zak and his barely legal ladyfriend kari came in yesterday to get beat up on.
hours and hours of ribs and underbellies gettin' blasted into submission.
it made for a full day.
for sure.
i almost felt bad about how much punishment i dished out, too.
almost.
c'mon.
dollars is dollars, my ninjas.
and pity don't pay the bills unless you're mr.T.
also, don't be fooled by that well-buffed, plucked, and waxed midriff and low-rise denims.
it's partly a trick of the lens, ya'll,
and partly a byproduct of a 'planet fitness' membership...
that's zak up there.
in person he's very manly.
today marks an important milestone in the willingness of americans to be dumb.
the obamanable bro-man is about to step up and take a turn at waffling through 4 years of mid-stream horse-changin', feel-good babypants lameness...
complete with a star-studded stupid 'splosion of splendor and all that.
does anybody else see the epic razzle-dazzle doo-doo butter being dispensed?
we're livin' "idiocracy", muth-uckas. never has a bad movie predicted so much so accurately.
it's like the superbowl of politics.
and since when does change begin with a spectacular debacle?
i mean, lincoln's inaugural bible?
come the f* on, ya'll.....know your history, for cryin' out loud.
ahhh, well,
at least cuba looks to be getting a bit of real estate back.
raul is probably psyched it's happening on his watch, y'know?
take THAT, fidel!
and now that george w. bush is out,
according to the delusional euphoria of americans countrywide,
by tomorrow everything turns magically delicious.
arctic ice refreezes, snow falls on kilimanjaro, jobs pop up from out of nowhere,
american cars all become hybrids, and on and on and on....
hope and reality are rarely in the same room at the same time.
anybody ever get busy reading derrick jensen?
he's kinda rad.
hope is the worst ailment of civilization?!!
wu-TANG!!! that's a hard style, my ninjas.
don't get me wrong,
i'm gonna go get an inaugural coffee this morning;
a white[house]chocolate mocha latte. decaf. as in, all flavor, no power.
(please feel free to add on your own complex pessimistic metaphor).
also, instead of hope or change, i'll probably just get soymilk.
back up here in the woodsly goodness,
the arm's-reach regency of my own five-foot bubble remains unchanged.
my own gnarly nation-state is still uncharmed, alarmed, unharmed, and heavily armed.
a perpetual declaration of independence is issued incessantly by the secret universal plan.
check it out:
the sun is out.
the sky is clear.
i'm ready for more of the good life.
real life.
Folk Life.
the kind of hottness that defies pledges of allegiance,
and instead relies on wrench-choosing acceptance.
i won't succumb to the sedentary, celebratory sad sauce,
no matter how sparkle-magic the sideshow.
i won't settle for less than eleven,
despite the general consensus that the hope-heavy denial of reality is what's poppin'.
i'm still reppin' knowledge and experience,
spirit and memory,
y'know;
wisdom.
what is.
fortune's bold berserker battle-bards can't, don't, & won't stop.
never quiet, never soft.....
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