full, fuller, fullest.

okay,
it's Falafel Week.
that's the dopeness, obviously.
but what i didn't know was...
it was a totally flickin' full moon werewolfen howling mad harvest night!
my inner hirsute horrorshow definitely popped right out of my skin.
and insisted on some seawolf shark gluttony.
right to eleven, right off the starting line,
i doo-doo that freaky sh!t...
and man-o-man did i wolf down some treats!!
uh-huh.
and they taste even F*n better than they look.
and they look so mouth-wateringly good.
daaamn.
them jauns hit SO many spots,
it was like an accupressure massage
...on the inside of my body.
look closely,
because like a truly true connoisseur of consumption,
i get 'em different each and every time.
and then,
because there is rarely such a thing as too much of a good thing:
boo-ya!, duders.
in super-short order i'd plowed through a triple threat of tahini-beany hottness.
look at those voluptuous brown blops under that sesame butter.
i even slowed it down and managed to chew this one a little tiny bit.
then we walked around awhile.
jess ate all kinds of crapola.
jim ate all kinds of crapola.
we had maple-sugar cotton candy.
what?
you heard that right.
never mind about that everyday pink and blue b!tch-fluff;
it's beige, mutha-licker,
and it is also bangin'!
we half-heartedly talked to about a billion semi-local yokels about tattoos,
and whole-heartedly drooled over the rustic shaker furniture.
we found uncle steven towering above the crowds,
and looked at quilts and pumpkins and all of that good stuff.
my stomach was distended disturbingly far.
i'm talking about tight-stretched skin and everything.
my whole digestive tract was communicating loud and clear.
it was even kind of funny,
me joking that i was so full i would burst.
hahahaha, and that.
it was all well nice, but by then the sun had gone down,
and then the clouds parted,
and i think 'thriller' was playing in the distance
...and it was right at that moment that sh!t got real:
this falafel has a name.
and that name is the wrench.
yep.
somehow, i had it worked out that including a double-dose of cucumbers
would cool off the furnace of fury in my foodbox.
in retrospect, i could well've predicted the obvious outcome.
i went well past the limits of good sense, good taste,
prudence, practicality, and pleasure.
you can never go too far, but you may be able to go too fat.
i led an unsanctioned incursion beyond the borders of epic obesity.
let it be known, on record,
i suffer the consequences of my infinite nature for YOU, my ninjas.
warrior poetry is only partially art,
the other part is pain.
there was a long moment,
after i chased down the delicious dopeness with a bucket of sweet cool apple cider,
when i was sure i'd see an encore of this guy's palate-plummet,
in reverse.
some folks aren't susceptible to full-moon fever.
some people don't like falafels.
not me, my ninjas.
i've got that berserker barbarian battle-beastliness,
and lunar lunacy and sharkbite werewolf powers are how i get busy.

...of course i did.

they told me about how it was organic.

they told me how it had specially-selected scotch bonnet bombs,

the told me about how it was homemade, and with love.

all i saw was the handwritten label,

and that's all i needed to know.

and yeah.

it is.

did i end up groaning and bloated?

wallowing and wiggling?

sleepless and overfull with indigestive nightmares?

hell yes i did.....after all, what am i?

apparently, an A*-hole.

i should've known.

if i was lamer, i might have known.

do ya'll know about those terrible lunar calender charts?

they're always in purple or blue ink on cream paper, yeah?

and inspire wiccany 'buffy' fan-types to talk about lunar goddess weak-sorcery-sauce?

yeah.

those.

well, i'm pretty much predisposed to hating that kind of stuff.

hard.

but no foolin',

it just might have come in handy.

an ounce of prevention against a secret universal predestiny?

it honestly wasn't until i espied a glimmer of the dominant disk of doom,

the luminous lantern of lycanthropy,

that i figured out why i've been positively off-my-t!ts crazy for a few days.

obvious enough now, innit?

tell that to my battered-wife bellyhole.

poor thing,

it won't leave me,

even though i'm gonna subject it to even more domestic abuse tonight.

oh c'mon.

i know.

Falafel Week;

never quiet, never soft....