panniecakes.

light and F*ing fluffy.
yes.
a sh!t-salad week of weak sauce,
with intermittent episodes of explosive ingestion.
saturday?
big flippin' deal.
panniecakes?
actual big deal.
teleport?
check it:

c'mon, kids.
reppin' the only acceptable B grade,
and that's only because it's actually more expert
than that extra-fancy nancypantsy A-type syrup.
those're some of the loftiest golden discs of dopeness
this side of the griddles of the gods.
hubris is for waterbabies, b!tches,
we're dealing with facts over here.
panniecakes are what's up.
i need that powerful eagles'-egg-replacer nutrient jauns
to bring the thunder and ride the lightning,
and sit around all day at the studio,
doing my best to berate, belittle, and begrudge
any and all attempts to be endearing.
sorry, ninjas,
but today is not going to be your day.
the pannieman has got a hard-hearted style,
and even that maple-tree-bled expertism won't sweeten it.
***********
neighbors,
the woodsly goodness is pretty crowded.
i guess that's because we live in the ever-pumping heart
of the tax-free holiday shopping outlet experience.
that's a thing, guys.
mutha-holes from all over new england are clogging up
and bogging down the flow of Folk Life,
whilst stimulating the avaricious commerce agenda
of the holiday-spirited seasonal affectations.
that's real.
basically,
about a hundred thousand A*-lickers
are driving like F*tards,
and generally congesting the headspace, airspace,
and open spaces of this most excellent of places.
there is nary an air of holiday festivity to be whiffed.
just marshmallowy coupon-clippin' moms
and shallow, callow, sallow browbeaten b!tchbiscuits
shopping until they begin dropping.
and they're everywhere
...except the tattblasting epicenter of
my daily grinding trench-warfare occupation.
awwwwwwwwwwwwwwww, man.
when it rains, it pours,
but even when the sun is out,
there is still a raincloud directly over my head.
there may be a silver lining,
but then again,
silver is poison to werewolfen warrior poets.
jeeez.
it looks as if somebody is bound and determined
to stay in the half-empty side of the cup, huh?
oh yeah?
suckle, son...
you should see my pockets, too, duders.
those flappy denim pouches are all the way empty.
it's all really happening.,
my women-at-arms, and myself,
participating in what constitutes some semblance of activity.
don't blink, or you might miss it, y'all.
however,
i think there's talk of the XI-mas tree being activated tonight.
so there's that, at least.
brutal days,
long nights,
real times.
november, friends.
just sayin';
never quiet, never soft.....