cajun cookin' and blackened foreheads

num num num num, ninjas.
that sh!t is my JAM...balaya.
weirdie faux meats, ya'll,
i'm just sayin',
are kinda delicious,
and kinda creepy,
at the same time.
sausage and chicken,
except not actually either,
and authentic peppers, onions, celery, broth, and rice,
with half a cup of hot sauce, for good measure....
not exactly good for your bellyhole,
but so good for your whole well-being...
hell,
it was f*n' mardi gras,
the big fat mutha-uckin' tuesday, after all.
the good ol' stuff yo' face feast before the penitent abstemiousness of lent.
at least in the olde days, anyway,
before mardi gras just meant girls could go wild,
for a week straight,
and be rewarded with plastic necklaces for their efforts....
in solidarity with the bourbon street barbarians,
i let my bathtub overflow,
and while standin' in deep waters,
i shot guns all night!
hahahahaha.
c'mon.....
here's a tasty tidbit of info about me;
i could give a squirt about religion,
but still,
i gave up hope for lent....
word.
it seemed an appropriate response,
and one i can handle until chocolate bunny sunday comes callin' on the calender.
today should see some folks walkin' about with smudgy foreheads, too.
ashes to ashes, charcoal catechumens, an' that.
whatever, ya'll,
i'll be snackin' up on leftover jambalaya.....
and if i end up with burnt up bits of bible-butter on my head,
it'll be because of berserker barbarian hellstorm hottness,
in the form of deep-driftin', snow-siftin', song-beltin' snow-meltin'
hot hottness and fiery ferocious fury.
i got my belated birthday bundle from our homegirl, holly.
and it had magic fire dirt in it.
no foolin'.
i'll be puttin' that to incredibly good use,
and if anyone wants to come over
and receive a sooty slap-happy barbarian blessing
from the one and only reverend rock,
ya'll know where to find me.....

hammerin' away at weighty waterlogged ice dams is on my schedule today.
seriously.
thor's hammer,
mjolnir,
has got nothin' on the carpenter's claw i'll be swingin' overhead.
hard-style hittin' at the feet and feet of
frosty barbaric barricades,
drip-drippin' and shingle rippin' on our roof.....
smashing icicles on a step ladder while wearin' goggles, kids.
that's manliness happening, right there,
for those who don't know it on sight.
to recap:
me and a hammer vs. really cold water.
yeah,
my moneys on the water, too.

gregory mcguire.
know of him?
yeah, you do:
wicked? son of a witch? lost?
it turns out,
just because he's ridiculously popular,
it may be deservedly so.
he's actually a helluva writer too.
in my usual completionist collector mania,
i scoopled up all the books jess didn't have yet, yesterday....
now,
my 'To Read' stack is gettin' pretty tall.
so after the super-sledge smash festival is over and done with,
i'll shovel the rubble,
defrost my face,
reheat my eats,
and today may just become a reading day.
i've got a voluminous library here,
but unlike the public versions,
the ground-rules in the woodsly goodness are the exact opposite:
never quiet, never soft...