six and seven.....

falafels.
yeah. yeah. yeah.
i keep eating them y'all.
i went to the fair for thirty minutes yesterday.
alone.
no jokes.
just long enough to make sure i did what i needed to.
first off,
i eat falafels,
and then,
i don't give a F*,
and lastly,
i leave.
that's it.
i've got very achievable goals, neighbors.
check the pickled-carrots-are-very-good-type teleport:

chick peas know how to make a man happy.
uh-huh. i go gonzo over garbanzo beans,
and i eat them with a lot of enthusiasm.
i am serious, friends.
sitting by myself,
at a weird old park bench,
near a petting zoo,
sucking down a gooey, tahini-slathered fried bean bomb,
or maybe even two in a row, is a great way to be the creepiest one.
and that's in a far-ranging field of full-blown rural gut-weirdies.
yep.
that's it.
get in,
hit hard,
get out.
i do what i do, duders.
each and every beige spiteful biteful.
real shark-gluttons don't let all-aloneliness stop 'em.
we channel that feeling,
and we fill the hole in with amassed mountains of falafel.
i rep a hard style,
and i love the fair.
you'd do well to recognize my grind and yours aren't the same kind;
never quiet, never soft.....