trimmed beards & trapdoors.

just in case you'd ever wondered what the hottness looks like,
here's a quick glimpse into the woodsly world of cabin fever:

yes, that's another trapdoor.

yes, it has recessed antique brass pulls.

yes, those are square-head wrought iron nails.

yes. yes. yes.

no time for weak sauce.

only loud fresh hardness.

all day, all night.

all the time.

...to eleven, kids,

that's just how it goes.

***********

less hair,

more face.

when you're a real life barbarian battle-beast,

that's almost never a winning combination.

today, on my skull,

that proves truer than ever.

my beard and hair are well-manicured;

expertly edged-up by our buddy elsah.

so now,

i've got a meat-pipe expose in 360 real-time,

attached to a prickly peanut in grey and bald.

you'd know it as called a head.

not just any head, either.

my head.

a berserker balloon, tapered just so,

and covered in a two-piece fur bikini.

awwwwww man.

that's a hard style, duders.

my head, i mean.

a haircut is like landscaping a haunted house.

it's hard to tell if it makes anything any better,

but it's better than doing nothing.

i hope.

***********

we tuned up some green elephant in portland, maine, again.

jim and jess and i made the other patrons nauseous, again.

y'all know it's time to congratulate a ninja on some gargantuan gorging

when the servers all draw attention to the amount of food,

and the speed at which it disappears.

they know what's up.

superior shark-gluttony,

when committed in concert,

without pause,

and in conclusion with dessert,

by skinny mutha-uckas,

makes fat vegans feel bad about themselves.

F* 'em, kids.

i've got no time for feelings,

only feedings.

if it doesn't hurt when i'm done,

it's like it never happened.

(that's what she said?)

stuff'd to bursting, b!tches, in my bellyhole.

there's a great big void in there.

i'm filling it in with vegetables.

until something breaks.

doing myself a mischief,

one meal at a time;

never quiet, never soft.....