treats.

there's a good feeling in the air.
take a sniff.
you can smell it.
i almost gave in to a lost-and-forgotten-about air;
some hard-style lonely lamenting type sh!t,
for a hot second.
y'know,
hermited up along the far reaches of inaccessible
Folk Life hibernation.
it's true. i blame it on all the rain.
and then i went to my P.O. Box,
and instantaneously recognized the error
in that weak-sauce thought process-
check the teleport, y'all:
creekbread!
what happens when a pizza place moves to canada?
well, they change the name, for starters...
what we love to munch up here in the woodsly goodness
is known as flatbread,
but in the land of moose and ham/bacon,
it's called creekbread!
that's where the cucch is at.
and where this shirt comes from.
it says so right on the front, even.
i get treats with love from canada.
british columbia, an' that.
i think there's less coffee and cocaine in the british one,
but i can't be sure,
since there's always talk about all the powder they get.....
weird.
and while i'm wearin' that brown bomber later,
i'll be puffin' on THIS brown bomber, too:

eso si que es!

and what it is is a montecristo numero dos.

de habana.

luxury, mutha-F*tards. luxury.

a torpedo of tastiness for my lips!

muy delicioso.

uh-huh.

i've got a stellar stick of stinky smoke,

courtesy of my godfather.

no horse heads were severed in the process.

no, really.

that's not an ambiguous italian anecdote,

my actual godfather sent it up.

straight outta the bottom b!tches of the

backside of the northern hemisphere.

that's some good lookin' out, y'heard?

i'm transcontinentally endowed with ninjas.

the post office proved it yesterday.

top to bottom,

duders are keepin' it activated for your buddy.

two drastic directional differences,

one result;

TREATS!

i love 'em.

who's a lucky life-liver?

here's a hint:

it's me.

gratitude is oozin' out,

and generosity is flowin' in.

it's all really happening,

and i'm practically clapping

with accolades for my peep's participation.

thanks.

***********

the prequinox is here.

get it?

...it's not saturday, yet.

but,

viking springtime celebration time is on.

that means fires.

it's only viking if you burn sh!t.

tomorrow promises some irish luck,

or at least some irish food.

i even bought some cabbage, kids.

for tomorrow.

pot pie and potatoes,

cabbage and corned seitan?

it's destined to be great,

or the worst,

but never just okay.

treats, y'all;

never quiet, never soft.....