and again.

over and over and over,
until it's all over and done with.
duders,
december days and nights are blasting past us.
yeah.
the spanning is expeditious,
and the timely elapsing is both fleet and sure of foot.
these days know exactly where they're headed,
and precisely how to get there.
that's real.
normally,
i don't sweat it, my ninjas,
but this particular XI-mas season is F*ing with my A*.
that's no joke.
i've got builders erecting structures,
appliance deliverymen installing sh!t,
holiday destinations to arrive at in obscure and distant places,
and a big fat dumb dog who needs tending to,
and prevention from issuing bodily harm to
the aforementioned worker-type mutha-'uckas
who would otherwise serve as chew toys for her face!
oh, yeah,
and the wifely hottness has decided to activate a
long-weekended impromptu out-of-town vacationary liason,
so i'm doing all my dirt all by my lonely, homies.
uh-huh.
solo-type hard-style manliness and homestead management,
with the added challenge of round-trip round-ups
for all my hard-to-find giftly givings and misgivings.
ooooh.
these are the things that happen to really be really happening.
responsible adulthood continues to disappoint me.
awwwwwwwwwww, man.
i'm just sayin', neighbors.
dinner for one,
monitoring the comings, goings, and doo-dooings
of all the improvement-heavy 'mos,
and babysitting the sh!t-salad suckiness of my canine companion,
all while my entire holiday agenda is hampered by the
absence of a second set of eyes and hands.....
infringing on my move-making,
and undermining my decrees?
oh, MAN!
the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress kinda feels a little stuffy
if you get me, y'all.
maybe there's magic to be made,
and maybe there's not enough time.
a whole fleet of fleet feet seem positively motivated
to carry off whatever time frees itself up for me.
quicksand hourglass A*-blasting, y'all.
-
what's up december?
how about you keep an eye or two out for us
worthy warriors of woodsly goodness.
yeah.
***********
y'know what might help?
yuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuup.
one more big-headed wrestler goat man.
teleport:

arms for grappling,
hands for wringing,
head-butting horny nubbins,
and a crotchal puff that'd make an earth-nest jealous.
that's how it goes.
anyway,
that's probably the last goat for a minute,
tattbombin' zaps are back,
and those year-end movie checks are essential.
plus,
the next few days promise to be packed up fully
with have-to's and probably-shoulds.
so the goats aren't invited, kids.
hahahahah.
c'mon.
*
i've got tatty-o blastin' on the books,
i've got cold and lonely nights on the house.
and somewhere, sometime soon,
that XI-mas mission activation needs doing too.
full days, y'all.
time is slippery,
and even my hands' teeth can't bite off enough of it;
never quiet, never soft.....