bombs!

neighbors,
it's been one of the weirdest ones.
i mean it.
the tattblasting studio is a place for oddity
on the best of days,
but today was off the charts.
one client took the whole cake, too.
why?
because b!tches be craaaa-aaazy, duders.
fake boobs?
bursting out of, but clad solely in just a bra?
yes, sir.
that's how sunday gets rad in the woods.
connecticut clients, scantuly clad,
and winehouseishly coiffed,
keeping it maaaaaaaad real,
representing waterbury for all the necktards up here.
crazy b!tches, son!
what-whaaaaaaaaaat?!
no joke,
the tap-out after drawing for an hour was pretty much
the very best part, too.
what's better than being amazed by the level of
eleventeen expertism after hours humid, muggy, drudgery?
nothin'.
that's a thing.
it's like asking how much eye makeup is too much eye makeup?
(answer: no such thing)
wrecks, in effect, friends.
as hard, and loud, as quasi-legal freshness will allow.
it's all really happening,
and my disbelief isn't enough to disprove,
or even simply cease,
any of it.
***********
lucky for us,
flatbread is still feeling the residual cucchiness.
maybe they feel guilty about making it possible
for our bestest buddy to bounce away from us so easily.
i don't know for sure.
i DO know that they gave us a heaping helping
of the hot and fiery free pizza pie hookup.
again.
like i said-
residual cucchiness.
we only go there to smell the oniony hippie stank
and reminisce about how much we liked having
our special little homeboy around.
we had family dinner,
minus one,
and spilled a little root beer for our lost companion.
awwwwwwww, man.
it's late summer, y'all,
and we're feeling the effects of friend deprivation.
as such,
we've had a spate of spontaneous hanging out
with duders from around here.
shane, eric, jim, and a few future play-dates too.
they're all down to get rad at the Fortress.
where the F* are the rest of you?
just sayin',
you'd better thicken up and flavorize your weak sauce
with some barbarian bouillon...
...SON!
never quiet, never soft.....