four and twenty blackbirds.

4-20.
all day.
fat, crystal-resin syrupy, sticky, fat bud nugs;
24 hours worth.
that's just great.
what's lamer than lame stoner F*-tards
blazing up some skunky herbals in their glassware,
and then stimulating the snackfood industry to new economic heights,
and giggling all day?
well,
it's also hitler's birthday.
so i guess there's that.
what a suckie sh!t-salad calender date.
my two least favorite things,
celebrated simultaneously,
in a wonder-twin tandem bicycle two-seater turd explosion.
will i be getting baked out of my potato,
clearing a whole bong-chamber of zyclon b?
don't be dumb, mutha-uckas.
my oft-mistaken-for-hasidic-style, bible-icious beard,
and aversion to altered states of distorting What Is
prohibit my participation in weak-sauce hatemongering
AND dazed and confused douchebaggery.
forever.
instead,
in true warrior poetic nursery-rhyming fashion,
i've got sixpence and a pocketful of rye, ya'll.
i'll be reppin' blackbirds,
and pie,
at the same time.
of course,
as much as dead birds are sexy,
i'll keep both menu items separated,
to sing the praises of their individual merits:
blackbirds,
surreptitiously synonymous with  symbolic sorcery,
for thought and memory,
spirits and ghostly smoke rings.
concentric cyclic circular overlaps of comedy, tragedy, and history.
plus,
corvids are pretty flippin' rad,
fresh outta the box anyway...
and pie;
mostly,
because i like pie.
it's delicious.
c'mon.

i've got grown-up adult-type meetings this morning,
phone calls and house-hunting tonight,
free tatzap re-working to satisfy an unsatisfied client in-between,
(it's cool, kids....go easy)
and my homeslice the cucch is comin' up again!!!
again?
yep.
and it's 'ucking 4*20.
at 4:20 this afternoon,
i suggest we all go out and show the less-than-dope dopers
what really real numerology is all about.
take it to eleven, my ninjas.
harder, louder, and prouder than ever.
represent!!!
never quiet, never soft.....