the moon is looking like a big-a pizza pie.
and when it hits my eye?
noooooope.
that's a song, my ninjas, not a thing-
amore is for lovers.
the squinky squint of orbiting orbital lobe activation
hits my jauns more like a werewolfen wild hunt.
uh-huh.
i'm looking for more of a huff/puff kind of thing.
stacks, sticks, bricks and some wanton bellowing.
i'm on that flat tires and berfday candles business, y'heard?
oh, c'mon, you get it-
blow outs!
brutal berserker barbarian battle-beasting
via transformative lunar moonbeam nutrients.
***********
it's mud bowl weekend.
yeah.
mud bowl.
nope.
it's not earthen adobe ceramics,
for your soup or cereal.
it's amateur football, in a sloppy sopping soil-hole.
i'm serious.
up-here people really get super gaytarded over it.
and contenders come up from far and away
to wallow and root like pigs in a sty all day long.
there's even a parade.
because fat ex-high school jocks walking down the street
is something i know i'd line up to look at.
oh, wait a second.
i'm working, instead.
too bad.
now i'll just have to settle for fat, drunk, ex-high school jocks
coming in to the studio after their drinkies and wet-dirt games,
for some surely super-sweet tattbombs.
it's all really happening, kids.
even this.
*
duders,
i love hats.
right on top of my head.
that's real.
hat shopping is the easiest kind...
it's like my whole skull was meant to be obscured
by as much hair and fabric as i can collect.
luckily,
i doo-doo that heat-collecting, brainwave-restraining,
baldspot-obscuring type sh!t.
we just found me another 'nother new one, too.
check out my new dome canopy:
hot hats still can't conceal that face.
looks like i just ate a mayonnaise-and-spider-filled pickle.
the squinky eye isn't helping, either.
(thanks for that pizza pie, moon.)
but you like it, anyway.
how about that hat, though?
that's some next-level eastern european jauns-
straight out of the ladies section, mutha-'uckas.
that's right.
i get busy buying b!tches' headwear.
camel colored yentl caps?
what-whaaaat?
yiddish, like a fiddler,
on a roof, son!
i finds it, kids.
and when i finds it, i buy it.
y'know what that means?
yuuuuuuuup,
i GOT they.
and if i'm lookin'
it may just be a klezmer music kind of day.
minor key harmonicas,
and my concertina squeeze-box,
and some loud fresh hardness for everybody.
clothes don't make men,
unless you're talking scarecrows,
but hats, now....
that's the finishing touch.
i'm ready for a sh!t-salad saturday,
but i'm making all these miki-fiki lickers pay
a steep price for the pleasure of my unpleasantry.
savage stormswepy gypsy soundtrack?
hats off to those who can hang out;
never quiet, never soft.....
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