that's right.
grinding.
that's that rough sh!t;
eking, and winnowing, and scraping,
scrimping, and mustering, and
barely crossing the finish line.
y'know,
grinding, like i said.
i'm reppin' hard on that daily flippin' grind.
it's never easy,
it's never smooth,
it's never quiet,
and never soft.
your grind and my grind aren't the same, dog.
-
yuuuuuuuuuuuup.
another 'nother day of doo-doo buttery doings.
i GOT they, in full effect, in fact.
tattbombin'?
yeah.
i did some of that.
drawing with my marky-mark 'em markers,
and bringing just a little tiny beginning bit
of big burly business to bear...
teleport?
okay, but just a little suspenseful taste:
for what ails all you ninjas.
that is,
if what ails you is an unhealthy craving
for coiled up camel-horse-snake monsters.
i hope so.
because that's all there is, neighbors.
you can't see it, and i won't give it away,
but there's background activation in this one.
huh?
oh, shut up.
the grind doesn't play favorites,
and it doesn't get expert(e').
***********
duders,
it's below freezing.
i'm not into it.
even the treats i got in the mail today
(gun parts, of course)
can't deactivate the frontline frostline frontier
of netherworldly novemberian nonsense
that the thermometer is showing us.
as a matter of fact,
even the sparkle magical candy beans
aren't making a dent or even a dimple
in the dearth of exterior hottness up here.
we're roasty-flippin'-toasty warm by the fire.
we're illuminated by the lamps, lights, candles, and torches.
it's friday night.
it's all really happening.
don't hate my grind;
never quiet, never soft.....
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