we shoot guns on wednesdays.
it's kind of a tradition.
this is cousin sarah.
we aren't exactly related, precisely.
but any cousin of steve's is a cousin of mine, y'heard?
she's a regular spitfire, straight out of brooklyn.
and that's an ak-47, fully fresh-to-death, and tricked out, that she's a-shootin'.
we know how to have a good time up here in the woods.
tonight, i blaze a barbarian bonfire.
a customer-appreciation party, of sorts,
as a grateful purveyor of hot hot hottness,
lightning strike just-be-dopeness,
and the woodsly goodness,
you gotta give a little sumthin' sumthin' back to nature.
tonight's main course will be a man-made mountain of mayhem.
hot coals, and tongues of flame.
embers as fuel for the ferocious fountain of flavor.
i love that term: tongues of flame.
how else would we spit hot fire?
'beowulf' by the hearth, ninjas.....
all the way to eleven...
i didn't even eat any sh!t, so i don't know where that grin came from.
i drove across creation, or at least across northern new hampshire, today.
i spent time with my peoples,
and i chugged a delicious dose of dopeness,
in the form of jenny rovetti's soon-to-be famous blueberry buckle.
take ahold of the reins, ya'll,
and ride life all the way to valhalla;
never quiet, never soft......
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