the last before the first.

hey duders.
this is it.
the last Tea 'N' Toast breakfast of the year.
i mean, sure,
we're having T'N'T breakfast tomorrow, too...
but that's a whole different dietary calendar situation,
y'know?
i know you do.
everything today is the last thing.
until the the next thing.
next time, next year-
and that's the truth-
just sayin', mutha-uckers,
there's always one more thing.
but it's not getting activated until later,
and later is definitely not scheduled until tomorrow.
yet,
i'll wager i've probably got another 'nother blog in me
before the clock strikes twelve,
and twelve becomes one,
and eleven becomes twelve.
...oh, c'mon.
-
the final few terrible tattbombs of the year
are today's specials on the menu, too.
yuuuuuuuuup.
i'm closing out the old and beginning the new
with some molto-busted barbarian
body-etched 'buttery business.
meaningful cavemanliness, engraved with metal spikes
and infused with stormswept norse occult symbology.
really?
really.
i'm also getting EXPERT with a reissue of
the missing ol' manly man of the mountain magic.
uh-huh.
hard styles and sh!tty soundtracks,
fancy coffee drinks and a lot of wiener jokes.
why should the last be any different from the first.
yeah.
like those star trek next generation jauns, an' that.
a whole day of doo-doo butter and bad weather
and work and weak sauce snowstorm sorcery...
you should probably all already know how it ends-
i mean, nobody retires with the title belt, kids.
*
like it or not,
it's all really happening.
i'm fighting the good fight tonight,
against the grain of the masses of A*-holes
and tourists and opportunists
and inebraited amateur celebrants waiting for fireworks
and last-minute searches for first-minute kisses.
you know i can't hang out with that kind of sh!t-salad sap.
but,
we've got friends and family togetherness to consider.
some things can't be resolved by remaining resolute.
only an adjustable auld lang syne-sized wrench can 
accurately loosen up the taught-twisted tension
of trying to participate amidst and amongst the rest of them.
long nights.
hard times.
new years.
*
neighbors!
it's ending.
2011, y'all.
over and out.
the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress is buttoned-up,
snug and roasty-toasty warm.
the pyre of passing years is being constructed.
the rabbity rabbitude of our
impending post-year-ending good luck
is caged behind clenched teeth,
ready to pass, parsed, through parched lips
like fluid fiery hottness,
determined and destined to bestow
the bountiful berserker blessings
down on all us worthy warrior poets.
professional professorship, y'all.
obvious, inaccessible, deductive wisdom.
spirits and memories of really-real woodsly goodness,
infused and activated with participation and pontification
and whole lot of loud fresh hardness.
we never look forward.
there's no need.
we're already living in the future;
never quiet, never soft.....