moka express.

duders,
mike holmes brought some treats with him up here
for me to inject a little more hottness into the woodsly goodness with.
yeah!
i love treats, ninjas,
and i love things that hurt!
for example,
stovetop espresso?
uh-huh...
you know it-
we ball out!!
exrta-fancy-schmantzy decaf custom-ground deeply
dark-roasted expert sh!t, y'all.
check the teleport:

c'mon.
an italian aluminum awesome breakfast activator by bialetti?
we GOT they.
my peoples know what's up.
that's it.
doo-doo buttery mudbutt juice explosions on that gas range!
if it isn't too much, it's not even close to enough.
that sh!t gets thick, and syrupy, and brown,
and pretty much brings the thunder and the nutrients down and out
from underneath the festy filth filter,
and lets that percolation jauns get it going on.
it's dope,
and you need one.
get it, neighbors, and get right...
right now.
***********
i've got this pot of power,
so my mornings are getting started right,
with diesel sauce and peanut-buttery toast,
and my man mr. holmes getting fresh next to me.
it's the last day of the fair,
and while i'm sorry to see it end,
i'm ready to eat a little somethin' somethin' else,
if you can imagine the hot mess my insides have become
on a steady diet of solely soulful belly-filling blops and glops.
teleport, kids:

seventeen.

eighteen.
ouch.
overdose?
not yet, y'all.
there's still tonight to endure and overcome.
just sayin', though-
hot tarry coffee and fried chunks of chick peas are not
the best recipe for a refreshing feeling first thing in the morning
nor for a sleepytime send-off as the very last thing before bed.
what can i say?
i choose the wrench.
there are plenty of other tools and skills and choices,
but all of those are all for weak-sauce sodapants diaperbabies.
i may be a bad man,
but i'm still a man.
recognize;
never quiet, never soft.....