eaten.

fat?
yep.
two more right out of the gates...
for my face:
and then another one, y'know, like for dessert:

and then another 'nother one,

because i'm so not kidding around...

duders-
they've got home-cured pickles.
and they are off-the-charts dope.
my brain almost can't handle the heroic hottness.
and neither can my bellyhole.
but only almost.
because after all,
we go to eleven up here.
...in gambling,
seven means craps.
in falafels, doubly so.
that much gonzo garbanzo
is devastating, y'all.
and they've added extra cayenne pepper this year.
trust me on this one.
i spit hot fire, after all.
(out of my butthole)
woooooooord.
it feels like vacation up here.
it smells like fresh cut wood,
but that's because those nasty A*-lords
have been chainsawing away all the natural goodness
since the super-early-shirley a.m. hours.
mutha-uckers are destroying the whole landscape.
someone is obviously kidding me.
except these sixty foot trees are gone for good.
bunch o' b!tch-bags is what these city planners are.
and these lumberjackoffs,
and the civil engineers.
civil would've been a heads-up before we bought the place,
that they planned on F*ing our A*s.
y'know?
lame cake needs falafel power to soothe the savage battle-beast.
***********
anybody else having google machine image upload problems?
i sure am.
maybe i jinxed it with the tattoo pictures.
could very well be the case.
but,
i assure y'all.
every tasty sandwich is getting documented.
real life doesn't take shortcuts, after all.
set your goals;
never quiet, never soft.....