Sunday, March 31

easter promises.

hey duders.
it's easter sunday.
yep.
i guess some people give a sort of a sh!t.
i don't.
like, at all.
but that doesn't mean that we're over here getting anything less than
expert on some heroic feastly treats for celebrating the season.
uh-huh.
check the big fat-faced F*ing teleport:
yeah, neighbors.
i eat my heart out of my flipping own chest every day.
brussels sprouts with butternut squash and shallots, y'all;
brown-sugared and roasted potatoes, baby carrots, and baconish bits;
corn-flour fried tempeh steaks,
sauteed kale,
and a sungold yellow grape tomato, spinach, radish sprout and strawberry
salad with white balsamic vinaigrette.
we go to eleven when we have to.
active participants know how to force-feed themselves until they get sick.
*
no colored eggs,
no candy beans,
no cellophane grass,
and not a single basket have been in sight all day.
i mean, seriously?
what the mothersh!t is a chocolate bunny??
wordimus prime.
hippity-hopping doesn't start up again until tomorrow.
rabbit rabbit activation is in order, kids.
don't forget.
just sayin',
i think we could all use a little lucky striking of the lightning and hot fire an' that.
happy easter, or whatever.
it's all really happening,
humpty F*ing dumpty-type breaking and staying that way;
never quiet, never soft.....

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