my muffs is too big...

...for the pan, man:

triple banana coconut oatmeal streusel muffins, babies.

family breakfast, ya'll.

for seven.

it's an all-day, all-weekend memorial house party.

for seven.

that's a sweaty, living, breathing, fight club posse,

taking over the fortress;

a crew of hungry hungry heads, ninjas,

and we're all eating muffins.

instead of fighting, i mean,

unless you mean fighting over the last muffin....

yum4tum an' that.

streusel represents everything good in the whole world.

greasy, gobbledy-knobbity cinnamon treats!

TREATS!

the good food, the good life, the good times.

word up.

***********

saturday morning on memorial weekend mostly means one thing:

yard sales.

if ever there was a more community-minded awfulness activity,

i've yet to learn of it.

crusty crusters selling their crusted crap.

and cheapskate choosers trying to haggle a gaggle of dollars right off.

that's such a hard style.

don't get me all wrong here-

every once in a little minute,

there may be a hint of hidden hottness hiding out,

but usually,

it's a mil-dil-dew-doo-dooey garage of grandma's garbage.

happily,

it's the wife's job to seek and destroy them jauns.

i've got social-interaction exempt status.

good thing, too,

because i can't hang out with junk-collecting scavenged stump creatures.

i go to the MAN-tique store when i want old busted treats.

not somebody's driveway.

higher standards, kids.

i hold to 'em.

hard.

no stumplestiltskins allowed, y'heard?

***********
now,

we've got grilling and 'gars to blaze.

and a whole household to hold it down.

kids and grown-ups and childish adults and surly seniors,

we got it all, y'all.

first things first,

i've got a half a day of deuce-droppin' ideas to dish out

on hapless, heedless homeboys and girls at the tatzap studio.

after two slow-motion sweet-moolah-free days of doing not so much,

the unwitting white mountain vacationers must be punished.

and i'm here to mete out the penalties,

one crucial codeworded kanji,

one tribal somethin' terribly spiketarded,

or one black-'n'-gray gayblast at a time.

but then, when the sap is done oozin' out,

it's cigars and vegetables and my peoples 'til tomorrow.

lather.

rinse.

repeat.

all weekend.

no weak-ending here.

strong, long, king, and/or donkey kong.

we have some time,

and we're making stuffs out of it.

it's all really happening,

like it or not;

never quiet, never soft.....