at job.

in the weeks before XI-mas,

most north country folks spend a ton of loot,

on xboxes,

patriots and red sox team spirit idiocy,

rhinestone-studded logo-heavy semi-urban gear,

and negative role model slutzy bratz dolls,

(though not after the new year!

take that, future skanks of america.)

put that in your midriff and expose it...

anyway,

what those very same doo-doo butterballers do NOT spend a single dime on is:

tattoos.

which is why i'm at job, and not work.

i'd kill for a living bratz doll ditchpig porkpie to come in for a little flower or whatever.

no foolin'.

instead,
i'll span time,
and then head home and span a bit more.

anybody totally done with shoppin'?
i can't seem to find the finish line...
tomorrow promises to be another unpolished turd.
and ya can't polish a turd,
even if you shellac it first...
the weather outside is frightful,
inside is so delightful;
never quiet, never soft...