gala,
it's just a carefully crafted morning, full of only the wheat,
and none of the chaff...
i'm definitely about that sort of definitive Folk Life
whenever i'm left to my own devices....
which just happens to be almost every minute i'm away from work.
i'm doing what i need to, and doing what i want to,
and soon enough,
they'll be particularly prepared places for me to do what i'd love to.
it takes time, and time ticks away, taking from itself and never repaying it's debt.
i'm spanning that time, and reaching to the far ends of the hours,
so that while it all keeps really happening, the sequences forms a pattern
that pieces together a puzzle that paints a picture of an ever-more expert future.
this little life will fill up all the available space,
and i'm betting that'll be a pretty big deal;
never quiet, never soft.....


forlorn and forsaken;
fretful. fitful, frayed;
foul, filthy, fevered, fruitless;
all the effs, all the time,
because there are just so many F*ing F*s falling from the firmament,
onto my fresh fulgent face.
oh, c'mon, neighbors-
i really like alliteration,
and adjectives,
and complaining.
it's a trinity of sorts, one that activates the inner failsafes that power the motors
that drive the mechanisms i use for coping.
and my coping mechanicsm are made up of making fun,
(which is never about actually having fun)
and doo-dooing that freaky sh!t while i'm cooking up something expert.
when i'm a grumpy dude, i make better food,
because it's the only way to improve my mood.
that's real.
whenever it's windy, i'm guaranteed to be tense, terse, and taciturn,
like i just said-
the edible excellence in those instances goes to eleven.
what's the cure i insist on consist of most consistently ?
i'm not an authority on better behavioral practices, i'll admit...
as a nut-juggling juggernaut of cannonball calamities,
and a berserker barbarian battle-beast of biblical babel-tower-of-power collapsing,
i can safely say that what works when you work it, more often than not,
and what works better than most other other ingested comestibles,
because it's got the warrior poet's seal of approval,
is the superlative sandwich from which all furious fires are extinguished.
good guess.
it can only ever be one thing to soothe the savage stormswept raging gypsy ju-ju.
that's the truth.
i fixed myself up, and i patched the unbattened hatches,
sealed the seams where the hottness was escaping from,
and filled my bellyhole with spices and seasonings and way too much garlic.
check the cure-for-what-ails-you-type teleport:
word up.
patiently prepared from scratch,
from the flatbread to the tahini,
and spruced up with the inaugural essence-activation from that
red magic martian dust from the mediterranean: sumac!
voraciously enjoyed and graciously shared with my comforting cohort and consort.
and you know i added some insurance to my home-cooked remedy.
yes, i did.
check the second-dose-booster-type teleport:
of course i had a second helping.
don't be dumb, duders-
there's no such thing as too much falafel!
yesterday was my day off from work,
and i actually took it OFF.
a whole day of taking each hour as it came down through the clock.
feigning relaxation by avoiding chores and keeping busy with other other stuff.
that's the way i attempt to trick myself into taking it easy,
in order to thwart the oppressive and incessant, amorphous and ambiguous anxiety
that has had me in it's grasp, twisting two ways at once,
like a proverbial (and possibly racist) indian sunburn.
i haven't slept worth a sh!t in a month,
and in a haggard and harried, hurried and howling haze,
and i have been dazed for days by the dawn's earliest pre-light.
that's why i'm trying to go easier.
when i was reading on the deck above the garden, yesterday,
just listening to birds freak out for hours-
enjoying a cigar, safely stowed away from the whipping and unwelcome wind
that harried the woodsly goodness, whilst driving with my co-pilot.
preparing pasta salad for today,
and firing up falafel for last night,
while my homegirl swung in the hammock,
dangling in the dazzlingly dappled sunlight here at the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress.
i'm not trying to dare the secret universal plan to do it's worst....
far from it....
but i will say, i'm not having the worst time,
and i'm grateful for the time i've got.
there are way worse ways to span the cycles of light and dark,
and i'm cool with the course i've charted;
never quiet, never soft.....

Wednesday, June 24


too much is the right amount.
when what you get back is not enough,
i think you might be doing it wrong.
yeah, that's a thing.
heading in early, working late, staying later,
staying up all night, waking up at first light,
and still feeling like you're not getting enough done?
that's my summer so far.
i rep a hard style whenever repping a style is called for.
i also represent on being expert in the kitchen.
that's no joke.
and when i need something exxxtra special to really activate the new hottness,
because everything else is feeling old and busted?
i stack upon stack upon stack my attacks,
so that the ultimate onslaught of awesome treats forces a treaty with the rest of my day.
i'm like that.
and i like that.
i like my latest treats, too.
check the teleport:
that's what's up.
two circle-cut shortbread/sugar cookie hybrid jauns,
crisp, buttery, sweet, and elite,
with a smear of strawberry jamie-jam on one side,
and a coconut lemon frosting on the other,
squished into a sandwich of superior soul-cleppin' sweetness
for our collective mouths to enjoy.
the shortbread, creamed with confectioners sugar,
totally exploded into a whole new 'nother other level of delicious.
they got crispy,
they got crawnchy,
and with a little baby bit of vegan creamchee' in the mix,
they even got just a touch of flaky!
i was up at four a.m.,
and was so completely and absolutely awake-
with nowhere to go,
and nobody to talk to at that ungodly hour of awakening-
that i needed to make some sort of magic happen.
so i settled on these yummers, by accident,
while throwing stuff in a bowl and letting the events unfold as a surprise.
but once that dough was rolled,
i liked 'em so dang much,
i cut out some heart shapes and dusted 'em for evidence.
i do things in the morning,
while you're still dreaming.
i know better, and rely more on what i can make,
than on what i think about when i'm not consciously thinking.
i wish i dreamed of treats,
but if that's not gonna happen,
then neither is sleep.
my styles stay hard,
and my styles stay up,
all night, all day, all city;
never quiet, never soft.....

Sunday, June 21

summer fathers, summer not.

it's father's day, duders.
so call your ol' man.
they like that, i think.
at least, i know i definitely do.
what will i be doing to celebrate?
that's what i do.
but enough about that,
dads don't get the big action, at all....
that's all used up on mother's day.
no brunch for us brutal bearded barbarians,
just a phone call, or worse (better?) a short text message,
with a side-order of quick catch-up before getting back to business.
today is also a whole other other 'nother big deal, as well.
the summer solstice is going OFF right now.
today is the day-
the lengthiest amount of daylight of any day this year.
more brightness than darkness is scheduled to occur,
before tomorrow is as bright as yesterday, and so on, in descending order.
it actually gets darker from here on out.
the last sunset of spring was a good one, though.
this forest realm has got top marks for natural beauty, for sure.
you've got to know better.
it was in the thirties yesterday morning!
...that's real.
you don't even need worry about what sort of hottness is happening
here in the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress,
nestled in a leafy embrace, on the rocky lap, of the woodsly goodness.
....because it's not.
as a matter of fact, and as a true story about the weather, reporting live and direct-
it's darker than dark;
and the clouds are crazy thick above us;
the firmament is concrete colored;
and everything below is shrouded in fog and shadows.
is it raining?
is it raining?
it's raining.
it's actually pouring.
drowning out the magic magnetic of a skewed spin of the earth.
we may be pointed at the sun,
but we're losing points for overeagerness.
we're reppin' 24 hours of darkness,
instead of more than twelve of sun.
it's going to be as dreary as ever it was,
and the soul of the solstice will seep and weep it's essence down on us
in drips and drabs all damned day.
that's correct.
if there's any lengthy bright spots,
they are mandatorily obscured by real life.
believe it, neighbors,
because nature wins and warrior poets will endure it, ,
in spite of the perpetual losses,
we'll strive against the insurmountable,
until time takes us out of the struggle.
soaking in the sore-losery sauce of really-real life until it's over?
happy summer, indeed.
that's the style i rep.
and that's the way way it stays.
father's day without my daughters around,
summer's intro without the sun out,
it's all really happening,
and there's plenty more where this came from;
never quiet, never soft.....

Saturday, June 20


ethiopian food is expert.
if you can't hang out with that,
you are probably an A*-hole.
that's not a joke,
it IS a thing.
six kinds of blarpity blops,
plus rice,
and diaper bread?
wordimus prime, neighbors-
i needed it,
i got it,
and we're all better off for the effort.
check the goobieblop-type teleport:
boomflame bumfire!!
spectacular treats, especially ethnically obscure ones,
are verrrrry scarce in the woodsly goodness,
so when i'm in a spot that has 'em,
i've got to stock up.
rules is rules,
so you know i got a second heaping plateful.
after all,
too much is the right amount.
i mean. c'mon.
what else would i do in this situation?
exercise restraint?
no way.
there's no such thing as too much of a good thing,
so how can a great thing know any limits?
i need vast quantities,
and then i need just a little bit more after that.
if there are earth-toned vegan foodstuffs available,
i'd have to be a real b!tchbag to skip out on 'em.....
greens and browns and all mud-colored hues,
in spicy splats of stewed up lentil-bean soup?
that's what's up.
new haven has got a lot going for it.
it's a better place than when i left it all those years ago.
the food game is on point,
the architecture situation is off the hinges.
the diversity is staggering.
the styles have stayed hard, certainly,
but the sweet is twice as sweet,
even if the bitter is thrice as tart.
i think i'll always have a softish spot in my stomach for the city i grew up in.
is that a gentle and genuinely nice sentiment?
i must be getting old;
never quiet, never soft.....

the life aquatic.

aquariums are pretty cool, neighbors.
for real.
and the one i was at this week follows the rules.
you know i like that sort of stuff.
outdoor tanks,
full of gross blubbery creatures swimming in tiny circles;
school trips full of crappy young people who don't give a single sh!t about fish;
armpitiful clammy cramped dimly lit cave-type carpeted chambers;
all of it, all at once, all together...
rules is rules,
and those are the main ingredients.
mystic marinelife aquarium has penguins,
which have become kind of a thing....
it used to be all about fish, and maybe a trained seal, or a even a dolphin.
these days, though, it's all about flightless seabirds.
we got there right when the spot opened up,
and were among the first duders to get inside.
as a result of our timely arrival,
the view of those south african A*-holes was unobstructed.
awwwwwww, man.
they're molting.
big filthy greasy clots of oily feathers were falling off of 'em in chunks,
and they sat around looking pretty mangy and dirty,
like a pack of wild water pigeons.
and speaking of being ugly, but also dope-
the sea lions are totally gross.
hunchbacked jellydogs who love mackerel an' that?
we watched one catch about thirty fish in his face, in a row, from twenty feet away.
that was cool, except for all of it.
they just look like boneless felt weaselhounds, don't they?
ew! i know! and when they're wimming, that fluidity isn't graceful, it's disturbing.
i can't help but think of some sort of parasitic invader
whenever i watch them wriggle around upside down in that salty sauce.
i can't hang out with aquatic mammals, guys.
i just don't get it.
could be my overwhelming attraction to the woodsly goodness prevents any
real lasting connection to the ocean,
or maybe they are all just kind of nasty looking jiggly wormish jauns,
and that's not really ever gonna be my thing...
there's a nature walk around the outdoor pond,
and that algae-scummed spit-pit is completely expert.
fresh water is fresh in other ways too.
i guess i'm a mountain man and forest dweller in my core,
bnecause i could've sat out there all day,
looking at all the flora and fauna that i've got at home, too.
word up.
the thing is, it was awesome, and that's no joke.
giant bullfrogs were croaking;
leopard frogs were sunbathing;
turtles were doing whatever they do, which looks like it might be nothing at all;
polliwogs were tadpoling;
koi and perch were swimming;
and those waterlilypad flowers were going OFF!
of course,
there were fish on fish on fish on fish inside,
and budgies or parakeets or whatever in a weird giant cage,
waiting to poop on you for $3 apiece.
i guess that's sort of a thing.
i feed birds every day here at the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress,
so i'm less motivated to look at slightly prettier fenced-in fowl.
they still chirp their A*s off whether you feed them or not.
i s'pose that's just infinite nature doing it's thing.
what's the coolest thing there?
everybody loves 'em.
they are your favorite magic glow creatures-
the squishy squirty stingy sacks of translucent terror form the deeps.
check the teleport:
the undersea hottness,
with poison gut strands that want to kill you.
that's rad.
aquarium time is a good time.
i was told there were polar bears, but that was categorically false.
i really like bears, because bears know how to take it easy,
AND how to berserk out and wreck the joint.
there were seahorses, and sea lions, and sea stars,
but no ursine attackers.
maybe next year, they'll get their sh!t together.
in the meantime,
we saw it all, and spanned time in the arms of these captive catches
from the untamed waters from near and far.
was there even a one-armed blue lobster?
i wonder if they ate him, just a little bit, knowing he'll grow it back?
that's not very cool, nor very likely, but still,
do blue lobsters taste better?
i can only hope not-
seems only fair that if  they're already special,
they should taste worse.
i guess i just base that on my own personal flavors-
if you're already a rare breed, then most folks should avoid you.
ummm, wait.
that's actually sort of a bummer.
womp womp;
never quiet, never soft.....