okay, probable.
at least when left to explore my innermost desires without distraction.
...for serious.
it becomes a ritual of deposed despotism,
driving to the brink of disaster on a daily basis,
unreservedly recalcitrant in the extreme,
hour by hour eating away at the availability of absolution,
and through attrition losing the cognitive capacity for contrition.
like,
i'm-sorry-i'm-not-sorry-style jauns.
taking time and unrepentantly killing it,
and being granted asylum in my own routine as a matter of principle.
exile in perpetuity, in media res, in full effect.
but really,
how many times a day can one man drink black tar quagmires of coffee,
talk a raving rasher of sh!t,
and smoke inch after black greasy inch of cigars?
well,
that depends on what else is on the menu, ninja.
i mean,
i can really instigate a smelly self-destructive docket
of ne'er-do-well-to-do litany,
but only if there's no ingredients to enable my considerable kitchen skills.
because, when i'm feeling personally disorganized,
there's just one thing that really focuses my energies and restores my calm.
yuuuuuuuuuuuup.
treats!
word up, mutha-lickers-
a procedural plan of attack, well-measured and preheated,
to prepare and execute a spate of delicious sweet parcels of
active participations and vegan turbo-hottnesses.
the more decadent and filthy, the better.
(that's not for jokes, yo)
i even doubled-down, yesterday.
that's a thing.
check the teleport if you don't believe me:
extra oats, and extra sweetness make 'em like
october-activated fluffy whole-oat granola clouds for your face.
F*ing right-
it's like the whole fall season exploded in your minky little mouth, son!
and,
just so they go even further off of the dopeness chart than that?
yep.
they get maple icing glaze today, duders.
yeah, that's right.
it's that icy jauns, neighbors.
because i'm like that.
i mean, if we aren't taking it to eleven,
we may as well not even bother showing up, right?
riiiiiight.
so since we're all here in the future, present and accounted for,
we've got to get it poppin'.
fact.
-
and i did mention i doubled down, didn't i?
well, that's a true story-
i'm fighting the good fight on two fronts, folks.
spread out to divide and conquer the culinary capitals
of cake and pie.
burning the candles and the stove and oven at both ends,
so success is the only available option,
because, as usual,
there's nothing behind me but scorched earth and sore feelings.
forward, onward, upward, and outward.
wu-TANG!
so,
what's on the menu for those freaky-diki miki-fikis who like that brown sh!t?
mmmm-hmmm:
you better believe i doo-doo that choco-loco bloppity business, y'all.
and the crust, as always, is custom.
i made sure to freak it off with a little extra sumthin'-sumthin'.
you'll have to have a slice, and give me your opinion.
you will love it.
*
yes, y'all.
i'm trying to lure you over here.
don't think of it as bribery.
think of it as calculated temptation.
an even exchange, even.
the barter system, tit for tat,
and not as in nudity for plying my day trade on you, either.
oh, c'mon.
we'll break bread, and break the bad news to each other.
y'heard?
there's going to be more of this,
and it'll keep unfolding like a moebius origami of infinite nature.
uh-huh.
and nature always wins.
ahhhh, sh!t.
***********
baking a batch of gourmet goodness;
fattie-boombattening down the hatches;
keeping it super-fancy and very necessarily unnecessary an' that.
i mean,
what else am i gonna do with a cold, grey, lonely afternoon,
when the wood is stacked and the house is empty and the styles are hard?
i do what i do,
and that's get busy.
heck yes, friends,
all of this, all of the time-
that's all there ever is;
never quiet, never soft.....
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