forget it.

i did it, duders.
yuuuup.
no jokes over here,
 i'm on it like i'm a wizard from the future,
taking part in a sauce-heavy seance session,
without a spellbook, cookbook, or notecard recipe to guide me
as i freeform the freshness,
maximizing the flavorful ferocity of a holiday meal,
using lost technology to activate the new hottness.
or,
to put it to you with smaller, simpler words-
i made something expert, again.
...yeah.
memorial day was mainly a blunt-force head trauma of forgetability, friends.
i mean, every day is a sour, stunted variation of the one before it.
eat alone, live alone, sleep alone, die alone, forever alone.
awwwwwww, man.
i'm not bummed out, however, b!tchbags,
because being by myself means being with the worthiest of warrior poets,
and that's no small talk for the big action i've been banging out.
check the mnemonic-magic immemorial teleport:

carboard improv sandwich holder?
indeed, friends.
i doo-doo that modified custom jauns.
what?
oh.
well sure,
slaw and potato salad are american standards.
that's why those blarpity blops are on my plate.
but it's the sandwiches that made my skull explode with mathematic magic.
uh-huh.
homemade secret-recipe flatbread pitas?
teleport to the prep table:

pan-fried wheaty treats, with a second sequence of oil-and-grilled goodness?
c'mon.
i'm alone, not a redneck simpleton gaytard F*-bag.
jeez.
have a little faith, sometimes.
i don't turn off the take-it-to-eleven sh!t when i'm by myself.
i don't turn it off ever.
recognize,
i am not ever kidding when i say it, neighbors:
Just Be Dope, or F* Right Off.
real talk.
smoky roasted poblano and flame broiled tomato/tomatillo red-hot brownish salsa?
it's rad.
parsley, curly style, for intestine/butthole scrubbing roughage riding?
(red onion and a squinky squirt of lemon make it worth it)
how about vegan tzatziki sauce?
uh-huh.
cucumber, yogurt, and lemon, and garlic.
guys,
the made-up conjurations of chicky pea-pea time,
in the form of fatty-boombatty pattycake nuggies was the best part.
that's real.
i threw all the spell components in a bowl,
mashed, minced, mixed, and mauled them into mud,
and came up with something better than ever.
go ahead, check the teleport:

pan fried, spicy, and definitely just what yesterday was asking for.
...
the finished assemblage was very falafel-esque,
only,
with Folk Life & Liberty, spirit, and memory in 'em.
look for yourself:

wordimus prime.
***********
food is where my mind is at.
yeah.
obsessive ninjas need something to obsess upon.
this way,
i'm doing something i need to do anyway,
albeit more beautifully than y'all,
and i get to get all pervy on the process,
making it complicated and convoluted and creative,
but i don't end up with a bunch of dumb crap cluttering up the Fortress.
smart?
maybe.
too much is the right amount, folks.
too much food means i have enough to share.
i know,
you aren't coming over,
but the neighborhood black bear population eats better than y'all as a result.
will there be further gluttony and gastonomic greatness today?
yes.
there absolutely will.
it's all really happening.
that's the whole point;
never quiet, never soft.....