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.....