blueberries.

it's not funny, exactly-
how when you use ingredients that taste good,
the finished product tastes good too.
hilarity is not the logical effect of that cause.
however,
it's no joke, either, that using real flour made my latest treat so elite.
uh-huh.
100% truth.
gluten might be my homeboy.
just sayin'.
i made an extra thick batter,
with pretend versions of almost everything.
yeah, neighbors, it's the really realness in synthetic approximations.
sour cream, yogurt, and butter?
no way.
but i used dopplegangbangers for all of those things;
and i even used the fake yogurt to replace real eggs.
that's double-duty top-secret-agent-time-type sh!t.
wordimus prime.
check the thunder-and-lightning infused teleport:

yuuuuuuup.
raging stormswept gypsy jauns, via pure coffeecrumbycakey activation.
that's a thing.
and i used soooooo many blueberries, duders.
like four or more cups, simmered in citrus,
sweetened with three kinds of sugars,
and thickened up from within, without their own burst skins.
that's all the blue balls, y'all.
bloobs EVERYwhere, y'heard?
i was a little worried that they'd soak into the cake,
but i should've had more confidence in my preemptive
burly barbarianizing of the initial batter,
and the addition of whole oats to the blueberries to sop up the excess sauce.
it worked perfectly.
of course.
and that granola streusel on top?
expert.
c'mon, what else could it be?
don't be dumb.
it's got toasted coconut AND almonds, simmered up with cinnamon,
and blended with oats and powdery sugars and buttery-ish pats,
chopped and blopped into hippie-resistant spranks for the last tier
of tasteful texture-enhanced celebratory antioxidant magic.
yeah.
***********
long weekends make for hard styles.
we've got traffic jammie-jams at every intersection,
we've got waiting lists at every restaurant,
lines at every available checkout register everywhere,
and a whole lot of A*-holes looking at trees and rocks and sh!t everywhere else.
vacations are the worst.
especially for those of us who work most american fat-tard holidays.
however,
a grand don't ever come for free, ninjas,
and the movie checks are in scant and short supply.
what do warrior poets doo-doo to avoid doing what poor people do?
they do work, y'all.
that's it.
you're welcome to come and visit the woodsly goodness,
but please, kids,
try not to F* it up;
never quiet, never soft.....

two thousand.

yeah.
that's right.
two thousand posts.
right now.
uh-huh.
this is somehow still what's happening.
more and more and more.
that's all there is, all the time.
an inexorable unstoppable compulsion to tell y'all all about it.
two thousand times over.
how does that feel, you ask?
ummmm,
sort of like this:

ugh.
unusual, beautiful, bloody, and sad.
awwwwwwwww.
for the record- that's a partridge.
a roadside casualty of being absent from my guide to new hampshire birds.
i'm sayin',
ninjas shouldn't be where they don't belong.
there was no family on a bus to get happy with, y'know?
oh, actually you probably don't.
the partridge family?
that's a thing.
ah, how about a pear tree?
word.
oh, c'mon.
amidst the rainiest week this year,
there are remnants of warrior poetry waiting to be recomposed
and disposed of in the decomposing dead birds
and deposed barbarians, as well as bees, trees, and so on....
it's infinite nature-type sh!t.
concentric circles slightly skewed to make a spirographic tornado
of overlapping scraps of spirit and memory.
two thousand times, kids?
nature wins.
1-0.
*
neighbors,
two thousand magic missile missives, in a row...
i've documented the really realness of this
woodsly goodsly Folk Life,
live and direct from the Folk Life& Liberty Fortress.
how many times have i had something good to say?
two? twenty? two hundred?
i have no idea, actually-
but what i DO know is that i'm participating in it every time.
that's the only thing to do, so i doo-doo that active sh!t.
speaking of activating-
check the smoothie-styles on the teleport:

'merica?!
c'mon, you mutha-b!tchin' fruitlickers,
how expert is my expertism?
yeah.
i know!
strawberry-vanilla-orange juicy puree on top,
a silky coconut milky lime-laced middle bandwidth,
and a brutal blop of blueberries and vanilla and oranges on the bottom.
those're the three phases of drinkably elitist breakfast time.
and the extraneous kiwi garnishes take it to eleven, too.
i'm celebrating.
that's right, friends.
i'm ringing in a brand-new era of obvious, inaccessible, extroverted introspection.
because that's what berserker barbarian battle-beastly bards are all about.
real talk.
we compose paeans to the truth and sonnets to the sun, skin, seasons, sex,
and everything else.
it's the only option available,
as recording it hurts like hell,
and is therefore mandatory.
you know it.
written in wrenches, tightened and loosened, and monkeyed around with.
it's all really happening.
that's the whole point.
***********
ummmmm.
so,
two thousand times.
am i overstating it?
probably.
all this time later,
what's the big picture that the secret universal plan keeps alluding to?
i think i have a little better understanding than i did when this all started.
it goes a little something like this:

stay ugly, stay dope.
when life hands you sh!t, you make sh!t salad.
no jokes.
all the rest of it is just garnish.
today is the day.
two thousand.
i'm sorry, and you're welcome;
never quiet, never soft.....

sharking.

hey guys.
i am a disgusting shark-glutton.
i eat too much, too fast, and without much chewing.
that's no jokes, folks.
yesterday,
i got it into my head to make fancy sandwiches.
and then i did just that.
and when it all started happening,
 i took it to eleven in so many different ways.
oh really?
yeah.
really.
check the teleport, b!tch:

if that's not sexy to you, you're not looking at it right.
(even the fizzy water is extra-elite, ty-nant, ninja, recognize)
and what do you duders know about barbecue sauce from scratch?
lots of vinegar and a tablespoon of cooked-out crushed onions,
a splash of soy sauce, a squirt of liquid smoke,
tomato paste, molasses, spices, and horseradish dijon mustard?
i simmered that sh!t to a deep dark brown, and set it down on some seitan.
wheat meat can't be beat.
haha.
especially when it's slathered in sweet southerly sauce.
expert!
i buttered-up and grilled some roasted-garlic impregnated italian bread, too,
because it's not a sandwich unless it's between two slices.
or a half a loaf, or whatever.
too much is the right amount,
and super-fancy is very necessary.
check the toppings-type teleport:

yuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuup!
pickled red onions, loud, fresh, and hard off the stovetop, neighbors.
and slaw like you dream about: raddicchio,carrots, and radishes.
c'mon!
that's the kind of cool and spicy crunch that activates
all the vegenaisey hottness in the whole world.
over a bed of crunchy-as-heck watercress, you have to give it up-
this mutha-F*er right here knows how to get it going on.
the test kitchen laboratory at the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress.
it's kind of the place to be.
in fact,
my take-one first attempt was so successful,
fresh from off of the griddle and into my guts,
via those sharkbite monster mouthfuls....
just six short hours later,
i shoved a second one down past the gill-line just to see if marinating all
those flavors over a (nominally) longer period of time would improve
the depth of flavorful desirability in each faceful of flavor.
and it did.
check the take-two-type teleport:

indeed, duders.
a whole loaf of bread,
a pound of seitan,
a batch of barbecue,
a ton of toppings,
a bunch of 'cress.
all inside of me.
gross?
no way.
well, maybe a little,
but it's no worse than what remains on the outside at all times.
i stay full, i stay ugly, i stay dope.
*
i do elite things in my kitchen,
i do elite things everywhere.
i'm powered by conscientious vegan intentions,
and by showboating bigtimer one-upsmanship.
i know, my ninjas-
it's the best combination you've ever heard of.
yeah.
me too.
i just do what i do,
like it or not, it can't be stopped.
infinite nature overlaps itself and never stops winning.
today is the day;
never quiet, never soft.....

sweetened up.

duders,
how else would i celebrate a positive dental outlook?
huh?
oh, right.
let's try that again.
duders,
immediately after i got my teeth cleaned,
i worked overtime to counteract any positive effects of that
ultrasonic enamel preservation-type jauns.
yuuuuuuuuuuuuuuup.
that's real.
you ninjas know what i'm reppin'?
no?
i'm reppin' chocolate and peanuts, hard as F*!!
real talk.
check the cavity-creepin' tooth decay teleport:

holy flippin' sweetness.
i crushed some roasted peanuts and added 'em to chocolate snap cookies
to make a crude-oil-density intense black pie crust.
sure, i baked it up with brown sugar and butterish.
but that's what you have to DO, neighbors.
then,
i went ahead and heated up a bag of chocolate chips;
and added in a jar of peanuttybutter;
and hit it off with dash of vanilla;
and a splash of soymilk;
and powdered sugar;
and cocoa powder,
and once all of that reached a harmony of homogeneity?
of course!
i poured every blarpity blop of that barbaric battle batter
smoothly and creamily down onto that circle of darkness.
and then, to freak it off,
i put semi-pureed peanut goobery goobieblops on top,
and mini itty-bitty baby chocolate chips,
and chocolate mouse-poop-style sprankles.
that's all kinds of expert, y'all.
i doo-doo that two-great-tastes-working-together-type sh!t.
i mean,
c'mon.
synergy was practically invented by chocolate peanut butter.
i'm just keeping a grand tradition alive and well, folks.
***********
i've found a focus for my frustrations.
i take all this angry disappointment,
and funnel all that concentrated energy into making things
just to put in my face.
and into making those things beautiful.
the thing is, kids,
i'm not any less frustrated,
just better fed.
i'm eating alone, and i'm eating a lot.
pretty soon, i'll probably be fat, too.
it isn't easy being an obsessive over-the-top active participant.
that's the truth.
but, i'm super-involved in getting all those nutrients into my body.
so, there's that.
emptying my wallet to fill my refrigerator.
emptying my refrigerator to fill my bellyhole.
and empty on the inside for all of that,
in an empty house the whole damn time.
hard styles are the ones i rock.
it's all happening, still;
never quiet, never soft.....

rubbing it in.

black pepper by the 'cornful,
and ground mustard,
and thyme, and rosemary, and g.p.o.p., neighbors.
yeah.
that's the way you herb-crust the sh!t outta some tempeh.
i soak those bricks of bean magic in a brutal barbarian bouillon broth first,
and dredge 'em in all that spicy black powder before i fry 'em up.
now,
i realize that alone is pretty sexy.
i mean,
i'm not actually an A*-hole.
however.....
a dinner of just turbo-elite temporary tempeh tiles is just not
even coming anywhere close to being superfancy enough
to be considered as going all the way to eleven.
y'know?
yeah.
so,
i made some heroic hero-type french hoagies for my face.
and i brought the righteous kitchen activation down around me.
check the i-doo-doo-it-better-type teleport:

yuuuuuuuuuuuuuup!
duders,
sugar-fried almonds?
expert.
caramelized leeks?
french-style!
sliced redskinned empire apples?
crunch-crunch, b!tch.
arugala?
without the bitter, the sweet is never as sweet.
and all of that on a butter-broiled mutigrain baguette?
F*ing right.
open faced so y'all can see the layers and levels of ultimate hottness.
i put both sides together like a soul-clap,
and stuffed my face with shark-gluttonous authority post photo, though, yo.
obviously.
you like the leek leaf and arugala garnish jauns, huh?
i know.
duders,
cucumbers, celery, tomatoes, shallots, and dill?
oh my!
crisp salad business under a glaze of white balsamic.
(yeah, i know i did that before already. it's dope. recognize)
plus,
i put a punch of jalapeno potato crisps on there,
and i'll tell you what, kids-
they're hot!
and they cause nightmares!
double-win.
that's one luscious-lookin' optimum plateful of active participation.
i've got to eat,
but moreover,
i've got to eat well.
for the record?
victory is delicious.
*
oh, yeah,
i also powered down a pineapple and coconut lava flow!

yep.
why is it a lava flow?
because of the pureed strawberries in the middle.
c'mon.
they bubble up after the first tipped sip.
...that's that super-sexy revealing jauns.
and with a fresh squeezed extra-juicy orange on top, too?
you know it was dope.
i know even better than you,
since i slid it on down my neckhole.
*
if it's not expert,
i just don't give a sh!t.
true story.
i'm only interested in really realness really happening,
and only all of the time.
it's what is,
and that's what it has to be;
never quiet, never soft.....

kiss me, i'm iris?

nature wins, y'all.
i mean it.
i've got flowers powering up through all kinds of leafy sh!t.
blossoms and blooms and rapidly naturalizing roots an' that.
i'm excited to see the vigor these green ninjas are displaying,
and even more excited to see their pretty little heads explode with color.
yeah!
check the teleport:

bugleweed.
low-lying groundcoverage with style.
normally,
our little buddy ajuga reptans splashes itself across wide tracts of soil
with a crinkly purple leafed
but for a little minute every year,
a bushy blue blast makes the whole thing eleven times as lovely.
and those little guys are just the beginning!
the whole yard is swarmed with bees and birds and buds
and all kinds of lively living things.
plus,
early dwarven versions of my favorite flower are going off right now.
re-check the teleport:

c'mon.
mini iris activation!
expert!!
oh, what?
yeah,
there are other other kinds too.
don't be dumb:

uh-huh.
an ocean of white waving flag irises.
so good.
there's more sh!t in full swing over here too,
but i'm not taking pictures of all of it all at once.
at least,
not while it's raining as hard as it is.
it's all really happening,
and ma nature is showing off, for sure,
but the documentation of really real life is pretty soggy at the moment.
hard styles and heavy clouds and wet wormy woodsly goodness.
it's pretty flippin' perfect.
***********
neighbors,
i don't have a lawn mower!
and it's thunderously lightning-storm pouring over here.
that's a reverse order unfortunate sequence of property devaluation.
real talk.
after a healthy watering,
my green blades are all gonna reach for the sky in record numbers.
that means i'll have one of those poor-person ratty lawns for a little minute!
yuck.
come over, kids,
and eat some treats, and clean up these gardens.
i'm just sayin',
the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress needs some landscapers, right now.
where you rakey-A* mo-tards at?
greenery is the scenery here.
the mountains have been hidden away by the broad maple blankets,
and the obscuring oak branches.
it's perfect.
metal roofed blast beats from this hard rain,
and soft light through the clouds and fronds and that?
indeed, duders;
never quiet, never soft.....

tiger's blood.

i'm freezing!
duders,
i'm too flippin' skinny to be chugging down frozen virgin drinkies
on days when the temperature isn't a sweltering sheet of heat.
that's no joke.
putting a few back, with their tropical icy essences,
has gotten me reduced to a shivering quivering numb-fingered mess.
yuuuuuuuuuup.
what else could i do, though, yo?
i mean,
i couldn't resist the siren-song of the strawberries i'd intended to use
as tart toppings, sliced, sweetened, and marinated in agave nectar.
however,
since baking wasn't on the schedule,
i changed the tune of those alluring redheads-
uh-huh,
i pureed those mutha-!tches and poured 'em into cups.
that single-note of seedy sweet treats seemed unsatisfyingly simple,
and therefore way too non-expert.
huh?
yeah-
you ninjas know i can't abide that waterbabyish weak-sauce.
not now, and not ever.
so,
i added a second tier of hawaii-type activation.
neighbors-
coconut syrup, coconut milk, key lime juice, and crushed ice?
teleport:

that's that vegan tiger's blood-style flavored-up fresh sh!t.
and it's also turbo-elite and ultra delicious.
drinkies, y'all.
i even garnish 'em with that sexy-time sprigs-and-sprouts business.
i'm super-fancy, after all...
a big fat-b!tch batch of good it does for me, not exactly.
but i'm still on it for the eyecandy voyeur peeps it provides for you guys.
awwwwwwwwwww, man.
regardless of the theoretical benefits of boozeless beverages,
i still doubled-down on a pair of those thick and creamy coconutty milkshakes,
and now i'm feeling icy.
y'know-gelid.
like, it's really frosty.
what i mean is, i'm really F*ing cold.
and basically,
since there's no sun shining down to warm me up,
it's gonna be a unkind battle-beast of a day in the woodsly goodness.
we generate heat from our own stoves, on the inside.
mines just gonna take a little longer to reach the proper amount of hottness.
and that's a good thing, guys-
because a cold-start means extra staving and stoking and stirring,
and more action is always better, right?
agitating, instigating, catalyzing, and forcing the friction for a chafing,
strafing sortie into the scenes i'm starring in?
c'mon.
overacting is the only way to go.
luckily,
there wasn't ever even any other choice.
real talk.
blowhard berserker ballyhooing?
today is the day.
a slow boil is still possible when you're watching the pot.
and i'm a cast-iron cauldron of caustic chatter,
and a vat of vicious, virtuous, victorious verity.
truth tellers can never stop.
that's a thing;
never quiet, never soft.....

personal growth.

space alien plants?
artichoke cactus monsters?
both?
neither?
i dunno.
i got a new plant,
and it sure looks dope.
check the purple-ish weirdie teleport:

yuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuup.
hens and chicks,
mamas and babies,
spiky splayers and silvery pink players!
it's pretty fresh, folks-
it's got nearly no roots,
and it's already bigger than when i bought it.
i'm a big fan of boundless enthusiasm and the propensity towards
filling up and spreading out across any and all available spaces.
uh-huh.
i'm kind of one of those wild flippin' animals that only grows in directly
proportionate size, shape, form, and function to his habitat.
the woodsly goodness is vast, for a series of small towns,
like per capita or whatever, we're pretty empty.
that's great news, neighbors,
despite the conveniences that are afforded to more urban areas,
here,
i've got room to grow.
big places are better than big cities as far as warrior poets are concerned.
i'm spanning across epic expanses,
and i'm inflating my attributes to occupy more of this wide open place.
am i trying to be larger than life?
nope.
i'm trying to have a larger life.
i'm ready to shower in thunder clouds and bite the white tips off of mountain tops.
that's real.
exponential multiplication of my spirit and memories?
yes.
a quickening of my infinite nature?
absolutely.
duders,
i'm trying to maintain the same level of intensity over a greater area.
no jokes.
the object is never ever less, y'know?
....yeah.
*
you do get it, i hope-
i live alone so i'm blowing up in size to fill the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress.
i'm taking up all the slack that arises the glaring lack of cohabitants.
like the last goldfish in the tank,
once his brothers and sisters have gone belly-up, y'heard?
he gets bigger, and somehow seems to be more alive, once they're gone.
that's what i'm hoping for.
just sayin'.
bigger, better, more.
big time, kids.
***********
and my peaches are coming along nicely.
check the greenskinned teleport:

word up.
soon, they'll be fuzzy and fresh,
juicy and ripe,
and ready to make a sweet pie or somethin'.
this old house holds a lot of life inside it.
i put it there.
i guess that says soemthing;
never quiet, never soft.....

techniques.

duders,
i pulled out some stops an' sh!t to keep myself well-fed
and fully activated, and purely occupied for the evening.
uh-huh.
that's real.
check the ridiculous meal-for-one-teleport:

what. the. F*?!
i guess nobody told y'all-
overdoo-dooing it is how thursdays take it to eleven.
yeah!
that's a big ol' plateful of salty polenta;
(i boiled all the grits myself, first)
and there's blanched arugala on top of that,
because bitterness is my friend, after all...
are those roasted red peppers stripped across the greenery?
of course they are, neighbor.
i happen to like slimy tongues of nightshade.
sauteed mushrooms and caramelized shallots, too,
just to keep the soft textures all in mutha-flippin' full effect.
word.
oh,
and i put candied pecan bits on top too,
just to hit that sweet sweet crunch all up on the tippy-topmost part.
fancy.
is that grilled fennel?
indeed.
celery-licorice knows what's up, ninjas.
how about that colorful chutney jauns?
three peppers, and onions and  tomatillos, and all the garlic!
so spicy, for my face!
and that's tiny cucmbers cut on the bias, with fresh dill,
and sungold baby tomatoes, tossed with white balsamis vinaigrette.
fresh fennel sprigs as garnish?
c'mon.
i'm not actually an A*-hole in really real life, y'heard?
why do i go to such lengths to impress myself?
why do i overreactivate all of it all the time?
why didn't i just have a sandwich?
because too much IS the right amount.
and because if i'm interested in being anything,
it's in being completely
expert.
that's the only description i give a sh!t about.
...
i mentioned yesterday how it's brutally, morbidly unfulfilling
to cook a gourmet explosion like that and then eat it alone.....
guess what, kids?
i was totally right!
it gave me all the mutha-b!tching nutrients, though.
that's real.
***********
friday.
today.
how's it lookin?
it's looking a whole lot like the idea of going to
north dakota for a wintertime vacation feels.
terrible.
i've got work to do, though.
i'm a working person,
i put in work,
i work with purpose;
never quiet, never soft.....

dumps by myself.

damn.
sometimes,
it's dark and stormy and night, all at once.
and that's when the hardest styles come out.
that's real, friends.
cold and rainy and windy weather will keep you indoors.
so what solution is there?
well,
what's sadder than making making a fancy meal for just yourself?
oh, i don't know-
how about plating it up with the sort of professional presentation
most often reserved for impressing the ladies on date night?
uh-huh.
i was on a stay-at-home-date, duders,
and it was with the most busted barbarian i know, y'know?
yeah.
i really hate being all alone.
have i mentioned that before?
so,
why am i force-feeding myself a steady diet of doo-doo buttery doldrums
and isolation of the highest order of hermitage?
because i choose the wrench, neighbors.
duh.
once i'm immune to the emptiest echoes of hollowed-out hearts and homes,
then i'll be even better equipped to endure a little more of this really-real life.
ugh.
that's actually even sadder-sounding than it felt at first.
awwwwwwwwwwww, man.
oh, don't worry, kids-
my solo-flight date still went well.
i mean,
i sure appreciated all i did for myself,
even though i totally didn't put out for myself at the end.
yikes!
-
however,
i upped my dump'-making and dump'-taking skills to eleven.
that's real.
check the uniformity and casual consistency of my latest technique,
via teleport:

yuuuuuuuuuuuup.
rolling dough and making messes for nobody by my own dang self!
pinched tight, seamlessly,
with the pure and proper amount of filling in each and every one.
i'm pretty good at doing it without assistance or company,
i just don't really like doing it all that much, y'all.
i'm sayin'-
if there isn't a partner or a posse to participate,
i'm really just rehearsing for a disconcertingly undisclosed
to-be-announced-type latter-time and latter-place.
anyway,
i still did a darn good job of creating these delicious time-takers;
and once they got boiled up and pan fried,
i made sure to superstar the plate with all the appropriate trimmings:

c'mon!
a radial of arugala and baby kale?
fancy.
toasted sesame seed sriracha?
fancy.
scores of scallions?
stanky.
indeed, neighbors,
i made it extra-special for that special someone i actually like the least.
and to be fair to truth-telling-
i ate all fifteen of them, in record time;
and the other nine were heaped heavily
atop each other in a deep bowl of grease, shark-gluttony, and self-loathing...
what can i tell you, ninjas?
i doo-doo that dump-type sh!t.
**********
my house is a mess,
and so am i.
i've got plants and pots all over the place,
and the kitchen has got ingredients on every available countertop.
how fat do i really want to be, though?
so fat,
if i turn sideways,
i'll be invisible.
disappearing, folks, slowly but surely;
never quiet, never soft.....

double-fisting.

two huge meat-paddle spider-monsters.
y'know?
simian mitts with crustacean-jointed knob-knuckles.
pink prehensile spatulas with gnarled alpine root splays.
y'feel me?
my hands, neighbors.
that's what i'm talking about.
they're those toothy-grinning getters at the end of my spaghetti-noodle arms.
and that's not all, y'all...
they're constantly wishing for activities to preoccupy their idleness,
and combat the devil's plaything-type scenario that usually takes precedence
for their exercises in manual dexterity and prestidigitation.
ummmmmmm, yeah.
sometimes,
i've got to get expert just to keep my paws and claws in shape.
practicing being dope, means getting better at being dope,
or somethin' like that, if you catch my meaning.
anyway,
i kept 'em busy slicing and dicing fruit, and getting rad on the mixology.
real talk,
i had a semi-subtropical moment to myself,
smack in the midst of the brutal cold front that's been flash-freezing
the young, delicate new shoots and buds of the woodsly goodness.
what's that mean?
it means i activated the hottness in the form of frosty beverages.
smart?
maybe...
check the teleport:

COME ON!
virgin pina coladas, for your F*ing face!
(i totally lounged in my hammock with 'em!!)
i'll brighten the darkest doorstep with sunny-side sips, son.
two magic boku big drinkies??
yuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuup.
one for each of my big, dumb, lonely strangler's hands, obviously.
awwwwwwwwwwwww, man.
and i skipped the rum, obviously, because it's so okay NOT to drink.
...but someone should tell every other person in the world about that.
jeez.
so,
what's IN those lovely yellowy cups of golden juiciness?
oh, don't worry, i'm gonna tell you:
two fingers of club soda in a sexy glass-tic cup,
and a frappe of crushed ice, coco-real genuine coconut syrup,
mashed whole fresh pineapple,
the juicy squeezed guts of a whole bunch of key limes,
a dash of sugar,
and a garnish of squirted-out mandarine orange on top for the first sip?
uh-huh.
amazing?
of course.
what am i?
an A*-hole?
i duuno, duders,
would an A*-hole add a mint sprig to fancify two drinks
that were both for just himself?
no way.
ultimate sexy time, as usual, is also super fancy unnecessary time,
reserved solely for doing everything more beautifully than everyone else.
that's sort of my thing, guys.
c'mon.
unfortunately,
thirty-something ounces of arctic wetness sent my body temperature plummeting,
and the remainder of the evening was spanned under ALL the blankets.
fuh-fuh-fuh-reeeeeeeezing, kids.
for serious,
who invited this tundra wind to the party?
you?
wow,
way to be a jerk, bro.
lame.
***********
wednesday!
again.
it seems to show up sooner every week.
making the most of all of it is all i can do.
and if that's the freaky sh!t i've gotta doo-doo,
well,
so be it;
never quiet, never soft.....