rabbit...rabbit...!

it's march!
fiiinally.
and it's a sunday.
and that's awesome.
yeah.
it is all of those things...
and what's the most important part of the first of the month?
that's right.
the magic mantra made of honey-bunny harmonic resonance.
the words that cultivate good fortunate coincidences.
the echo of the infinite that brings all the good stuff to bear.
believe it.
and i said it, and i said it, and i even said it.
i'm like that.
so,
that's a thing.
y'know?
you know-
rabbit! rabbit!!
and what's the most important part of the first of the month ON a sunday?
too F*ing right, neighbors.
today is the day.
the big action begins all over again.
it's my favorite eight day span of shark-style gluttony, too.
mmmhmmm.
rules is rules, fools.
it's sandwich week!
again, and already.
but, i mean, c'mon,
that's great news for people who love to put food between bread.
and if you aren't about sandwiches?
ew!
what are you?
an A*-hole?
don't be dumb.
so,
how am i celebrating my rabbity blabbity-blah-blah-blahs?
how am i tying that in to the sandwich rule?
well,
that's easy.
i'm making whoopie.
yes.
check the first-sandwiches-of-the-week-type teleport:

i'm all up on that ric flair flair, folks.
wooooooooooo.
wooooooooooo.
WOOOOOOOO.
whoooooooooooooooooooo-pie-pie.
verrrry chocolaty, very soft, very luscious circles of deeply dark,
decadent, delicious, dope devils' foodstuffs,
with a sugary explosion in the center.
yikes!
superwhipped creamchee' frothy foam-style frostin',
because that's incredible sweet, and incredibly expert.
y'feel me?
word up.
and it's a celebration up in this Folk Life & Liberty Fortress,
like i told you before.
and it ain't a party without sprankles!
kaBOOMfire, for your face.
sandwiches, b!tches.
that's what it's all about.
recognize,
and respect the stacks.
*
breakfast?
obvi.
i haven't figured out a perfect pancake sandwich yet,
so in the meantime,
i'm bangin' out a quick b.l.h. on a bagel.
yep.
bacon(ish), lettuce, and hummus.
teleport:

mmmmm.
it's good.
***********
eight fancy dinners, in a row, between bread, starting tonight.
i don't know why i decreed this specific set of circumstances to be the
foundation of an epic onslaught of bread and pageantry,
but i did, and now it's a real thing.
my thinking cap is on, but mostly because i'm cold,
and i can feel the heat escaping through the blank spot on the top of my head.
awwwwwwww.
i've got all the tax return clients making their once-yearly appearances,
for all the terrible ideas and worse hygiene anyone could realistically want.
i'm not in love with the nest few weeks of earning and grinding,
but,
luckily,
i AM in love with sandwiches.
i am grateful for the time and the place that provide me with those movie checks,
but damn if i'm not disillusioned and disenfranchised by the particulars of
woodsly goodsly hustle and flowing.
yuck.
i'm doing all of it, as hard as i can,
and it's just not enough.
maybe, if i was suckier by a bushel and a peck,
it wouldn't be such a sinkhole of stinky sh!t-salad-
but, who wants to be lamer, just so less seems like enough?
i can't hang out with that waterbabied weak sauce.
nope.
not one little tiny bit.
good enough is never enough,
and too much is the right amount.
the object is MORE,
and today is seriously the chronologically-accurate day of days.
this is it, and that's that.
i'm not shooting for harder and stronger and faster and better,
i'm setting my sights on hardest, strongest, fastest, and best.
huh?
oh, no, i'm not trying to be inspirational.
i'm just talking about sandwiches;
never quiet, never soft