flap it's jacks right 'round like record, baby,
and then manhandle the buttery,
maple syrupy-sweet short stacks of
barbarian lumberjammer discs?!
the pannie-man can, ninjas!
c'mon.
the woodsly goodness, mount washington valley,
white mountains, new hampshire.
that's the spot.
i've been droppin' some earth balance brand
in the middle of the griddle,
and that double-butter 'splosion is making a whole wide world of difference.
on the ones.
pannie-cake! pannie-cake! baker's man!!!
that's right.
neighbors,
i'm tellin' all y'all:
here is where the hottness is.
good flippin' thing, too...
it's minnesota cold up in here.
real talk.
and that's before the wind chill gets it's claws into it.
directly and immediately through any and all coats,
and layers aren't about to do more than make you move funny.
this wind, from out of the northern barrens, isn't F*ing around-
it's all vorpal an' that.
even the miracle of ultimo-comestible panniecakes are a marginal,
nay,
a nominal defense against the blistering frost-biting coldness.
no joke.
but it's ALSO our day off.
so somethin' uber-dope has got to get poppin'.
i mean,
it's winter vacation,
there's snow on the ground,
and i've got three amazing ladies hanging around with me.
so we've got an obligation to make moves,
and magic happen.
it all really is, was, will, and continues to.
tuesday morning sparkle magical togetherness.
that's the name of the game;
never quiet, never soft.....
No comments:
Post a Comment