more of this.

if a foghorn and a blunderbuss somehow sprouted reproductive organs,
fell in love,
decided to consumate that love,
mated in a soft, sweet romantic union,
and then had a baby,
then that baby is what my posterior docking bay
(read metaphysical methaphoric butthole)
is poised to receive this week.
now how's that sound?
never quiet, never soft indeed.
ouch.
if you're keeping score here;
that's a maelstrom of mayhem whirling around,
waiting like a caribbean privateer, with full cannon compliments,
to waterspout my barnacled bilge pump right off.
master and commander of getting F*d in the A*!!
not literally.
for the hundredth time,
it's a mutha-uckin' metaphor for hard-hearted hard-style hard times.
dammnit, ya'll.
always so eager to believe i'm turbo gaysplosive.
but seriously,
i'm ready for some karmic lubricant to make the dire straits a little easier
....to take so flippin' deep.
never mind the good ship lollipop,
i'm on the hard ship hardship.
happily,
it does a little double-duty as a cruise ship,
since i'm clearly on vacation.
still.
put that on your poop deck,
and prepare to shuffle board it.

in marginally related,
nautically-themed news,
i'm meeting with my mathamagician accountant,
over at anchor busines services,
to hopefully repair some splintering of my mainmast.....
so to speak.

come sail away.....
never quiet, never soft...