berserker barbarian battle-beast.

HALLOWE'EN!!!
what's up, neighbors?
how about some savage stormswept raging fury?
or a bolt of lightning-striking viking thunder?
a little scalding skaldic shamanism?
a buttload of berserker barbarian battle beast business?
take your pick, duders, we got all those jauns...
because when it's time to get EXPERT,
the woodsly goodness gets activated to eleven.
fact.
proof?
check the teleport, live from the past,
transmitting directly to the future:

what?
oh, you're welcome.
huh?
yes,
the early winter tundra landscape adds something.
yes,
it is brutally cold outside.
yes,
i do remember when i actually had hair like that.
yes,
hallowe'en is F*ing awesome.
the answer,
as it blows in on the antlered winds of war,
is yes;
never quiet, never soft.....

trick OR treat.

happy hallowe'en, mother-F*ers!!

yeah.
bats, black cats, rats, spiders, an' sh!t.
all that ghost & goblin ghoulish ghastliness
in hard-style hard-pounded full effect.
i'm all up on those zombies, duders,
and vampires, and witches, and wolfmen,
and b!tch-A* wraptard mummies,
and pumpkins all over the mutha-lickin' place.
hallowe'en!
the best holiday, bar none, hands down, no joke.
going to eleven, on the 31st, is what's up.
c'mon, neighbors,
you know you want to dress up and get rad,
with fake and/or real blood,
plastic teeth, plastic hair,
and a pillowcase for fillin' with tooth-fillin' forecasts.
i'm reppin' big-bar neighborhood aspirations,
you know the ones, duders.
where all the upscale crackery white people
try to big time the bite-size budget jauns i used to
collect from my old 'hood.
that's right, y'all-
occupy new hamphire like a tricky trickowe'ener.
that's where you change outfits a couple times a night,
and dominate that fancy block with candy commando sh!t.
sorry 1%, but i'm taking it back, goonies-style.
*
oh, yeah.
all you double-X chromosome folks?
too much eye make-up (my favorite) is the rule for the ladies.
[decreed.]
slather those bandit-mask zorro eyes on your face.
for serious,
you'd better look like your mom was part panda,
or raccoon, or a reverse orca, or somethin',
because that's that hottness-type jauns from the future.
fact.
eyeshadow, mascara, and eyeliner, honey.
get busy- it's hallowe'en,
now don't get cheap on me,
just do your make-up like you are.
which reminds me, speaking of cheap-
hey ladies!
if y'all aren't dressed-up in only your underwear
(oxymoronic)
and a prop, like devil's horns, or a stethoscope,
to signify what your 'costume' is supposed to be,
well,
then you're probably not actually all that serious
about trick-or-treat trick-turning.
huh?
it's a hooker pun...try to stay on topic, yo.
just sayin', b!tches,
costumes are 'posed be dope, not just slutty.
dope AND slutty, preferably, if at all possible,
but definitely just-be-dopeness comes first.
i mean, there's snow outside, after all,
so put some pants on.
remember,
there's no whore in horrifying.
oh, c'mon.
that sounds better than it reads, for sure.
damn you, heterographic homophones.
***********
duders,
for the record?

vegan = suckiest mischief night possible.
it's turbo hard to get EXPERT when
all you've got are egg substitutes.
throwing applesauce containers just seems silly,
and egg replacer would probably just create another
'nother terror red alert anthrax scare.
alas, the only non-threatening white powder up here
is snow.
and we have that, too.
awwwww, man.
*
neighbors,
am i underselling it?
it's hallow-flippin'-we'en, ninjas.
aren't you excited yet?
that's right... actually, DAS IT!
i've got to work a little tiny bit,
but that isn't gonna sh!t in my salad, SON.
i've still got cupcakes and cookies and goobieblops,
and i'm bringin' a whole burly batch of that stuff
to sugarbomb the tattbomb studio,
and get everybody on that crucial collywobble kick.
tomorrow,
it's november,
and my anniversary,
and my weekend,
and NOT hallowe'en.
but today is the day,
and tonight is the night,
and it's ALL really happening.
i'm tattblasting in full costume, kids.
if you're around, you should totally stop by.
there will be tricks AND treats,
loud, fresh, and hard....for your face.
if you aren't 100% all about hallowe'en,
you can definitely join the long list of haters,
and the equally numerous unnamed off-the-listers,
and immediately commence sucking all the balls, y'all.
i've been celebrating for days,
but i've got at least another 72 hours of expertism in me.
trick or treat,
shawn hebrank's feet (scarier than anything else in the world)
and plenty of some things that are good to eat.
today, tonight, right this moment;
never quiet, never soft.....

long nights, hard times.

woodsly goodsly heroic success, b!tches!!
that's no joke.
we had a totally EXPERT party night,
all night, with our worthy warriors.
a full-blown funtime frenzy in the face
of the brutal, frigid, awful snowstorminess.
our active participants got involved,
and got it going all the way to eleven.
costumes, cupcakes, cranberry ginger ale,
all that sh!t,
for every single body's face,
as loud, hard, fresh,
and cast-iron woodstove hot fire spat
as it could possibly be.
wu-TANG! my ninjas.
we had mutha-uckas drive up in the blizzard
all the way from the stormswept seacoast.
that's sleepover party-type jauns, y'all.
we GOT they.
a little nor'easter isn't gonna put the weak sauce
douse on our dream date debut.
...fact.
active participation was the decree,
and all my peoples, and all their peoples,
kept it realer than real, y'all.
nearly everybody repped a costume.
-that's hallowe'en spirit-type jauns,
and that is also expert(e').
nobody showed up F*ed up,
nor openly wished there was booze
or other lame b!tch-holery.
-(Folk Life ninjas know better than that.)
almost everyone interacted with aplomb,
although the unadept wallflowers opted to abstain.
tooth decay, hyperglycemia, and bellyaches
were promoted, nay, encouraged all night long.
i mean, c'mon,
there was a whole mutha-forkin' table jammed up
with futuristic next-level optimal treeeeeeeeeeeeeeats!
from goobieblops to apple turnovers to cuppycakes,
we had the display activated, and the nutrients infused.
add in a drifting dose of shed feathers
from a couple of costumes,
and you could almost imagine the eagles' eggs
we didn't use in the fluffy stuffing of our vegan dopeness.
duders,
some of you missed out.
it's okay.
i'm not silently judging you....
i'm openly declaring that you lost out
on some seriously good times, good people, and good food.
however,
the success of our soiree,
and the social interaction we incurred,
leads me to believe you'll have another opportunity
to get involved soon enough....
don't F* up twice, though, yo.
that's word.
**********
so we had a party.
and it was dope.
this morning, however, the party is clearly over-
and now THIS is happening-
teleportational weather vortex activation?
yuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuup:

awwwwwwwwwwww, man.
that's a burning bush, and a freezing snowheap.
nature cancels itself out sometimes.
neighbors,
we got those heavy goopy inches,
and that inopportune ejaculation of craptarded moisture
is already giving way to melty messiness
and miles of mires of mud.
what do you know about autumn leaves
and mountainous mounds of snow, yo?
it's futuristic photo-op sh!t, for sure,
but that's too hard a style for october, kids.
and yet,
it's happening right now.
*
aaaaaaaaaand,
tonight is mischief/devil/hell night, too.
i expect all non-vegans to huck a few eggs
at all your least favorite folks' houses.
jack-moves, yolking on some waterbabies, y'heard?
and all the high-and-mighty haughty dietary elitists
had better at least soap some windows,
or shaving cream some door handles...
property damage is what's up.
i know you've got a spare roll of A*wipin' paper
and i know you can think of a tree or statue
that needs mummification.
get busy, my ninjas.
tonight's the night;
never quiet, never soft.....

tonight is the night.

a whole bunch of hours full of not caring
about whatever is happening are about
to get poppin' on this gelid saturday.
the exception would be if i kickstart a batch
of those no-bake goobieblops with chocolate and
peanut butter an' that.
otherwise,
if it isn't a tooth-dacying decadent delight,
or sweetened in some severe quantity,
then i refuse to give even half of a sh!t
about any and all non-hallowe'en, non-party-related,
 busybody busywork business.
just sayin', neighbors...
there's tatty-o's what need zappin',
and i'll doo-doo the whole lot of 'em,
but does tattbombin' compare to THIS?:

nooooooooooooope.
c'mon, mutha-lickers.
spiced pumpkin cupcakes,
with maple-infused frosting?
and spr(a)nkles??
yuuuuuuuuuuuup.
activation is engaged,
and the nutrient-rich really realness
is fresh from out of the oven.
what time did YOU get up this mornin'?
because on the real, i was up before dawn,
getting expert on my party costume.
fact.
check the flippin' teleport,
and prepare your face for some loud, fresh, hardness:

berserker barbarian warrior poet jauns, y'all.
that's what's up.
worst vegan ever?
shawn 'the taxidermist/dead bird lover' hebrank.
runner up?
yours truly.
multiple animal parts were certainly harmed in the making
of this heroic tribute to the hyborian age.
bones, bits, skins, and sh!t.
beauty is pain.
life is pain.
life is beautiful.
so is my costume.
wordimus prime, kids.
if you can't hang out with the hallowe'en holiday hottness,
you've positively GOT to suck the balls.
and i don't mean the paper-wrapped popcorn ones, son.
***********
we're just hours away from uber-excellence.
darkness is the signal,
and the stating point;
snow or no,
it stays hot and fiery in this fortress, my ninjas-
even in the cold and wet tricky treat-defeating weather.
the spirits and the memories in the making
are haunting our homestead with Folk Life flavor.
woodsly goodness.
here.
tonight.
if you've got the wherewithal,
and the elbow grease,
and the motivation,
and the eagles' eggs,
i've got a couple of goodies for you;
never quiet, never soft.....

nature vs. winning.

oh, man!
the weatherman is tryin' to F* my A*.
i'm not even kidding that hard.
at the very least,
he's forecasting some doo-doo butter
for our late night pre-hallowe'en partytimes.
up to 11 inches of snow?!?
in october, on our special night,
before it's even the season for raking leaves.
i mean,
c'mon, ma nature,
are you trying to be a b!tch?!
frost-laced deep-drift pumpkin jauns
are not we had in mind for our fun time
active participation sensations, suckas.
on the ones,
i'd prefer some rustling leaves,
unsettlingly warm temperatures,
and a crystal clear sky.
instead,
we're getting hard pounded by the whole world.
lame.
we'll still be here,
with a roaring fire,
and some faux furs,
and a whole array of dazzling deliciousness.
really, really real ninjas are still invited.
neighbors,
it's happening,
the good and the bad,
the hard and the easy,
the dopeness and the F*ing right off.
that's no joke, either.
***********
i tattbombed all day long,
after i made some mocha-java cookies,
and before the mini-apple pies went in the oven.
pumpkin cupcakes are up next.
(they get maple frosting, folks)
if nothing else,
i'll have enough sweet treats to go into a sugar shock,
and rot my flippin' teeth right out of my head.
and i'll do my dirt all by my lonesome,
but i sure won't tap out.
nature wins,
but warrior poetry conquers.
fact.
we're bracing ourselves,
and we're baking our faces off.
i wouldn't do a single thing differently,
except maybe i'd tell a few more folks to
suck on these gargantuan balls, y'all;
never quiet, never soft..... 

what's cooking?

actually,
nothing is cooking.
but baking?
yeah,
we got those jauns all a-poppin'.
there's a party up here on the 29th.
most folks are making apologies,
or excuses,
and exempting themselves from showing up.
that's cool.
more delicious mutha-flippin' treats for the rest of us.
like what?
you know 'em, you love 'em,
jeez louise, you have to have 'em-
neighbors,
the teleport has all it can handle checking this noise:

rock blocks!
chocolate coconut oatmeal peanut butter chocolate chip.
c'mon.
that's fancy, and expert, simultaneously.
huh?
there IS more:

batter up, b!tchbags.
graham choco-loco cinnamon chip mini-cakes!!
(from the future).
yes, indeed...
there's other 'nother other sh!t up in here, as well.

plans, ingredients, and activation, son.
we take it to eleven in the oven of lovin' department.
that's a thing, and a place.
the woodsly headquarters are abuzz.
jack o'lanterns are being carved as i type,
baked goods are rising in the hot box,
batter is resting,
flour is sifting.
it's really and truly your loss if you don't get here.
saturday night.
wear a costume,
and bring your appetite;
never quiet, never soft.....

rolling.

guess who spent the afternoon
in the warehouse headquarters
of ZERO heavy industries,
preparing packages,
folding cartons,
and rolling up pack after pack
of nutrient-rich zombie training targets?
yep.
it was me.
but i wasn't alone, ninjas.
i'd have gotten lonely.
awwww, man.
luckily,
the whole team was present and accounted for,
and the participation level was very high.
plus,
we got to touch and lick all the guns.
that always get the expertism activated, for sure.
that's how i make moves, kids-
working on a wednesday,
like a wotan-worshipping warrior poet
of capitalist commercialism.
just sayin' duders,
those movie checks don't come for free,
and i'm on that time-ratio investment action,
putting up, instead of shutting up an' that.
it's becoming a tangible item of super-hottness:
someday soon you mutha-lickers
will have the mouse-click consumer capability
to have our trio of targets delivered directly
to your doorsteps.
that's real.
huh?
when's that gonna be?
when it's ready, neighbors.
be easy.
***********
whaaaaaat?!
somebody must've just spread the news
about how much we love hanging out with our
hard-style homeboys and girls during the
very best holiday season in the whole wide world.
seriously,
we've got duders coming in from all over.
pre-hallowe'en partygoers, even.
like, dinner plans with our out-of-state aces.
tonight, even.
that makes it into a whole so-a'spooky week of
peoples getting rad alongside us.
and that's word.
real mutha-uckers know what's up.
plus,
as added incentive for those with sweet teeth-
on the evening of the 29th,
there will be rock blocks for everybody.
and as we all already know,
if y'all can't hang out with rock blocks,
well,
then there's a set of gnarly balls around here
somewhere that you're gonna have to start suckin'.
fact.
don't hate, b!tch-holes,
it's just that hard, loud, fresh Folk Life & Liberty jauns,
and it's all really happening.
you're invited,
so grab your costume and get busy;
never quiet, never soft.....

P.F.D.

perfection,
from start to finish.
beginning to end.
non-stop hottness,
from sun-up to the dusky twilight.
how dope is it up here in new england,
in the fall,
during hallowe'en week?
well,
for starters,
the introductory dopeness levels go to eleven:

that's right, neighbors.
right here is where it happens.
all the magic.
all the time.

grandiose and sh!t.
post-peak foliage season is when
the whole mountain range gets rad.
full-blown expert-type freshness,
from peaks to creeks.

stay gold.
...like a mutha-ucka, SON!
really-real life,
in the woodsly goodness.
documented as it happens.
where the F* are you duders
while this natural victory is getting activated?
y'all are clearly missing out;
never quiet, never soft.....

hot fire dispensation.

holy crap!
we're living in the future?
that must be the case, neighbors.
nothing else can explain the his-and-hers hottness
of our pair of teleportational special warfare rifles.
new england undead resistance operations, duders.
time-travel in full-effect:

 

c'mon.
i know you aren't tryin' to hate on those.
and if you even ever thought you could try to?
you'd immediately have a mouthful of big brass balls to gargle.
fact.
ZERO gets it in, ninjas.
fact.
recognize and accept it.
we rep that romantic ragnarok-steady readiness
up here in the gun-friendly white mountains, y'all.
shootin' guns with my sweet lady,
keeping it really-real in 5.56 mm.
you like that two-tone double-green color scheme?
yeah. me too.
it's also from the future.
what a set of solid hard-style lead-slingers,
for optimum zombie deanimation activation.
mjolnir, kids, was thor's hammer.
that's how he brought the thunder.
and that's why we chose it as our logo, too.
bringing the thunder, like AC/DC an' sh!t.
lightning-striking vikings,
doing berserker barbarian battle-beastly business.
that's what's up.
word.
*
the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress is empty,
the birthday cake is belatedly being devoured,
slice by slice.
and the weekend is here again already.
preeminent expertism is here,
live and direct, in real-time high-definition,
with all the levels redlined at eleven.
all you fruitholes know about the night of the 29th?
yeah.
hallowe'en at my house.
dress up, get fed, and participate.
tricks, treats, sweets, and beats.
we've got it,
you want it.
and unless you're a watered-down weak-sauce
waterbaby of disappointment,
you'll be there.
if you actually show up,
i might even let you touch my guns;
never quiet, never soft.....

cake.

i love birthday parties.
i love hot fire.
i love cake.
neighbors,
let me tell y'all a little something-
i had a love-filled night with my duders.
all the things i love, in one place,
with a bunch of folks i love,
doo-dooing that dopeness,
in full fall flavorful effervescence.
wu-TANG!!
sometimes, it's all good things.

caaaaaaaaaaaake, my ninjas.
plain-ish, pudding-in-the-mix, yellow, homemade,
vegan dense bomber stacks!

blowin' out some candles?
uh-huh.
berfday partying isn't much without that.
hot fire isn't just for baked treat illumination,
nor is it solely the province of milemarking the
elapsing years with diminishing lengths of waning wax.
huh?
yeah.
we spat some hot fire, as well.
teleport? check:

wooooooooord up.
the woodsly goodness got heated with warm bodies,
wet logs,
and good peoples.

and it wasn't just us, folks.
cyle and casey came by to celebrate in style.
...and have cake.
.....and shark-attack some super-pizzas.
the wifey knows how to get expert pizzeria-style jauns.
slaving away on solid birthday party eats,
for our faces an' sh!t.
DAS IT!!
***********
i get to repeat my streetsmart navigation skillset today.
awwwwwwwwww.
back down south,
after a whirlwind of paternal devotion
to these delightful daughterly duders.
they've got to go back to school,
i've got to drive all over the place,
and really-realness needs to resume
it's usual dolorous drum-beaten doldrums.
parting is not sweet, suckas.
just sayin'.
that's a hard style, y'all.
but,
these secret in-between teaser treats
make the weak-sauce less terrible.
bright lights in the darkness.
two awesome kids.
worthy warrior poetry.
real life;
never quiet, never soft.....

current events.

yeah!
duders,
it's a beautifully overcast morning
in the mountains of the woodsly goodness.
so dooooope.
i've got a whole posse of pretty little ladies,
pretty not-much-bigger ladies,
and pretty stupid canine ladies
surrounding me, and smothering me with affection.
yuuuuuuup.
family togetherness,
the october session.
as usual,
the journey south of the worthy white mountains
was fraught with herculean irritations.
berfday friday rush hour traffic on the roads,
with accidents and rubberneckin' A*lords ruining it.
i don't get it.
i'd much rather get home and look at some
cold, grey north african dictator's flash-frozen
meatlockered carcass,
than gawk like a less-liberated libyan lounge lizard
at a minor breakdown-lane fender-bender.
hours, my ninjas,
of weak-sauce brake-grinding
bumper-riding highway low road traveling.
y'know what makes home like no place else?
hell yeah, mutha-F*ers-
panniecakes!!!

(EXPERT)
that's a man stack.
belated berfday breakfast, b!tches.
with thick, dark, grade B maple activation...
twice as fluffy, and probably more vegan
than the minnesotan crotchal puffs!
*
speaking of crotchal puffs,
there's something to be said for being
a non-threatening, accessible,
semi-fem half-lesbian male tattooer,
at least when it comes to exposure.
and not exposure in lbgt newsletters, either.
i mean exposure on the south side...
for real, it must be true,
because shawn hebrank has got
buffed crotchal puff pictures on his blog!
***********
did someone just say mushrooms?
i think that's what i heard.
i can't say for sure what king of mycelial fruit this is,
but maybe one of y'all can tell me.
check the teleport:

frozen waterfall evocation!
moldy monster sprouts from the future.
neighbors,
the woodsly goodness is producing some hottness,
despite the cold weather...
big fun, good times, hard styles.
it's ALL really happening;
never quiet, never soft.....

ELEVEN!

harvest skye is eleven, y'all.
today.
i have an eleven year old.
today.
and ain't that some sh!t?
getting older, growing up, getting big.
it's all really happening, my ninjas.
today is the day,
all over again.
another 'nother berfday, already.
the best part?
cake!
the second best part?
road warrior road tripping,
to weak-sauce asscrackachussetts,
and a car full of family on the return journey.
yuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuup.
i'm reppin' shopping sprees,
crime sprees, (probably not really)
shooting sprees, (with my camera, be easy)
and those sugary candies, sprees.
it's a big fun friday berfday celebration, duders.
i'm even leavin' work early to hit the road
and pick up those little peoples.
a weekend of worthy family togetherness.
and cake!
we get it poppin' like bubble wrap, y'all.
there will probably even be panniecakes
for breakfast tomorrow.
more cake is better than not enough cake.
word up.
***********
kids.
i GOT they.
and the responsible adulthood that follows.
a few days ago i was playing dress-up,
as a grown-A* man.
today i'm organizing finances and travel plans.
awwwwwwwwww, man.
there may be a little kid in all of us, or whatever,
but when there are actual little kids around,
that inner childhood sh!t can F* right off.
just sayin'-
i'm not putting some barely-double-digit daughters
in charge of making any moves.
i'll be the one to eat the grown-up turd sandwiches,
and they'll get to prolong the magic, for now.
that's important, yo.
more magic equals more hottness,
and i'm almost positive THAT's a thing.
it takes a lot of victorious infinite nature nurturing
to fully ripen a miniature replacement
for us aging active participants.
we wouldn't want to run out, after all,
now would we?
*
eleven years ago,
at a little after 11 a.m.,
my firstborn little lovely lady
popped out of the baby cave.
she saw her shadow, and went back in.
stop it.
i'm kidding about that last part.
new babies, y'all, are pretty gross.
that's no joke.
little, helpless, pink, wet, naked mole rat creatures.
but then,
in what seems like all of a sudden,
before your eyelashes are even properly batted,
you've gone to eleven.
in a row.
time flies and days go by.
it's the minutes in-between that make it matter.
spanning time, mutha-'uckers,
tight and loose, over and over,
like a wrench;
never quiet, never soft.....

contact!

one more shot,
for your faces!

c'mon.
anti-zombie expert activation.
...in the woods!
remember, neighbors,
to aim high,
and hit them in the head;
never quiet, never soft.....

neuro, for your face!

stephen-dogg takes pictures.
that's a thing.
and,
computer cameras with digital brains
can assist his eyes with de-miserablizing
the outs of doors and the out-of-sorts subjects.
y'know?
i know.
i was there.
duders,
i would start getting excited were i you,
and i'd also be applying for a weapons permit,
where applicable.
real men play army with expensively expert toys, y'all.
recognize the really realness as you check the teleport:

that's the new hottness, comin' directly at your face
with untold quantities of loud, fresh hardness.

c'mon, duders.
the shambling corpses of the undead are proper F*ed.
in fact,
once ro-ro got out from behind the camera,
we were ALL proper F*ed by his extreme modeling skills.

lightning-striking viking posing, but not as poseurs.
yuuuuuuuuuuuuup.
we were dressed the same color as trees and rocks.
which was pretty expert.
*
did you say somethin'?
rules is rules,
and laws is laws,
and nueva hampshire has got it going on
when it comes to living free, or dyin' tryin'.
huh?
packing the high-capacity high-intensity
heavy artillery for a droll stroll down the avenue.
it's true, it's legal, it's dooooooope.
open carry on the wide-open streets of madison, nh.
neighbors,
the neighbors were driving right by,
staring out their windows,
gawking through their rearviews,
and generally speeding up considerably as they recognized
the very really-realness of the warrior poetry
unfolding on the shoulder,
whilst we trekked our seasonally-appropriate
camouflaged A*s up and down the tarmac.
brrwahahaha. (that's a belly laugh, you hookers on phonics)
mutha-lickers in sedans gettin' all scared an' that.
howdy-doodie-A* ninjas an' sh!t.
das it!
zombie defense is a thankless job, i suppose,
but somebody needed to get rad on that big action.
stephen, tim, and albie rock, yo.
we're here for you.
***********
i've got to reciprocate some serious shout-outs.
happy berfday, to nick, the electric pick.
33 years old, today. in a row.
that's a triple eleven,
which is 3x the hottness.
if you haven't checked out his world-spanning,
prolific doodle explosions, and asian invasions,
well,
then you don't know what's up.
shiny pants, noodle bunnies, sharpie-markin' tattbombs.
all good things.
***********
tomorrow is the big day, my ninjas.
cake is getting baked in preparation.
candles, eleven in number, are awaiting a spark,
and the woodsly goodness is due to be enriched
by the power and light of my especially enjoyable
valykrie vixens with all the fixin's.
harvest and maple and autumny pre-hallowe'eny 'ness.
it's all really happening.
i am grateful for the opportunity to share what's up,
i am grateful for the time i have been given;
never quiet, never soft.....

opened skies.

when is playing in the woods with guns
not as much fun as it usually is?
yuuuup.
in the pouring rain and cold.
word up.
did that prevent us from being all about it?
never ever, not even for a split second.
in fact,
we got pretty busy today, neighbors.
armed and photogenic, y'heard?
prowling around the treeline,
crawling into little streams,
laying about in abandoned chicken-wire sheds.
i'm just sayin'-
survival doesn't care about the weather, y'all.
and neither would zombies.
you know what it's all all about?
participation.
and that's exactly what happened.
boots and gloves and scarves and hoods,
not to mention magazine after magazine after magazine
(you might call them clips, my ninjas)
of prepped ammo pouches
and tactical nylon make-pretend outfits.
sopping, soggy, sodden, shivering.
all those adjectives are applicable.
...but it was still tons of fun.
warriors playing warrior in the wet fall forest.
we doo-doo that cool-looking, cool-feeling,
rained-out watery resistance operation sh!t, son!
pictures?
not yet.
something about computer-smootherizing,
and memory cards and pixel-robot dots....
i'm livin' in the future, mutha-F*ers,
but not of technology.
i'm talking fast-forward post-apocalypse jauns.
real life, full-speed, from beyond the present.
how else would you expect to check the teleport?
c'mon.
what are you?
an A*-hole?
use your head.
***********
i've got drenched rifles,
moist pistols,
saturated rigs and racks,
and a bone-deep chill in my middle.
it may be time to cave in and start a fire.
in the house!
stop it,
i'm using that cast-iron furnace of fury.
hot box, b!tches.
(that's what she said)
this dark and stormy night lends itself
to instigating some warm and coziness.
am i right?
usually.
striking matches, cooking up some hot fire,
and snuggling up to the hottness.
today was the day,
just like every day;
never quiet, never soft.....

gearing up, moving out.

duders,
you never know what tomorrow is gonna bring.
i'm of the opinion that tomorrow will definitely
bring the mutha-'ucking thunder.
it's wotan's day,
and despite the forecast calling for rain,
our own personal thaumaturgical meteorology
calls for an unhealthy dose of some severe
savage stormswept hard-style pounding
of the leaded variety.
yeah,
that's a real thing.
you guys don't know him yet,
but one of our 'zombie' volunteers is back!
uh-huh.
tim is up here, and down to play dress up.
the ZERO team is in motion.
the surrounding countryside is fully activated
with fall bomb-bursts of color and autumn-matic
natural splendor and it's respective perspectives
of well-respected splendid scenery,
grown-A* men, neighbors,
are about to get supremely expert.
i've been packing for the excursion/incursion.
and that's no joke.
friends,
do yourselves a favor...
check out this segment of the teleport:

c'mon.
C'MON!
any self-respecting worthy warrior know what's up.
gear, guns, and guerrilla goodness.
don't worry, ma,
it's all for zombies, remember?
the advertising campaign is underway, y'all.
performance hottness, in F*ing full effect,
at full-throttle, for full-bodied flavor.
i need more zombie volunteers,
i need manly men to play dress-up on camera,
i need best boys and key grips an' sh!t.
well,
maybe not key grips,
but pistol grips, for certain.
new england undead resisitance operations, kids.
n.e.u.r.o.?
that's smartness, from the future.
ZERO heavy industries is making moves,
and i'm looking at you guys to get involved.
hey,
you're part of it.
or at least you can be.
so get busy, b!tches.
***********
in other news,
i did a bunch of lame chores.
however, as lame as they were to do,
now they're done,
and the next phase of woodsly participation
can be begun in a guilt-free and unencumbered manner.
watersealant vapor headache?
yuuuuuuuuuuuuup.
onion ring bellyache?
uh-huh.
dress-up outfit anxiety?
you know this, son.
dentist's office routine maintenance visit?
actually,
i'm psyched about that one, folks.
'up-here teeth' are never invited to my make-out parties.
wu-TANG!!
respect the hottness,
recognize the realness;
never quiet, never soft.....

weekending.

moon day, mutha-lickers.
it's another 'nother monday again.
hallowe'en-type costume shopping,
idle tattbomb nutrient-absorbing,
weekend waiting scalding skaldic activity.
seriously, kids, it's my end of the week.
and i am totally prepared for some
hard-style workless worthiness.
i've got a kickass ZERO HEAVY rifle here
that needs firing, making some skull-poppin'
head-high holes in some sexy zombie targets
that are currently far too intact for my liking.
that's how duders get rad on a tuesday, neighbors.
that's a thing.
my eldest daughter is having a berfday at the end of the week,
and so both my sweet little honeyed lambs
are headed up here for the actual weekend.
the woodsly goodness for the big one-one?
yuuuup.
eleven, my ninjas.
i'm soon to have an eleven year-old.
where the heck did my youth go?
jeez, y'all, time gets spanned at lightning velocities,
and the toll of those compiled seconds and minutes
make mountains that show no sign of lightening.
big kids an' sh!t, yo.
there will be cake.
*
i spent the last week consuming voraciously.
words and pictures were my exclusive diet.
i've now got a whole new extra stack of paperbacks,
hard-style hardcovers, and graphic novels
all combed-over in a fine-toothed manner,
from front to back, absorbed, digested, devoured,
and done, duders.
activated expertism towards all written and printed material
is essential participation for all story-tellers
and worthy world-dwellers who know how to get busy.
there's no such thing as too much reading,
as long as there's an equal amount of living.
balance, in this equation, is mandatory.
too much of one or the other,
and you may very well be an A*-hole.
experience and information, friends,
coupled with objective interpretation.
y'know,
wisdom.
it's here, and so am i.
***********
for all my tried-and-true hardline lifers out there:
xhappy edge dayx!!
that's a real thing.
drug free hottness gets a day in the sun.
varsity lettering, crew cuts, moshing, the works.
self-confident/righteous duders know what time it is-
time to stay molto posi, role model posturing an' that.
and if you're not nailed to the X,
you'd better at least get hammered to XI.
oh, c'mon.
real life keeps producing more of itself,
and documenters keep on documenting it.
there is a life just dying to be lived right here.
get it?
i'm on it, don't you worry about that;
never quiet, never soft.....

...like a BOSS.

national boss' day, duders.
that's today.
next-level 24-hour tony danza-type jauns,
from the future,
for those who knew the answer to the sitcom's title.
a whole day just for giving out some propers
to the tellers of what-to-do?
i don't know that i can hang out with that,
especially not on a sunday, son.
somehow,
it's even gayer than national coming out day,
and even less likely to get celebrated up here.
bosses, being bossy, just don't get many heartfelt hugs.
nobody likes the head ninja in charge, y'heard?
especially not independant participants.
don't boss me around, neighbor.
i'm on that maverick trailblazer solo labor-type sh!t.
and i'm not taking any orders, y'all.
*
busy tattbomb sundays?
since when?
since now, i guess.
blasting zaps like an authority figure,
gettin' live with the words, words, words
of semi-literate lettering and names of other other ones.
accompanied by a soundtrack of cherokee-language
synthesizers and drums, too, duders.
boss activation, and boss-style expertism, for sure.
i handled all my doo-doo doings today,
anyway,
like a muth-ucking BOSS.
huh?
bruce springsteen?
nope.
despite being born to run,
i'm staying in this evening,
large and in charge.
you expected something more?
well you're not the boss of me;
never quiet, never soft.....

get up, kids.

don't forget your roots!
and when your building blocks rock your socks,
you can be sure they're square roots.
but if you're an aging artest at the end of the line,
near the top of the mountain,
at the bottom of the barrel,
well,
that's just gross.
hold on....
what's the square root of a gross?
twelve.
yuuuuuuuuuuuuuuup.
now we're getting somewhere
*
hey there, my ninjas.
did you notice the time we've spanned?
just sayin',
it's career anniversary day...again.
neighbors,
even though it seems simultaneously like just yesterday,
and an interminable purgatorial forever,
at the exact same time,
it's actually been twelve F*ing years already.
yes, that's correct.
a dozen consecutive orbits around the sun
wherein i span countless hours, days, weeks, and months
devaluating futures through permanent cosmetic alterations.
uh-huh.
tattbombin', kids.
hard-styles for miles.
a dirty dozen of dispensed doo-doo butter,
spat hot fire,
and loud, fresh, hardness,
for every single bodys' face.
and unlike bagels or doughnuts,
or two six-packs of rootin' tootin' sarsaparilla, even,
this preteen turning point is just not that delicious.
twelve YEARS!
i don't even talk to almost any of the duders
whom i started out tatzapping on, with, and for.
from then until now,
it's been one seriously square-rooted gross-out
of active participation on an unlit career highway.
i do my dirt all by my lonely, homies.
that's no joke.
geographic isolationism,
coupled with the secrets of determinism,
and hard-style philosophical intolerance
have forced events to unfold in this direction.
i'm on that obvious inaccessible focus jauns.
i'm here, ninjas.
still here.
after all these F*ing years.
where did you go?
-
a dozen years,
a decade plus two,
today is the day.
a career summit,
a career nadir,
here and there,
and everywhere else, as well.
tattooing made me who i was,
but not who i am, folks.
so what do you get when you still do what you did,
now that you aren't who you were?
a straight-and-narrow nailed self-righteous arrow, right?
c'mon.
today is the day for reminiscing.
...wandering the k-10, as anniversaries end,
pondering events that brought us here....
(anybody?)
ah well,
it all just keeps happening.
more of all this.
really real life, kids.
this is What Is.
twelve years, on that, grind in a row,
and i've still got a bunch of hot smears of
weak-sauce skidmarking to skinscribe on some A*bags all day.
happy anniversay, indeed.
....
and,
to mark the occasion,
we've reached road's end on some other other sh!t.
symbolic severing, if you read into that sort of thing:
hamden is dead.
that's the truth, duders.
do you guys remember our dog, hamden?
yep.
the one who was named for my hometown,
as a memorial of the epic exodus away from
the withering waterbaby unworthiness of down-there?
uh-huh.
regrettably,
our nearly-nine-year-old ladyb!tch
reached the limits of her earthly leash last night.
and even though she lived with our friends these last years,
it's a farewell we feel over here, for sure.
if we were to read into this like seers, or english majors,
it'd be omens and term papers aplenty for days.
a milestone fit to make a mutha-ucka aware
of how far away he is from where he started.
literally, metaphorically, inevitably.
this is the one.
sh!t.
this is not a swan song,
but it goes;
never quiet, never soft.....

encroaching.

the fog is creeping in.
from beyond the horizon,
like a seeping suffocation.
clouds, roiling and boiling over,
slowly and surely,
across the mountains, between the peaks,
into the trees, obscuring all that vibrance.
and with a certain curtained certainty,
blanketing the whole firmament
in a grey mulch of moisture.
y'know.
i'm just sayin', wave after wave of rainy sky
has got this friday seeming a little stale.
and it hasn't even started yet.
that's a hard style, neighbors.
getting excited seems like a non-option.
taking it out on others seems an assured outcome.
who's taking bets, kids?
i've got eleven-to-one odds on hot fire being spat
at all the tattzaps who show up for some sauce.
all flippin' day long.
and all the haters?
yuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuup.
they suckle on the brazen brass clankin' danglers.
oh, man.
the silver surfin' on waves of warrior waxing
has passed, and the aftermath of slimming slivers of moonlight
has left the werewolfen woldgeists begrudged and belligerent.
that's good news for me, really,
since an especially bellicose bent of personality
seems to be at the forefront of my forehead today.
must be the winds of war blowin' in some answers
to unasked questions about how to handle this grey, gay day.
hurt them.
that's what i keep hearing,
and i can only assume the secret universal plan is whispering
the recipe steps for hard-pounded feelings.
bruised egos and salty sentiments, y'all.
that's what's cookin', i guess.
the warrior poets are feeling a bit cranky.
and the spleen is getting the full-frontal vent exhaust,
all dang day long, from the breaka' break to the dead of night.
furnaces are firing,
boilers are boiling,
energy is being converted from matter,
and the dynamics are making lightning,
specifically for smiting,
like a mighty striking viking.
anybody need a unhealthy dose of sh!tty attitude?
'cause i got you, just sayin',
y'heard?
grumplestiltskin name-calling, my ninjas.
loud, fresh, and so hard-
banana-fana beanstalkin' fee-fi-foe-fana;
never quiet, never soft.....

later.

choking down a pizza in one shot?
i got you, son.
i'm not afraid to roll up an octet of vegan slices
into a telescopic tube of shark-gluttonous
esophagus-expanding ingestion.
chompin' is how i reward myself for stayin' late
at the tattbomb studio with big action
and overlong zap sessions on tap.
that's right.
we're repping october pretty hard up here, y'all.
for serious.
eating too much,
working too late,
doubling up on our friendly visitations....
huh?
yep.
back-to-back hanging out with all our bestest duders.
it keeps happening,
and we keep encouraging it.
remember when you were hanging out with us?
i know,
it was so long ago my memory is a little hazy, too.
where have you been, my ninjas?
i guess that there's just no market for warrior poetry
and worthy woodsly goodness anymore-
maybe that's because guru-type mountain-man sh!t
just isn't accessible to the average duder.
of course,
that just leaves us above-average overachievers
to experience the unfolding secrets of the universal plan
while all the stay-away waterbabies get to miss out.
awwwwww, man.
everybody gets a choice, friends,
between just being dope,
and F*ing right off.
in this instance,
the wrench that barbarian battle-beasts will opt for
is to get rad, stay rad,
and activate that eleventh-level expertism.
you know it.
just be dope, duders.
we doo-doo that freaky hard-style sh!t.
thor's day thunderous lightning-struck viking fury.
this is the kind of waning moon buffoonery
that comes from pressed spaces,
cramped timing,
and lagging leisure on a poorly-planned evening.
at least there's leftover cake, y'all.
*
graphic novels,
trade-paperbacked comic book adventuring,
omnipotent omnibus immersion,
and general nerd-book infusion-
the future holds a whole holy helluva lot of these.
postal office-boxing has delivered the goods,
and my constant consumption of words and pictures
is set to get a booster-pack of treats tonight.
shrak-gluttony is never limited to just comestibles.
the object,
now as much as it ever was,
is more;
never quiet, never soft.....

twelfth night.

duders,
it's late.
the full moonification sensation has taken it's toll.
a whole weekend has elapsed,
a whole lot of nothin' got done,
in the form of good times with good friends,
stinky stumps of cigars,
and manly exploration.
huh?
no,
not that kind of exploration.
more like dirt road riding along hidden mountain highways
getting rad on some scenic vista-type sh!t.
overcast weather isn't the same as rainy weather,
and the silver lining in the clouds gave way to super
sunbeaming beauty up in the hills of the woodsly goodness.
my buddy george hung out and we charted some
heretofore unknown courses,
forging our trail through the less-traveled roads
of the white mountains.
expert?
totally.
then,
eric came by for dinner.
that was also expert.
i did some schmancy gourmet-type business
for his face:

yeah!
wild rice with leeks and cranberries.
blue taters and brussels sprouts, roasted.
butternut homefries, with garlic and leeks.
and gobs and glops of graaaaaaaaavy for all of that sh!t.
neighbors,
i even made a chocolate chip graham cracker cake.
that's hard-style hottness from the future.
vegan deliciousness in flippin' full effect, son.
yuuuuuuuuuup.
*
my wifey is home again, homies.
safe and sound and salem witch trial exonerated.
it was nice to immerse myself in manliness,
but a woman's touch is molto mandatory.
sharing the blankets,
and spreading the wealth;
never quiet, never soft.....

eleven.

did you look at the calendar?
yuuuup.
it's the eleventh.
and it's a P.F.D.
that's what's up, y'all.
and it's a full moon.
that's one hundred percent EXPERT(e).
events are unfolding, too.
the solar/lunar flippy flop is a double-sided
booster shot of barbarian big action.
too bad i'm all by my lonely lonesome self.
awwwwww, man.
it's cool, friends, without the distraction of interaction
i'm doo-dooing as much character-building
responsible adult activity as i can cram into
a couple of days off.
.....like weathersealing the planks of my woodshed.
fun, right?
sure.
chores, mutha-b!tch-holes, are what's on the menu.
but that's not all that's cookin', good-lookin'.
we got our 883 pounds of paper delivered today.
oh, you didn't know?
well,
now you do-
zombie targets are in the house, kids.
you want 'em.
you NEED 'em.
jeez-louise, you've got to have them.
and we can make that a reality.
here's a little appetite-whetting brain-food for your face-
get it?
check the teleport:

that's one hot dead mama-jama.
that's our homegirl (and hairdresser) elsah davis,
active participant, helpful volunteer,
and shambling undead training target module.
there are two other scary flesh-devouring duders, too.
i just figured a lady would be more interesting for all
you horny goats to gawk and gander at.
make sure you but a whole bunch as soon as they go live.
word up.
***********
the chimney is squeaky clean,
swept free of debris and detritus,
reamed to a spit-shine,
and the creosote has been carted away.
good thing, too.
it's cold up here tonight.
what?
of course not.
i can't believe you think i'd be having a roasty-toasty
cozy woodstove fire without my wifely hottness
here to warm it up with me.
c'mon.
what am i?
an A*-hole?
probably, but not one of those kind, at any rate.
i prefer to experience that kind of up-country romance
with a partner, neighbors.
and she's not here.
so what kind of risky business and wild rumpus
have i got planned?
yeah!
pretzels for dinner!
cigars for dessert!!
and unadulterated uninterrupted firearm funtimes.
playing dress-up in tactical nylon,
without jess taking the piss about my near-l.a.rp.
disaster preparedness is so worth a cold empty bed.
until bedtime, that is.
going to eleven
until the twelfth;
never quiet, never soft.....

discoverers' day.

duders,
this moon has got me activated.
transitions are afoot.
and not just the animorphism of the wolfen, either.
i'm on some skaldic shaman skinshifter sh!t.
blue night lightbeams and bald-faced balderdash
are the only two things on tonight's menu.
staying up late and letting those reflected refractory
rays seep into and soak up the spirits and memories
of these past few Perfect Fall Days.
neighbors,
the brutal beauty level of peak foliage season
in the northern new englandy white-style mountains
goes deep into the dopeness of the eleventh-level
turbo triumphant natural resplendence of victory.
y'know,
nature wins.
hunting season gets lame in a little minute,
but between now and then,
the tourists are gone,
the rainbow array of gay-colored leafy greenery
is getting gold, copper, bronze and brass-burnished,
and the silver slivers of leaking luminescence
have got the days and the nights completely
supersaturated in EXPERTism.
i am grateful for the times as they unfold before me.
werewolfen berserker fury,
simmering seasonal affectations,
and a worthy swath of workless weekend,
without my wifey,
are all in store for the next couple of revolutions.
serious circadian ghost rings are rippling away,
and severe symptoms of battle-beastliness and underway.
-
oh, and it's discoverers' day.
look it up.
i'm on that discovery jauns, y'all.
woodlands, and woodsheds, and weapons
are all awaiting my happenstance
and helping hands, sans teeth,
to be interacted with and appreciated.
i'm ready.
*
guess what i had for dinner?
who cares!?!
it wasn't falafel,
and that's all that i really cared about.
ah, falafel, i'd miss you more if secret stashes of your
gonzo garbanzo gastric catastrophes weren't
bursting like bombs from my bellyhole...
it's so good on the way down,
and so soothing for a few seconds once it's there,
but that aftermath is a real mutha-F*, ninjas.
-
how come we can never just have like, a salad?
.......especially delicious;
never quiet, never soft.....

all you haters....

...SUCK MY BALLS.
my falafel balls, b!tches.
dirty thirty, duders.
taking the uncontested title by force
in an unprecendented one, two, three count.
check the mutha-forking teleport:

can you say domination, neighbors?
do you feel it?
yeah,
me too.
30 brutal barbarian ball-bombs.
my fatness is complete.
the fair is over,
the day is done,
the shark gluttony has run it's course.
who knows how to participate?
this guy.
victory tastes a lot like v'urps;
never quiet, never soft.....

viking.

it's officially leif erikson day.
and that's mutha-flippin' doooooooope.
are you duders reppin' viking jauns right now?
no?
well,
you'd probably better start up some lightning-striking,
and some hot fire spitting,
and some shallow-draft longship exploring,
because today is actually the day.
like, on the calendar.
real mutha-uckas doo-doo that transatlantic trek-type sh!t
in dragon boats, b!tches.
put that in your pinta and nina it, you weak-sauce santa marias.
cristobal colon can suck my balls, y'all.
just sayin'.
the worthy warrior worldliness of erik the red's spawn
is all i need to represent the hard-style expertism
of northern north america.
no way some italian dude discovered that.
Vinland, son!
that's how and where i'm getting rad with my
berserker barbarian activation.
right here in the woodsly goodness.
who's within a day's drive of here?
i'd start my car right now,
and not even finish reading...
follow the compass, or the sexton, or the stars,
but navigate your A* to here.
there will be times for the having, neighbors.
what kind?
well how about pre-full moon bonfires?!
 you need norseman nutrients?
we GOT they.
c'mon.
*
yesterday,
i tattbombed until my fingers snapped off.
then,
with only stubs and nubs to speak of,
i swallowed down some more falafel.
it hurt me to do it,
but sometimes the wrench
is the only utensil at the dinner table:

these tahini-smothered baby boulders of dopeness
are taking their toll on my physical well-being.
i'm not the same, duders.
it's almost like when female bodybuilders start taking steroids,
and they get flat parts, hairy parts, and pop-outtie parts.
uh-huh.
there are lupine extensions and distensions causing tension.
what i mean is-
transformation is underway.
don't worry, my ninjas.
i'm neither on steroids nor lifting weights;
i'm also pretty sure i'm not a woman.
i can tell you that i'm noticeably fatter,
marginally happier,
markedly poorer,
and decidedly behind schedule on the homefront-
due to equal parts full-moon wolfen wild huntsman magic,
and blarpity bloppity immodest immoderation.
the only viable cure?
yeah!
more falafel:

ugh.
it's a triumph through thorough self-destruction.
if they weren't so good,
and so scarcely available in this area,
then my woodsly instincts wouldn't pressure me
to back-up my back-ups and stockpile my treats.
alas,
the situation is what it is,
and i do what i must.
today is the day.
berserker viking brutality,
exploratory wonderment,
vinland viking vanguards of celebration,
the last dregs of fair week,
and a few tough-to-swallow falafels.
it's all really happening;
never quiet, never soft.....

life is pain...

...anyone who says otherwise is trying to
sell you falafels.
i came to bring the pain, neighbors.
on many levels, even.
so what's sadder than spanning two hours,
all alone,
at a fair full of folks,
trying to physically injure my in-and-outsides?
right?
and yet,
i wasn't going to let outward appearances
of losery loneliness affect my inner workings.
i filled the void where friends and family would be
with greased-up, hummus-lubed, crunchy, chewy,
gooey wood-roasted, deep-fried vegetable vengeance!
mood altering with food, mutha-lickers, like a professional.
it's been a wearying week of wanton wandering
and laser-guided smart-bomb falafelation,
so,
with eyes on the prize, guts on the mend,
i brought the mutha-b!tchin' hard-style fury.
feel awful falafel friday.
word the F* up.
duders,
it's documented, i meant it:

feeling awesome.

feeling EXPERT.

feeling full.

feeling awful.
-
two hours of raging gypsy stormswept savage
shark-attack shoveljawed gluttony.
my personal best/worst for a single day falafel assault.
in under half the time.
that's disgusting, in a lot of ways,
eleventh-level really-realness in most others.
hand-hammered epic manliness,
forged in the fiery furnaces fo falafel consumption.
i doo-doo that self-destructive follow-through,
miscreant execution, self-competetive-type sh!t.
SON!
bad decisions and good food, y'all.
Very Hot Sauce-augmented overindulgence-induced
indigestion nightmares?
c'mon.
if sleep offers respite from the reflux-ragnarok,
then you aren't doing it right.
yuuuuuup.
hard-styles and long nights.
that's how it happens when it really happens.
two more nights of fair food and legendary legumes.
october activation, duders.
that's pure, raw, undulterated Folk Life & Liberty.
uncut new england expert autumn explosions of hottness.
six falafels, my ninjas.
in a word: mighty.
the aftershocks are still being felt,
from the neck down,
devastation reigns supreme.
listen closely,
and you can probably hear the groaning, moaning,
creaking, leaking, burbling, gurgling, and bubbling.
berserker barbarian battle-beast business;
never quiet, never soft.....

straight shot.

twenty degrees farenheit,
and windy?
c'mon.
that's doo-doo buttery weak-sauce.
perfect fair weather it surely is not.
what can an after-dark duder do about it?
what actions can be taken to dose the antidote
against cold, stale, softness?
i'm sayin',
the winds of change, and the winds of war,
and the broken wind of bean-based weeklong diets,
are blowin' a whole lot of answers around here.
that's a thing.
so what happens when it's time to raise the temperature?
yeah!

that's right, neighbors.
three hot fried hummus bombs,
with big mouthfuls of warmth.
triple threat whole-hog pigmaking, kids.
a conveyor belt of barbaric bellybusting.
with a warm apple cider chaser?
expert, for sure.
you like that blacktivation on the bread?
uh-huh.
wood-fired cast iron old-timey cookstove dopeness.
accept no other form of nutrient-stimulating hot heavy metal.
real mutha-uckas do real things, y'all.
just sayin'.
hit and run guerilla gluttony was how we got busy last night.
roll up, chow down, and leave.
word up.
***********
fried day, kids.
today is fried day friday.
everyday, really, is during the fair.
but especially today.
i've got tattbombs to zap,
i've got activities to activate,
and i've got feel-awful falafel friday fried-day
to gutbust and stomach cramp into legend.
it's all really happening.
that's the whole point.
*
waiting patiently.
what do y'all think of that sh!t?
i know, i don't like it either.
still,
when circumstances are beyond controlling,
and time takes it's due course,
slowly....surely, but oh so slowly,
what else is there?
waiting, y'all.
waiting so hard.
next week,
and the next one after that,
and all the rest of it.
october rust, friends.
it's no joke.
ZERO Heavy Industries treats are coming soon.
just not soon enough.
hallowe'en is coming soon,
before we're ready, probably,
peak leaf-peepin' tourist season arrived with the cold snap,
and there's no room to ride on the roadways as a result.
...and in-between there's us.
worthy warriors waiting for some sh!t to start,
and for other other sh!t to stop.
waiting, duders.
with patience as it's own reward.
time is flying and crawling and standing still.
hard times and hard styles and hard-pounding.
ticking, tocking, and all that big action;
never quiet, never soft.....

burl-esque...

that's a hybrid of burly and grotesque.
my dietary reality is equal parts of both.
oh, stop it.
you know you like it.
y'know what i like?
yuuuuuuuuuuuuup.
falafels.
i took it to the limits of good sense,
and the borders of bad taste.
shark-gluttony in mutha-flippin' full effect, duders.
however,
the heroic quantities and epic quality
of turbo-fresh fried brown bloppity goodness
kept me from crossing over into either.
i stayed the course, of course,
and kept cramming sandwiches into my face.
i started the day with falafel number eleven,
and i brought the big boy business to bear.
by the time we left, it was fifteen times the hottness.
that's word.
custom sandwiches get names, y'heard?
i'm on that dante alighieri-type hard-style jauns-
the hades, y'all.
Very Hot Sauce, all up and over the place:

chum the waters with tahini, kids.
the big-mouth battle-beast is on the feast front-

yeah!
you may not have noticed,
but the falafel balls are smaller and more numerous.
that's optimal falafel content per bite.
genius?
maybe.
EXPERT?
obviously-

hades, son!
i spit and sh!t hot fire!!
day makes way for night,
but the sun also rises, folks.
(no, not with bullfighting)
today is another day designed for falafel fury-

if you don't love falafels,
you are definitely an A*-hole.
...and speaking of A*-holes,
y'know what fifteen falafels does to one?
things, neighbors.
it does some pretty serious things.
but y'all know that isn't going to factor in
on my poor decision making skills.
too much is the right amount.
that's the surefire way to indentify a good thing.
if you need more,
it's probably pretty dope.
***********
october is ticking away.
we're nearly a week into the worthiest of
spannable times, and appreciable activities.
it's back to work day.
it's thor's day.
it's time.
my waistline is expanding.
my worldview is refining,
and in no way does that mean narrowing.
my mind is open, the perspective is broad,
and that just means that the selectively subsumed
just-be-dopeness has plenty of room to expand,
expound, and extrapolate on really realness.
What Is, friends, is what's up.
i'm not interested in could, should, or would,
only in what's actually all really happening.
the temeperature is dipping,
the flora is faltering,
the fecund fauna are frolicking,
and the Folk Life is flourishing.
here is where,
now is when,
us is who,
happening is what,
and falafel is why;
never quiet, never soft.....