more of this,
and more's the pity.
spinning my wheels,
and grinding my gears,
and all the while my greyscale cauliflower
is working overtime on big thoughts and bigger plans.
the best laid of which are destined to come undone.
that's just the way it is,
and it's the only way to go.
i tried, duders.
really.
best efforts and good intentions and all of that.
and i failed.
hard.
or at least i am failing hard.
if i don't blow off a big sweaty pile of loot on XI-mas,
then there's no way i'll ever be able to enjoy it.
really.
i'm shallow, callow, callous, and capitalistic to the extreme.
uh-huh.
big talk from a broke, broken, ugly sasquatch, huh?
it's all true,
and true stories told truly is how i relay the really real-life
workings of the woodsly goodness.
i'm sayin',
all that cookies and smiles sh!t can suckle the sauce, son.
i've gotta get my sweet-honey-baby some
show-stopping, jaw-dropping, fall-over-backwards treats.
or, if that isn't possible,
a brutal buffeting of boxes and bags full of average treats.
if 'special' and 'heartfelt' can't be purchased,
then excess and opulence probably can.
sentiment can chug it, neighbors.
i'm a showboating grandstander, after all.
berserk. barbarian. beastly.
you know the routine by now.
the object is MORE.
'the gift of the magi' is great if you're poor or ugly or both,
but i'm a warrior poet with a blisteringly hot ol' lady-
that kind of one-upmanship demands a pile of presents an' that.
the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress has a humongous hearth,
and stockings are waiting for stuffing up there, y'heard?
the cinnamon-scented sappy sad-sack suckholery
about it's-the-thoughts-that-count crappiness of
any and all non-material holiday spirits
are just not invited to my make-out party.
mistletoe hangs far away from that mantel, ninjas.
***********
gravy and french fries for dinner?
fatness.
i need a greasy globule of tuberosity, neighbors.
right in my mouth.
(that's what she said)
and i've got it.
oven-baked steak-style potato hunks,
and vegan brown blops?
F* that uppity vegan pomposity,
i'm gettin' down and dirty, y'heard me?
fattie fat fat, kids.
starched and pressed and blown the F* out.
talkin' noise;
never quiet, never soft.....
1 comment:
i figure you know the references i'll get, and the ones i won't. (the latter usually being lame sci-fi stuff. haha) but i wanted to show my appreciation for the subtle Piebald shout out. smooth. i'm playing volume II for the rest of the night now.
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