I don't want it dreamily nibbled for browse,

broccoli bread...
it's SO delicious.
i only make it for munching when the miniature marvels are here to enjoy it too.
traditions, yo.
home-made style.
outside so crusty, inside so green and gooey.
throw a little 'from-scratch' tomato sauce on the side ( for dippin'),
and you've got a barbarian banquet happening in your mouth, yo.
tasterrific tonguetastic flavor explosion...


it's always surprising how very little information young'uns know about the hottness.
my kids had never seen 'the princess bride'.
i mean, c'mon.
luckily my extensive video reference library is well equipped to deal with just those eventualities.
that movie is dope, we all liked it, and i mean it,
anybody want a peanut?...
being young means always having missed-out on somethings that were super rad,
all the things that chronologically occurred before you got oven-baked and borned-up.
to remedy this, we also checked out 'the dark crystal'.
rainy day downpours make movie matinees a must.
tying rope, beading up some sticks, and drawing blueprints for squirrel-powered contraptions.
rain will not deter the funtimes, ya'll.
if the weather clears, then kilz painted skulls on rocks along the riverbank are definitely in order.
also,
jess's berfday is on the 3rd, so plans are being set in motion now,
with the help of the sweet sprouted sprightly seedlings. 
make sure to send some independence day b-day wishes to my sweet'un,
along with, or instead of, America.....
word up.
 

silliness, sweetness, and sound-asleepiness.
full-hearted, ya'll.
that's the way i'm doo-dooin' it.
less work, more leisure.
less stressfulness, more restfulness.
less talk, more rock.
albie rock.
i'm sayin'.

weak-sauce weekdays are banished from my barbarian borders.
we're standing on liberated independent sovereign territory,
and martial law has been declared on, at, and around my
new hampshire homestead.
if you don't have chieftain status, yo,
don't come over.
save your doo-doo buttery b!tchbaggery for all the soda-babies, and cookie-cuttin' seahorses,
the people who never ever choose the wrench.
i've got no time for fake ninjas, like my man chris wallace said.
so,
defend the five foot bubble around your personal just-be-dope battlegrounds,
your kingdom.
it's borders marked by a ring of hot fire, freshly spit,
clearly visible to all the other wrench choosers out there.
we are the chieftains, ninjas.
never quiet, never soft.