...in the free world.

(keep on albie-rockin', that is)
-
hey there neighbors and friends!
it's a rocky road of grand granitey goodness, again.
so many rocks. so many roads.
talk about experiencing familiar surroundings in a new way.
no longer am i paying any attention to traffic laws.
F* that noise, ninjas.
i'm on a rock hunt.
i need that sweet, sweet granite, y'all.
and since rocks do very little to attract attention to themselves,
it's up to me to scope 'em out,
scoople 'em up,
and make some ingenious igneous utilization of the felsic freshness.
y'know,
like sticking a bunch of heavy stones in my garden.
(ingenious?)
after all,
ye cannae have a rock garden if you d'nae have any rocks...
unavoidably accurate assessments, kids-
to that effect,
some duders from work helped me haul out
a 4-1/2' spike of molto-magnificent
super-thick stone monolithic manliness
from the woods out behind white mountain tattoo.
no jokes, it's a big 'un.
it should probably be noted, as a matter of real-life,
and as a true story, told truly, an' that-
neither of my burly helpers were tattooers.
ben and wayne got gnarly with the dead-lift hulk moves, though.
a desk manager and a body piercer, kids.
those guys got way rugged.
why?
most of  tatblasters at the studio are either delicate, girls,
or delicate girls,
excluding your favorite cookie-baking barbarian, of course;
...because tattooers are diaper-babies,
and hate getting sweaty helping others.
yep.
i've just come at you mutha-b!tches with a hard truth.
as a rule,
tatty-o practitioners get down with a singularly self-serving
sebaceous-stimulating sort of perspiration almost exclusively.
but that's NOT the worthy warrior way, though,
now is it?
uh-uh.
and if nothing else, the lightning-striking viking Folk Life
way of doing things intends a specific spate
of gratitude and generosity.
i guess it was a good thing that it was just us three at the studio.
i crept out of a super-slow day, into the woodsly goodness,
and excavated the gray granite hottness prior to the big move.
then me and my duders used our muscles, or the closest facsimiles thereof
and we got that big, bad mama-jama onto the back of a pick'em up.
nice.
***********
i saved myself a couple of cookies, kids.
rock blocks are in high demand up here,
and i distributed dozens of my dope dollops to my duders.
and kept that last batch for my babes-
we need a little road trip reward, after all.
wait...road trip? whaaaat?
oh yes,
you lucky dogs,
we'll be in connecticut for the whole real weekend.
a family reunion for the wifey's dad's kin, clan, and crew.
(of which me and my seedly saplings are a part)
we'll be seeing as many mutha-flippers as possible,
and munching as many treats as possible,
in true human/shark hybrid fashion.
keep moving, keep eating, or you die.
it's pretty much as straightforward and simple as it gets.
and a better fate than death awaits us anywhere.
even connecticut.
...barely.
it's SO the F*ing worst.
but it's ALSO chock full to the nutmegs with our peoples.
that's pure bitter-sweet-type hard-style sh!t, my ninjas.
the kids are going back to their nest,
and we'll be visiting our own former eyries, to boot.
two days away from the workplace,
working harder, with longer hours,
with a brutal commute, and no pay,
in the waterbaby waterpark of doo-doo buttery weakness.
connecticut, here we come-
you'd better have some kickass rocks is all i'm sayin';
never quiet, never soft.....