thirty.

happy mutha-ucking berfday,
to YOU,
mr. shawn hebrank.
that's right.
the eyebrows, the volume, the carhartts,
the more-vegan-than-you-are boots,
the second-most horrifying feet...
the whole flippin' shootin' match turns thirty.
today.
years old, duders.
three decades of existence,
in a row.
loud, hard, oldness... for your face!
jeez, y'all,
i still remember when he was a little tiny boy-kid,
freshly returned from georgia,
with puppets and a busted van,
and stories about hammocks.
to think we met through a mutually lame friend.
(marsupial quitters, you know who you are)
holy sh!t-balls that was a long darn while ago.
and now,
he's a heroically hospitable homeowning host and innkeeper.
a driven-beyond-reason tatzapping social-media-climber,
and a really, truly good friend.
that's word.
he's effervescent,
like pamplemousse lacroix, my ninjas.
really real ones know all about that.
if you haven't sent him some berfday wishes yet,
well,
what exactly are you waiting for, neighbors?
*
i'm fairly certain that the hebrank/depasquale household
doesn't obey the rules about birthdays.
you know the ones.
ridiculously extravagant treats,
and the freaky-diki, doo-doo buttery,
medically frowned-upon-type,
hard-style pounding bylaws and guidelines,
but,
i hope that the day goes incredibly well, regardless.
warm wishes and heartfelt sentiments and all that noise.
i'm trusting that my in-absentia stand-in,
the cucchie,
is gonna bring the thunder.
he'll ensure the day goes all the way to eleven.
with brown blops and copperpots and bumcups-
he IS an expert(e), after all.
***********
saturn, son.
and mars, too.
power and war, son!
we got them jauns, on the ones.
i'm on that starpower astrological space logic.
for serious.
if i'm missing out on the minnesota hottness,
then i'm pulling a moammar, y'all.
who gets oppressed?
everybody, y'heard?
no ethiopian shark-glutton barf-fest for me?
no problem.
no turbo-fresh stay-up-late hang-out times?
that's fine, too.
but i want you mutha-b!tches to know:
i'm taking something out on the rest of y'all.
...that's a thing.
saturday-weekend-warrior poetry,
spat out in hot fiery herky-jerk bursts,
staccatto stanzas of rural-urban idioms,
axioms, and anachronisms.
taking time out of time in time for the good/hard time-outs.
get some of that for your faces.
the reason for this wrenched-up wreaking?
shawn thomas hebrank,
...thirty year old.
this sauce is powerful,
the volume is loud,
and the wrapping-papery hand-wrapping wringing
and ringing i'm ready to report and retort with?
yep.
it's all really happening.
today is the day.
just like everyday,
but it's also a berfday.
happy day, duders;
never quiet, never soft.....