nappies.

dirty flippin' diaperloads, duders.
nappy nappies.
poop-boat burritos.
that's the doo-doo doing.
capitulated crapulation.
a hot batch of screaming, steaming yule logs.
sh!t, son.
that's what the holiday season is like, sometimes.
now don't get me wrong, duders-
i'm still all about avarice, 
and greedy greenback grabbing,
and garrulous gift-giving and gabbing,
and idle idolatry in regards to jingling bills
(worthwhile money, not 20's and 10's).
heck,
in years past, you ninjas have known me to be
a brutally overbearing buyer of gifts, goods, and sundries.
not to mention my continuously crisp-cornered,
tidily-taped wrapping job.
i'm no scrooged-up grinch-licker or anything,
it's just that the magical mysteries
of goodwill towards other mutha-'uckas,
and all that cinnamon-and-pine scented, sappy, saturated sentiment
haven't reached the woodsly goodness yet.
i thought that kind of thing flowed downhill,
like,
from the north pole, an' that?
there's a pole, alright,
and i think it's getting shoved sideways where the sun don't shine,
and i don't mean the arctic circle for the next 30 days of night...
i'm tellin' you, neighbors,
there's a dearth of holiday cheer,
in spreadable form,
however communicable and contagious it's always rumored to be.
my concern is actually for all of you.
i'm serious.
because when the damned dam gives way,
there's sure to be a flood of fa-la-la-la-las
freefalling freshly, loud, and with hellhammer hot fiery hardness
directly at your mutha-lickin' faces.
real talk.
something about a saturation point,
and some kind of soy nog,
and maybe another 'nother inch or 11 of snow,
and it's sure to be another all-the-way-to XI-mas, for sure.
it keeps getting darker around me,
i keep feeling brighter, (than most of these duders around me)
and somewhere in between,
the prognosis for big fun keeps getting dimmer.
a long november,
an oven full of embers,
and one thing to always remember:
it's all really happening;
never quiet, never soft.....