undesirables.

what happens when a crew of silent,
nonviolent sneaky petes crash a hotel pool?
well,
if they also happen to look like half-gay pirates,
with a couple of kidnapped kids with 'em,
then,
they make it about thirty-one steps into the chlorinated vaults,
and get searched, questioned, and then kicked the F* out.
...yep.
s.w.b.'s aren't just limited to airports anymore.
apparently,
they've been imported to stand guard over the watchways
and the watering holes in the woodsly goodness, too.
this one wasn't even a lady,
he was just a nightmarish b!tch-like up-here stumpulator.
bad teeth and all.
that's a hard style, duders, for sure,
when the janitor security man catches you out so hard.
i should probably mention that the ladies all slid right in
without a second glance or any kind of hassles-;
it was just yours truly, and the cucchie,
who got tagged for trespassing.
weird, huh?
i guess they just can't hang out with battle-beastly body-hair-bears,
or flamboyant flouting of the 'hotel-guests-only' rules.
the womenfolk (who also left with us in solidarity)
suspect it was our decorated epidermises what clued 'em in;
in fact,
harvest and maple were outraged, duders.
that's no joke.
don't discriminate against the kaleidoscopic-skin-colored folk
while those two art-awareness activist/terrorizers are around.
that's a little friendly advice from your buddies over here.
soooo,
that was not a righteously executed infiltration operation.
but,
after avoiding the attention of the real authorities,
and a walk-of-shame exit from the establishment,
we still went swimming at the not as dope hotel pool down the road.
where we all got ogled for our infinite conspicuity.
some for their fresh semi-revealed mammaries,
and others for their extra bits of plastic paint and metal dangles.
the worst part about all of it?
chlorine is so hurtie.
red eyes,
dry skin,
irritated nostrils,
and,
for all that burning juice,
there's still pee in that water y'all.
it doesn't just disappear by adding poison gas sauce.
...nice.
to sum up our real-life:
pee-pickled hydrogen ions,
grumpleberry faux-po-po-licia,
molto bikinis,
the stares of a thousand little kids,
and the late-night good memories of a special pair of small humans,
that's a sunday to remember, friends.
all memorable memorial, sans parade.
***********
the whole crew has been up and at 'em for little minute.
what's that entail?
seven sets of bagels,
seven mugs of tea (or juice),
seven soul-surviving soldiers of serious
sap-slapping, symphonic, sauce-strengthening superiority.
that's a tall order-
and it's the last day of may.
and it's the girls' last night in town,
and it's broccoli bread for dinner, too.
there's more and more and more of this real-life living, my ninjas.
super-concentrated hottness,
from daybreak to full-dark,
and everywhere in between,
every single time.
it's ALL really happening,
and i'm grateful for the wall-to-wall worthy warriors
i span this time alongside;
never quiet, never soft.....