monday may i.

having a ball.
or two.
word 'em up.
these mutha-b!tchin' chipmunks, y'all.
A*-hole varmints.
they make this suckie suuuki-suuuuki noise;
all loud and hard an' that.
all the way out for my face.
but, as much as i respect the volume and intensity,
they kick off a big simultaneous serenade at 6 a.m.
...and then they don't stop doing it.
ever.
never quiet, never soft,
in rodential consequential format.
and it's called barking.
and just to add a take-it-to-eleven factor,
it makes their enormous furry bags flap around.
wait....what?
mmm-hmmm.
huge 'munker balls, duders.
every-flippin'-where.
the good, the 'nads, and the ugly,
all around the fortress.
i guess the ratio of males to females is severely skewed over here.
and it's as if they're part viking-
there's a whole lot of sacking going on.
oh, c'mon.
like my daughter asked me:
why does he have those big those?
i don't know.
maybe they're letting me know that i've got spirit animals.
kindred beasts,
with burdensome bobbalones.
...just like me.
A*-holes in solidarity,
loud and hard,
from early 'til late...
***********
the weekend is looming.
impending excellence on the visible horizon.
whatever else is in store,
i can tell you that there will be some life aquatic
on the digestive docket.
shark-gluttony, the ever-present
megalodontic dietary destruction.
there's rumors of pleasant skies,
and whispers of hot fire and late nights.
we're ready.
Folk Life community living,
secluded, possible deluded, with no responsibilty eluded,
it's all really happening.
fuzzy munchkin slaps,
brittle bits of bone, hard-pressed analog digit-ization,
multiple meals, maximizing multiple burners on the stove,
hard times, day times, good times, night times.
harvest and maple are headed up here in a few days.
so's holly.
and the cucch is already here.
that's the whole damn family.
making our own memories,
all memorial weekend.
minutes into mountains,
molehills into millenium,
it's time, kids;
never quiet, never soft....