the really real.

memory is a funny thing.
hilarious, almost.
i remember vermont with sort of fond
recollections of good times, honest folks,
a down-homey familiarity,
and a sense of community.
duders,
i must have been on the teleport for too long,
because burlington, vermont
was a festering sorespot of scabrous collegiate 'tardation,
lefty old-timers, and crusty street beggars,
all at once,
in a row,
as hard as physically possible.
it was like cthulu and dagon had a baby in lake champlain,
insinuating it's inconceivable essence into the waters,
and transforming my memories into polymorphed
versions of their subconcious peripheral components.
the resulting creatures were going out of their way to
make our anniversary a nightmare of flesh and geometry
beyond the scope of human comprehension.
turns out, i don't like that sh!t at all.
like, at ALL, at all, y'all.
word up.
and there we were, surrounded by the basest beasts
of higher education, social tolerance,
and do-goodery proliferation....
what could we do?
there is only ever one true answer,
only one option to select,
only one level to take it to-
yuuuuuuuuuuuuup.
we chose the wrench, (disguised as chopsticks)
and tightened it right up to eleven.
when the festering filth of an entire state
coagulates all around the best of intentions,
and more is the only available amount of awful,
you hump the mutha-F*ing beehive, b!tches.
that's right.
we saw the opportunity, and we took it.
we planned on a semi-romantic gorgeous gorge-fest
and we got completely EXPERT all up on that mutha-licker.
more.
the object of our mercy mission.
more.
the amount of comestibles combusting in our bodies.
more.
the only thing we always know there will be extra of.
neither the biggest, nor the most beautifullest,
just the most.
-
dear my bellyhole,
your glorious capacity will be sung of by the bards,
in valhalla, until ragnarok.
-
dear my butthole,
you will be the chorus, refrain,
and ultimate crescendoed coda
to the songs, by instigating ragnarok.
-
dear my face,
sorry about all that.
-
neighbors!
a single pebble 'saved' the day.
that's right,
the day, and the whole night,
were rescued by a brutal shark-gluttonous
session of ingestion and excess.
so when i say saved,
i mean we took ourselves out of the action
through the commission of grotesque acts
of self-sabotage,
thinly veiled as an anniversary dinner.
fact.
check the teleport:

weird nuts!
(that's what she said)
the proper way to activate the nutrients.

cukes with spicy-greased wetness!!

double dumps!!!.
seriously, we had another 'nother order, too.

string beans with brown bits!!!!

sponge bombs!!!!!
actually, sponge implies lightness.
these are turbo heavy scallion full-pantload diapers.
with two kinds of smear-your own skidmarks.

a whole pot of slimy sh!t!!!!!!

buddhist beef!!!!!!!
lame babies call it 'mock duck'
really real ninjas know better.

rice!!!!!!!!
also known as the expanding capacity destroyer.
usually, this is an optional aftermarket destruction add-on.
but, a pee-pantsed dirt-bum touched me,
so i had to go to rice-town to redirect the pain.

sticky rice & mint leaf throw-up blops!!!!!!!!!
(eaten already)sorbet!!!!!!!!!!
orange slices!!!!!!!!!!!
dessert, and the citrus that keeps you
from getting scurvy when the check comes.
gross?
yes and no.
quantity, but not taste, i mean.
***********
some hotels offer free breakfast.
but complimentary champagne?
where we go, they GOT they.
however,
the delivery service leaves
a truly horror moviesque amount to be forgiven.
what do i mean?
okay, my ninjas, how about this?
the concierge knocked once,
let himself into the room,
and experienced an in-the-dark, underpantsed
berserker barbarian "politely" refusing their
considerate adverse anniversary package.
reread that please.
focus hard on the let-himself-in part.
that's a thing in burlington, i guess.
who does that?
mutha-lickers who want to get an eyeful of
hot fire and lightning, i'm guessing.
duders,
imagine if there had been some
actual grown-up big kid romance-times in media res?
don't worry, it's cool.
i needed a little something extra to really REALLY
make sure the nutrtients were fully absorbed during my stay.
a barnstorming success, i'd say, right?
*
there's no place like home,
and not super-surprisingly,
we're already back already.
too much is the right amount,
but only when it's a good thing.
and we wouldn't have wanted to overstay our welcome
with our attentively vouyeuristic hotel staff, now would we?
.......no.
we wouldn't.
when it all really happens,
it is usually happening to me.
and thank heavens for that little slice of itself.
i'd hate to have all this happening get wasted
on a poor-caliber storyteller.
the secret universal plan looks out for it's own;
never quiet, never soft.....