can opener.

some people like electric can openers.
it's true.
there's a name for those kind of people:
they're called lazy A-holes.
i mean, c'mon;
how much work is it to use a manual one?
eight seconds worth?
i've got no time for weak sauce nancybabies,
but i can definitely spare a rodeo victory's worth of effort to open up a can of somethin'.
especially if it's a can of whoop-ass.
i wonder what aisle that's in at the grocery store?
the 'seasonal' one, maybe.....
i needed a new 'opener'.
the search wasn't exactly pleasant.
i just wanted a plain ol' manual can opener.
black handled, simple, and just like the old busted one i already had.
that one is dope.
but naturally, the dopeness is never out in the open, is it?
i mean,
the gayblaster color coordinated plastic handles on those jawns?
whose flippin' kitchen is grape colored?
someone who probably sucks balls at cooking.
there's cancer-awareness can openers, with matching ribbon magnets,
there's old lady spin-assisted giant-handled can openers,
there's even 'donate money with your purchase to sad african-openers'.
i wouldn't even open a can of worms with those b!tcbags.
lucky for me,
my professional shopping skills brought me
from the lame cake of do-goodery open-cans-for-a-cause kitchen specialty stores,
to the 'hood fabulousnes of t.j.maxx.
you know they had an old-fashioned, burly, plain old MAN opener.
and now so do i.
word.


i started digging up the backyard woodsliness,
in preparation for a compost area.
what a long list of awfulness i have laid out for myself, my ninjas.
i mean it;
digging, sawing, hatcheting (that part was pretty cool), raking, clipping,
and a whole bunch of other -ings that all equate to one thing:
tired arms.
normally, when i'm working, at my real job,
i only ever make tiny little finger circles,
with my vibromatic tattyzap skin blaster.
and i doo-doo that while sitting down.
c'mon.
not exactly high-impact aerobics or power lifting, is it?
now, after years of that light action,
i've rocked out two full days of chopping wood,
and carrying heavy sh!t, and all that?
well,
yeah.
my spindly oversized orangutan tentacles are rubbery as a mofo.
i'm serious, too.
floppity, flappity, lanky pannie-hands with next-to-no grip strength?
pretty sexy, for sure.
but,
the fresh hottness of the three-bay compost station is already so luscious,
and it's just a square of grit-grimy dirty earth...
so i guess the battered branches of my body are well-earned.
asleep at 9 p.m?
you bet i was.
did a ruckus get raised by raccoons at the site of the new 'post pit?
you bet it did.
we'll either spin garbage into gold over there,
or,
we'll have a rabid rabble of virile vermin midnight snacking.
either way,
events unfold as they're supossed to;
never quiet, never soft.....