rabbit-rabbit.

it's the first of the F*ing month, kids.
yuuuuup.
and what do we do on the first of the month, neighbors?
that's right!
first things first,
we say the magic mutha-flippin' words-
rabbit. rabbit.
so, did you?
i did.
c'mon.
y'all already know i couldn't not.
i have to.
as soon as the clock flipped the switch,
and the page on the calendar turned over,
and the little dial on my watch slapped over from 31 to 1,
i said it.
i meant it.
i need it.
so much so that i spit out that verbal spell component when i woke up again at 3am.
and another 'nother time, for good measure when i got up and at 'em at 6.
i figured it can't hurt to hit myself off a little extra special sauce,
in the form of constant consonant conjuration.
that's a triple brace of coneys being blasted past my teeth,
regurgitated in the hopes of resuscitating some semblance of good fortune.
(the prognosis is bleaker than ever, kids.)
rabbitrabbitrabbitrabbitrabbitrabbit.
i can reproduce the noises as fast as the bunnies can reproduce themselves,
but it seems as if all i'm doing is repeating myself to unlistening lagomorphs.
you'd think with ears that big, they'd hear me out,
and lend a helping handy-dandy lucky foot or ten.
uh-uh.
*
it's november first, y'all.
do you know what else that is?
uh-huh.
all saints' day.
yep, all of 'em.
that's some holy sh!t, right there.
and speaking of sh!t holes,
check the teleport, ninjas:

smoking butthole! from the boll of my very own backyard maple,
infused with some authentic pipey hottness from my very own mouth.
ewww!!
you almost never go A* to mouth, unless it's for a photo opportunity.
speaking of that smoking butthole face:

awwwwwwwwwww, man.
i doo-doo those woodsly goodsly self portrait jauns.
it's true.
and this one is especially dope.
i mean, you can't see me.
right?
ugh.
***********
it's november first.
you what else else that is?
ummmm.
yeah.
it's the longest day and the hardest style and the worst one.
fact.
i'm commemorating my greatest hits,
or at least my heartfelt going-down-swinging attempts.
do or do not, there is no try.
trying is for A*-holes.
what am i?
yes. i am.
okay, realsitically. maybe i've not got not any hits,
but today is about definitely missing my greatest mrs.
get it?
F*.
in case you really suck at innuendo-
today is technically my third wedding anniversary.
in actuality,
it's just a foul-tempered, foul-weathered, foul-language-cursing span of time.
twenty four empty hours of self-deprecating disappointment.
i will be spending it alone.
how else could i?
and for the record-
getting divorced is for F*ing A*-holes.
what am i?
yes. i am.
all the saints, all the bunnies, all the hours, all the time.
it's all really happening,
falling apart and fading away.
no, 'vember, i'd rather not;
never quiet, never soft.....