fat bottoms, fat tops.

six, seven, and eight?
yuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuup.
ninjas,
i get molto busy with that chick pea activation.
...seriously.
and this year,
even whilst taking it easy,
i'm still stuffing my big, dumb face full of
so much of that delicious treats at the fair.
i'm storing up,
like a hairy bear of infinite blackness.
it's a long winter headed down from these mountains,
and these turbo-dope drops of brown blops
are just what i need to survive hibernation.
teleport that spicy lemon garlic hummus sh!t, y'all:

two more, down the hatch.
sesame tahini lube lets 'em glide on in,
and nestle in my gut like matryoshka magic.
(stacked inside of each smaller and smaller bite an' that)
c'mon.
it's just that they fill that sad empty space so snugly.
it's like all the disappointments in the whole wide world
are shaped like just like a falafel sandwich,
and as long as i put that missing puzzle piece in place,
there's no more bad parts,
only satisfaction.
but, just for like thirty minutes or so.
and then you've gotta put another 'nother one in there.
y'know,
sorta like really sh!tty batteries,
or crack.
ummmm.
yeah.
so me and falafels have this thing.
neighbors, you know it-
material happiness and addictive personalities
go together like black holes and the visible light spectrum.
once you're caught up in that all-powerful pull?
uh-huh,
you're proper F*ed.
oh,
i did drop this little delicious duder down the hatch, too:

see?
proper.
Very Hot Sauce, my ninjas,
is most definitely not a misnomer.
ouch.
on the real,
parting is such sweet sorrow,
if you feel me.
-
i'm halfway through fair week,
and no weaknesses besides gluttony have reared their ugly heads.
however,
other other kinds of ugly heads have been reared, friends.
ugly stoopidheads, even:

yuck.
i think dead birds are sexier, for sure.
real talk.
***********
then,
because i somehow felt like being even fatter,
but also with an interest in getting a little tiny bit fancy,
i went out and had an expert dinner at the snowvillage inn,
in scenic idyllic eaton, new hampshire.
now, duders,
if you like white people food,
in a white people place,
full of, you guessed it,
some crackery-A* cracker-style white people,
then you'd love it there.
old dopeness, hooked up and spread out,
with super dope dinner service and remote rustic rural seclusion.
all the good stuff in one place.
i guess i needed some literate-type cloth napkin jauns to
deactivate some of the A*tard nedneckery of the bib-overalls
and camouflage hat crowd.
awwwwwwwww.
(it worked)
now i'm ready, and willing, and unable to resist the impulse
to shovel even more fried flavorbombs into my big-toothed
massive masticating food crater.
i'm taking it to eleven,
and i'm taking it there today;
never quiet, never soft.....