Thursday, December 3

thirdsies.

mattock!
even better than buttocks.
y'know why?
because it's got a hard-hewin' hoe-adze,
and a sunovabitchin' pointy pick part, too.
buttocks just have a hole in the middle.
this thing'll make you a new one.
sh!t!!
that jammie is amazing.
it's like a chop-stab-scoopler.
...and that is dope.
if it weren't for such seriously savage stormswept
steel implements of masculinity,
i'd almost wonder if i were a cookie-cuttin' saddlesoap stain.
no joking,
during morning toast times,
i cut myself on crusty bread.
and it hurt!
so much for gutter punk credibilty, ya'll.
i mean,
if the organic sourdough is too crusty,
before it's even toasted up,
i shudder to think about the unshaven spigots and spouts
on some of those huddled masses.
i'll stick to the spiked sticks.
they'll stick to their patchworked carharts.
like i said,
mattocks are definitely better than buttocks.
'specially those 'uns.
speaking of crusty butts....
i unclogged my shower drain this morning.
with a plunger.
normally,
i'd laud my epic handymanliness,
but this time,
big black blops of gloppity gak erupted from the pipe.
while i was in there with 'em.
fortunately,
i was taking a shower when i was plumbing.
unfortunately,
clean water doesn't account for the steamtrapped stink
of a thousand ancient rinses and repeats.
heinous?
you'd better believe it.
***********
we went to portland last night with our friend elsah.
we ran in on our monthly visit to the green elephant.
somebody must've chummed the waters, kids.
we brought a whole toolbox of hurt down on that joint.
choosing the wrench like a hammerhead,
shoveling everything i saw.
c'mon.
after a record-time one-bite no-chew round of appetizers,
i had some very cabbagey asian vegetable (read as: farty) soup,
then turned up the fatness to eleven,
and totally tuned up a double-header of entrees.
neither the biggest,
nor the most beautifullest,
but i acheived the main objective:
more.
destruction?
oh hell yeah.
and then,
i still managed to cram a slice of pie down the pipes afterwards.
shark gluttony, ya'll.
i doo-doo that.
the waitress said i was the hungriest boy.
it could've been the dripping walrus 'stache of glass noodles
hanging off of my beardface,
or all the full-mouthed potty-mouthing i garbled between gulps.
i dunno.
i was definitely the fullest when we left.
berserker barbarian battle-beast.
that's a long title for a landed baron of be-dopeness.
and it's a hard-style lifestyle, too.
i hurt myself for all ya'll.
just so you'll remember me fondly.
my triumphs are my tribulations.
there's no poetry without try an' that;
never quiet, never soft.....

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