inclement.

it really eats a hot crusty one outside,
even though it's neither hot nor crusty.
it's actually cold and soggy.
and windy.
and muddy.
what the F* ever, though.
the weather can molest the mountainsides all it likes,
right up until roughly 4 p.m. tomorrow,
and then i expect that ma nature and the inestimable secret universal planagram
will dry up the meadowlands, fairways, and walking tracts
of the 159th consecutive northern maine blue ribbon classic,
the mutha-lickin' freaky-diki Fryeburg Fair.
just for me, even,
because i'm on a mission, ya'll.
a furious flagrant-foul-flaunting falafel eating mission.
and i am going to execute my directive in true shark-glutton fashion.
Falafel Week is waiting in the wings, my ninjas!
it's a caustic combination of 'shark week' and 'sandwich week',
and it is dope.

today is my sister's berfday!
miss mary grace turns 32 years of age.
in a row.
and it's sure to be a happy one,
old-ass b!tchslappin' battle bizzle that she is!
in true family tradition fashion,
she has already planned out practical practicing party points
for at least the next consecutive seven days.
nice.

the weiner guy popped in yesterday;
that's always an interesting event.
and as per usual,
there was a sausage explosion all over the studio.
that's how it should be, i guess.
y'know; letting it all hang out.
but not in a metaphorical way at all.
at all, at all, ya'll;
it was a real cocktoberfest.
i mean it,
there was even a jack o'lantern set of blumpkin balls involved.
no joke.
there are dull moments sometimes,
but not when fellow beehive humpers are present.
beehive humpers?
yep;
ask shawn,
he'll explain it....

i've got just 29 short hours to kill until i'm elbows-deep in deep-fried dopeness.
the clock is ticking;
never quiet, never soft....