or our nights for that matter.
i'm just sayin'-
it just doesn't take a lot to take it to eleven.
and if there's already gonna be fireworks bomb-blasting, lambasting,
bursting, and worsening the cloud-covered smoky scene of overcrowded
united stateliness in the sweltering sweaty skies of the woodsly goodness?
well, obviously, it's already there, and so are we.
we do the things we do, neighbors.
and some of those things are pretty good too.
my ace numero uno homeboy, the cucchie,
is always down for active participation.
worthy warrior poets don't desert their duties as hard-styled heroes
of truly truthful honest-to-goodness involvement in their own Folk Life & Liberty.
toeing that line includes actively relaxing as hard as we can.
and that almost always involves drinkies.
check the it's-still-okay-not-to-drink-booze-type teleport:
with some sort of extra fancy snappy ginger soda pop?
and fresh mint from the garden, too.
we love it when nature helps us out with some freshness from the earth an' that.
and if we needed cold foodstuffs to help us out with our uber-hottness,
we really needed to make sure we had a beautiful bowl of cold noodoos an' sh!t
to take our crisp and water-laden well-hydrated crunchiness
way up and over the legal limits of lunchtime.
check the rainbow magic teleport:
i F*ing LOVE pasta salad.
based on my affection and affinity for salad-dressed squiggly 'ronis,
and squares of vegetables, and chick peas,
we made a mountain.
how flippin' delicious was it?
well, there's only a scoople or two left over.
we shark-glutton shoveled huge piles into our mouths,
over and over and over, until we couldn't actually fit another bite.
like, literally out of room inside our bodies.
like, distended and bloated and bruised internally.
like, we don't play when it's time to take the fourth of july seriously.
competitive eating is a thing that happens .
and we doo-doo that contest-of-wills-and physical-limits-no-boundaries-type sh!t.
and we had even more when we got home from the fireworks.
that's the rules.
more and more and more until there's none.
....and speaking of fireworks,
the crowds and the tourists and the heat and the hordes of horrible skanks all
couldn't dim the dopeness of our little town's massive and magical display.
my favorite part?
one little one exploded, and when the cherry-red pattern was revealed?
it was a spark-marked heart in the sky.
i can't help it, y'all.
i'm like that.
the day included a lot of bike riding through traffic and sidling into
and out of long lines of angry standstill stoopidheads, too.
we made sure to bike our way across town whilst blazing a trail of smoke and fire.
not so much like vikings, this time,
but more along the lines of flipping out, flipping off motorists,
not giving any kind of a F*,
and stumping up some severe and savage stogies.
we don't bike for health.
spandex pants and helmets are weak sauce, forever.
we do what we do because it's ugly, it's graceless, it's abrasive, and it's dope.
if you're actually expert,
you already understand.
stay ugly, stay dope, forever.
it's documented; i meant it.
the smog of a thousand furnaces burning white hot on a summer's day?
air quality is for the delicate.
we breathe smoke and flame and nourish ourselves with self-destruction.
it has to hurt if it's to heal.
full days, full nights, full bellies, full time.
it's all pretty solid, and it's all really happening;
never quiet, never soft.....