pumps.

pumpkin pie?
yuuuuuuup.
everybody knows a good pumplestiltskin
needs to hang out for a little minute
to set up, coalesce, and activate
before the slicing and the dicing and
the swallowing can be fully appreciated.
that's a thing.
go ask your grandma, duders.
...so,
with the foresight and knowledge of a whole
multigenerational baking coalition,
and the internet, at my disposal-
i'm on that mama-jama right now.
word up.
that means maximum firming in the fridge,
and thus maximum soul-satisfying flavor AND texture
...for your face.
now, if you're one of those nasty ninjas
who prefers a runny slice of pumplemagic,
you can suck 100% of all the eligible balls, y'all.
that's the truth.
you neighbors know the secret?
what?
nope.
that's not it.
the spices are important, i'll grant you that.
a little less ginger, a trace of cloves, pure vanilla extract.
blahbitty blah blah blah.
yeah yeah yeah.
that's common knowledge though.
the secret to expert eleventh level hottness
comes from overcomplicating the recipe.
duh.
c'mon, mutha-suckas...
too much IS the right amount isn't it?
yeah! that's the spirit of the thing.
you're catching on.
you take any ordinary recipe-
got one?
good.
now disregard everything but the pumpkin
and the oven temperature.
it's not that difficult-
if you don't have at least three kinds of sweeteners,
an extra uncalled-for smootherizer,
two binding agents,
and more filling than the crust seems capable of handling;
well,
then maybe you don't know how to get busy, b!tches.
and you know you want to get busy, dontcha?
naturally.
i'll show you how a warrior makes a pie, kid:
if you're nearby on thursday,
and want a sliver of that pure uncut expertism,
you know where to find it.
it will redefine your culinary concept of  gratitude.
fact.
***********
in other news...
i used my petrochemical-powered,
two-stroke hurricane bobotron today.
miniature cyclones for lawn and garden beautification.
it's not exactly a measured response to having
those castaway solar panels from the trees
littering and mouldering on my curbside appeals.
but,
real life calls for real participation, kids.
which, in it's own turn, calls out the winds of war,
and change, and answers-
blowing leaves all over the flippin' place,
in piles,
in rows,
in flippin' full effect.
there's snow on it's way tomorrow, yo.
that's when the leafy deadline comes due.
not that i'll even give a sh!t...
i'll be on the road,
braving the hazards of A*tards on their way
to eat up on some sexiness with their kinfolk.
dead birds an' that.
get it?
take it easy.
sexiness with kinfolk up here isn't that crazy, though, to be fair.
ugh.
whatever else happens tomorrow,
there will be slow goings, big doings,
and family mutha-F*ing togetherness.
we doo-doo that here in the woodsly goodness.
where're you at?
just sayin'.
*
bakin' up some goods.
preppin' the whole dang kitchen
for a b!tchin' battle-royale.
and doing the dishes.
domestic bliss-type styles are getting rocked.
the woodstove is blasting some heat,
shedding some light,
and keeping us in high spirits.
the spirits and memories of these mountains
are nestled in around us,
new england hottness is happening,
complete with snow, sleet, and rain.
i guess november demands to be heard.
i'm not listening;
never quiet, never soft.....