apples to apples.

apple pie is a thing.
like, everywhere.
but up here?
uh-huh.
up here in the orchardy hottness of this archetypal
new englandy woodsly goodness?
word.
it's really kind of important.
we've got our reputation to protect, you see...
and i can get behind that.
why?
because i know how to make apples get expert.
c'mon.
the thing of it is, neighbors-
i don't actually always want a whole slice of pie all the time.
once in a while, i just want a perfect mouthful.
ummmmm.
but, for real, though.
and i solve problems as often as i create them.
duders,.
check the pie-for-your-eye-type teleport:

one baby bite's worth of apple tartlet.
yeah.
maple syrup candied and maple sugar-glazed almonds on top,
instead of the usual crumb crumble,
just to get a little fancy-pantsed with my new thing.
those cream chee' puffed pastry pockets are just right, too.
small, crisp, flaky, sweet, rich, buttery, all that sh!t.
it's the way it is done.
and for those weak sauce waterbabies who under-spice their treats?
you're F*ing up.
i got that loud cinnamon flavor on those apples,
but there's subtle vanilla tones, too, and a pat of butterishness,
and a fresh fleck or five of some snappy ginger,
and a nuanced note of nutmeg, and an alacritous accent of allspice, too.
too much is the right amount, of course,
and even in a small package i expect big things,
and tastiness that goes right off the charts, to eleven.
don't be dumb.
we do what we always do in this kitchen, kids-
keep it real, stay ugly, make beautiful treats, and stay dope.
what other options do we have, really?
there is only ever more of this.
***********
girls.
mmmhmmm.
i'm still just so bad at 'em.
that's just an everlasting thing, i s'pose.
i have two types of women i find irresistible-
those who are completely available and ultimately disinterested,
and those who are somewhat interested and categorically unavailable.
yeah.
i know right?
am i actually an A*-hole?
b!tch, i might be.
that's not to say there aren't girls out there who are
genuinely both available and interested....
i'm sure they do exist,
but that's a sure recipe for me not giving any kind of a sh!t.
awwwwwwwwww.
before i choose the object of my affection,
before i choose the direction i send my attention,
before i ever even choose a new way to harden my styles,
i choose the wrench.
and more importantly,
the wrench chooses me.
yeah.
the wrench is my faithful mistress, forever and ever;
never quiet, never soft.....