Saturday, December 22

beautiful baby girl.

duders,
i must be getting old.
well,
older and creakier and more busted than ever before,
in a quantity of accumulated advanced age that renders most things inert or irrelevant.
huh?
what makes me say that?
well,
for starters, today is the day, neighbors-
yuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuup.
a happy mutha-flippin' berfday.
that's right-
maple star,
my youngest little lovely lightning-striking valkyrie vixen,
turns eleven.
and she's the little one, and that's years old, and in a row, even, at that.
time flies on some supersonic teleportational futuristic wings, i guess.
and apparently,
whether or not you're having fun, it's airborne and fleeting and fleeing away anyway.
dang.
so now, with XI-mas impending,
and my original family simmering in a barely controlled holiday snit of
fitful forced togetherness,
my super-special little girly-girl is home,
waiting for daddy to drive down to the deepest doo-doo butter and save the day.
and she's also got a fever.
hard styles are all we deal in, my ninjas.
it's kind of a holiday tradition, y'know?
happy berfday, baby.
***********
what?
oh, yes. indeed i am.
you read that right, friends:
i'm working my way south,
to the sour sauce and nancypantsed do-goodery great big babyish butthole
of one of the eastern seaboard's least lovely locations.
uh-huh.
i'm headed back home,
to the nutmegged smegma of connecticut.
the good news is that there's holiday festivities planned for most of the days
i'm spanning in the compacted craptard cornhole of southern new england.
my whole family is gonna be there,
and we're gonna give being nice to one another in the same place in physical space,
all of us, all in together, spanning time at the exact same time a shot.
the Large Hadron Collider has nothing on us, my ninjas.
real talk.
but i'm ready and willing to butt heads with buttheads until XI-mas...
(expert.)
the bad news is that this is the first separate segment of the season i've
experienced in ten sunovab!tchin' years.
and after a whole entire decade of something that isn't this?
an old-school battle-royale brouhaha of around-the-clock albie rock'em sock'em
royal rumble steel-caged title fights may be just what the doctor ordered.
battle-seasoned conflict-diamond-hard warrior poetry in motion, y'all.
it's on.
i'm coming, connecticut,
and there's gonna be cake and presents and big time fun activation, like it or not;
never quiet, never soft.....10 months.

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