rabbit, rabbit.

i made sure to drop the 'rabbit, rabbit' when i woke up.
i can always use a little more good luck.

the stupid bowl happens, tonight.
and it is SO stupid.
i'll be celebrating by not watching it.
ever.
nachos. beers. commercials. buffalo wings. gambling.
what's that?
well,
i'm only listing the best parts of THE lamest sunday this side of easter, ya'll.
seriously,
and all that sh!t eats it on the best of days.
but add in some fat idiots wrestling in front of thousands of other fat idiots,
with millions of other other fat idiots watching them.....
...and a national quasi-holiday of celebratory epic scale obesity,
with complementary flat screen, high-definition, cellulite, bleu cheese,
and celery stalks is about to get a-poppin'.
with all due respect to all the plus-sized powerhouses of just be dopeness,
ya'll are being grossly misrepresented by this entire day.
and i'm just sayin', ya'll,
that dude at the bar, shirtless, with the body paint?
you can probably kick his whole ass right off,
and his friends won't mind that much....
and since we're speaking on savage stormswept ultra-violence;
i'm looking forward to hearing about all the hilarious commercials tomorrow,
about as much as a foot-to-balls, scrotum-destroying field goal kick to my 'nads.

the good news?
i have an obscene amount of hot sauce on hand, my ninjas.
uh-huh,
you already know,
and unless it's jimi hendrix, bad brains, or vernon reid from living color,
i'm not tryin' to hear much 'guitar music',
for the next 28 days.
bring on the breakbeats, bass-boosted subwoofin', kicks, snares, hi-hats,
and low-end theoretical bowel emptying subsonic super soul thunderclaps;
as in: drums, mutha-uckas,
it's the freshest 4 weeks of the year:
Black History Month.
and never mind american history,
that's the new kid on the block,
i'm takin' it all the way back to the cradle of life, son.
i'm reppin' the mutha-land,
not some other land.
wu-TANG, b!tches.


we tatblasted a whole family over the weekend.
they were nice.
cassandra got a portrait her dog holly.
golden delicious retrieverness,
for 13 magical years,
XI-mas to XI-mas,
no joke, almost to the exact day...
and like 'marley and me',
the dog dies at the end ya'll.
of course,
at the end, so do the rest of us, right?
in the meantime,
and i'm just suggesting, now,
how about we get busy livin'?
less stupid bowl,
more half-time show.
and lay off those nachos, ya'll.
never quiet, never soft...