fried a.

everybody's workin' for the weekend.
i'm just workin' all weekend.
i'm also guilty of vanilla sky-ing a bunch of otherwise random events.
including 'country roads' by the late, sorta great john denver.
a couple of times, even.
c'mon.
i mean,
how often do YOU bump into that classic rural barn-stormer?
i know...
and what's even weirder?
i never ever expected to nod my head to some redneckity tunes
with all due seriousness, in a completely non-ironic way.
i guess i really am getting old.
and a little bit lame, to boot.
nice.

tomorrow,
before work commences to F* my A* off my body,
with hard acts of doo-doo buttery ass-biscuitry,
i'm hittin' up the extra-crakery summertime farmer's market.
oh yeah.
weird lettuce and clay mugs and dope-ass bread.
all in an idyllic victorian township.
no sh!ttin', ya'll.
there's even a whole batch of socks-n-sandals acoustic jammie jammers.
you can bet your bottom britches, b!tches,
i'll be requesting a rousing rendition of country roads...
let's hope those turbo-whitebread organic homo-sapiens
know how to rock it properly,
or i may have to albie rock the mic,
or whatever they're using to publicly address the public,
and belt out a standing-ovation worthy chorus on my own.
with or without an amp,
the level of active participation is headed to eleven.
local crafts and farmer-supported agriculture, yo.
it's poppin' off.
i'd better get to bed early or somethin'...

adulthood, my ninjas.
who would've thought i'd be into it.
and yet here we are,
after all of this;
never quiet, never soft....