it's not always beautiful.

life can be amazing and ugly at the same time.
that's real.
i took monday night to activate the good time manly hang outs
that i perpetually enjoy with my main man todd.
that means dinner out on the town, teating ourselves to the best
that a tourist-trappin' downtown area in the mountains has to offer,
and then smoking stumps and eatin' treats with copious conversational
connoisseurship at the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress.
that's good times with good people,
and that's what's up.
but,
what about on a day off all alone,
with no plan of attack for interactive participation?
oh, MAN.
that's a whole different situation, for sure.
on the one hand, i could just waste the whole damn day,
and nobody would ever know.
except i would know,
and that's weak sauce waterbabyism.
i do not doo-doo that diapery lameness.
so instead i made myself another 'nother lonely sunovab!tchin' supper.
yeah.
i've got more stuff filling my fridge than i can feasibly feel good about
allowing to rot itself all away to waste,
and a big mouth that wants to be filled at all times-
preferably with kisses, or words, or hot fire, in that order of nutrient-rich
sustenance provision.
and failing to acquire those top three choices, i'll shovel in food instead.
awwwwww.
it seems as though the most likely candidate for my face-stuffing interface
these days is biting and chewing and swallowing...and wallowing.
surely, you see the way it's all really happening?
well,
at least i chose the wrench about it:

one bachelor bucket, with all the appropriate flair.
this is what it's like when you have no reason to be impressively fancy.
you go the opposite direction,
and be impressively gross.
that's is also a thing.
ugh,
a greasy bowl of dumps.
how F*ing nasty does that sound.
hahaha.
and a couple of plastic vats of sauce,
and a healthy dose of resigned self-loathing.
yup.
a filthy twenty one dump salute, straight down the tubes.
and when i say tubes, i mean, esophagus, obviously.
neighbors,
they were so sesame oily they just slid their way into my guts.
where they sat through 'the conjuring' with me last night.
my good buddy amber and i both hate scary movies.
the obvious wrench choosing solution?
uh-huh.
because when you've already got a haunted house,
why not take your supernatural anxiety to eleven?
right?
providing all sorts of scenes to fill my brains with probable and/or
eventual outcomes that my own edifice will attempt to oust me with!
yeah.
because what's the best thing to see before going back to your empty,
poorly lit, creaky, old, already-unsettlingly spooky house?
is it a demon PUKING BLOOD INTO YOUR MOUTH?
i hope that's the right answer, because that's what i saw.
cigars, cars, dumps, demons.....
it isn't all always the most beautiful,
but it is always the most;
never quiet, never soft.....