shore to shorn.

whaaaaaat?!!

uh-huh, a gravity-fed pull-chain poop scoopler!

i think that maybe the hottness just called;

it said it wants to squeeze some links out in my bathroom,

because with that kind of victorian excellence, you have to...

it's almost too awesome to plop poops in.

almost.

yeah, i know,

even the sh!tter is totally dope.

and if you're with me on how elite my toilet is,

you should really see the shower.

i count my lucky stars every day, ya'll.

i spent my first full shorn short-haired day at work.

compliments did not exactly abound.

we resist change up here.

hard.

to make matters a bit more measurably miserable.

i was told i could pass for any modern country music icon.

....and that hurt a little.

but did i feel different, with the new look and new 'do?

c'mon,

i didn't believe in all that 'be the change' horsecrap back in november, either.

but,

i did tatblast my whole pair o'asscheeks off,

and rewarded myself with a little trip to the cinema.

inglorious basterds?

historical travesty, more like.

and also insanely fresh, furious, flavorful, far-fetched, and fulfilling.

violence?

check.

convoluted sub-plot storytelling?

naturally.

less-than-gratifying outcomes?

sure thing.

baseball bat bashmastering?

hells yeah!

samuel l. jackson voice-over narration?

a little bit, ya'll. a little tiny bit.

we rolled deep to the theater, (connecticut understands the term)

with multiple rows of my ninjas and ninjettes appreciating the moviehaus together.

we doo-doo that kind of thing....

word to wade boggs,

i'm here to drop logs,

in a turbo hot bathroom, my ninjas.

you're invited to come and crash on my shores.

pull the chain for service;

never quiet, never soft....