hold on a minute.
do you smell something?
what is it?
pulled pork?
noooooooooooooope.
it's ground hog.
oh, c'mon, duders.
today is the da is the day is the day is the day.
get it?
groundhog day, mutha-b!tches.
el cerdo del suelo, son.
the same sh!t, on a temporal loop, forever and ever,
being commemorated more by a film than a marmot,
and prettty much deadeye representing the way it
feels to be a responsible adult in the modern world.
lather, rinse. repeat.
awwwwwwwwwwwwww, man.
maybe it'll be spring soon?
it's as cloudy as a fogbank all around us,
a Fortress in shadow, if you feel me...
but who knows what's poppin' in punxsutawney?
six more weak weeks of winter is what, ninja.
yuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuup.
*
y'know what today also is?
yeah.
nine years of dwelling on my dwelling
up here in the goodsly embrace of all things
woodsly, rural, and really real.
nine years.
holy F*ing sh!t, neighbors.
to think i woke up all those years ago
in the ancestral home of my forebears,
and got a ride to new beginnings in
new hampshire from my best buddy the cucchie,
(because i didn't own a vehicle).
that old house i ventured out of connecticut from
after a year's worth of regrouping and recouping
was sold off, when it's owner shed his mortal coil-
but i replaced it with the Folk Life & Liberty Fortess.
and,
i filled the position of eccentric, opinionated uncle
left vacant by my former landlord's passing....
sorry, duders.
i'm seeing shadows,
and i'm reliving the same day over again.
c'mon.
anyway,
i'm celebrating IX years of taking it to XI
in the northerly climes and cultural cul-de-sac
of the top half of the bottom of the barrel.
that's that new hampshire jauns!!!!
***********
what-whaaaaaat?
the albie rock day-off gut-bustin' glut-explosion scenario
has once again found a garderobe garden
for gastric gendarmerie.
huh?
a great big bunch of closets full of barbarian groceries.
no, for real.
i scoured the cabinets, consulted the cabinet,
and crafted a crucial crippling cabbagey cube
of brutal, raging, stormswept vegan A*blast activation.
what does that mean?
it means i made a pie the likes of which
the lion and the witch couldn't hold a spoon to.
try to follow along, kids,
it's complicated but i think you can do it-
shepherd's pie?
i think not.
groundhogger's glutton-bucket, more like.
check the teleport on this big burly pile of fattitude:
that's what expert looks like, y'all.
believe that.
and when i rep my mashed up tubers,
i always keep the skins on.
because i hit skins like i was a drummer, b!!!!!!tch.
word up.
peas and carrots and cabbage and onions and garlic
and brown blops of pro-fessional-tein,
and homemade gravy, baby.
because i doo-doo that greasy globule-type sh!t.
that's 300 cubic inches of edible vegetables.
-
nine years of all of this.
no way in heck is that an enormous disappointment.
woodsly goodness,
Folk Life,
really realness,
hot fire, lightning, and warrior poetry.
it's all really happening,
today especially,
over and over again;
never quiet, never soft.....
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