O, holy sh!t, i mean, night...

hey there, duders.
greetings,
from the blisteringly frostbitten arctic chillbox
of the great white mountainous woodsly goodness.
we're here,
in the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress,
nestled like snuggly bugs by the big burning box of logs.
wood stove sexiness,
and XI-mas light-time magic are in full effect.
and it is good.
that's right.
i'm talking about good things.
all of 'em.
treats, eats, presents, and all the holiday hottness
that i usually lord over all of y'all.
it's all really happening,
finally;
in a last minute launching of a superlative spearhead attack
on the dolorous doldrums of weak sauce sorcery
that have attempted to thwart and confound and
in most other ways obfusticate my usually over-the-top,
all-the-way-to-eleven, berserker barbarian brouhaha hooliganism
with color-coordinated metallic-foil wrapping paper and ribbons.
duders,
the sound of sales slips being printed,
and the rustle of hustled and bustled bags of goodies,
and the crowds of crappy couples searching for that special something...
i'm into it.
hard.
me and the lovely little lady i call my wifey hit the hotspots in the brutal cold.
together.
on our day off.
like, all romantic and sh!t.
the double-checked list of not-so-naughty ninjas?
completed.
expert.
the boughs and the bows and the bushels of burly boxes?
trimmed and trued and totally flippin' excellent.
it's XI-mas, kids.
i don't know about you,
but an X-mas still doesn't seem loud, hard, or fresh enough
for the worthy warrior poetry of real life.
fact.
cheer, neighbors.
it has arrived,
in defiance of the deprivation of vitamin d that
the sunless realm of northern lightlessness tried to
front on my facehole with.
real mutha-uckin' talk.
suckle, b!tchbag grinches,
albie rock is ON it-
recognize;
never quiet, never soft.....