wet.
dark.
perfect.
more wet, worsening, weak-sauce sorcery, suckas.
you better believe i'm psyched.
worsted, like wool, which is to say-
dooooooooooooooope.
bikers don't really get busy blastin' their straight pipes
and gay clothes in the chilly, sunless sadness
of a blue monday, duders.
so they want stuff to doo-doo.
and when the stuff bikers want is tatzappin', my ninjas?
y'all already know i GOT you:
i rep what i reap,
and i reap what i sow, neighbors.
and what i sow are skeletor seeds.
what-whaaaaat?
subconsciously creating authentic battle-damage?
yuuuuup.
barbarian battle beast-man-type jauns.
*
it's definitely bike week.
but for the next two days,
it's my weekend.
so i get to be blissfully removed from all that noise.
you get another 'nother skull picture,
i get to stop typing.
it's happening,
in varying amounts,
but all of the time;
never quiet, never soft.....
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