i came home to a piping hot dinner waiting for me!
yep.
that's pretty rad, no matter when or what, really.
and when it's mexican monday,
and a rasher of terrific tofu tacos,
and perfectly pan-prepared plantains,
and big red beans with real bangin' rice
are all right there,
practically begging to get demolished by my big ol' enamel masticators??
mmmmmmmm.
alliterative activation is what i wanted,
and it is precisely what i got.
plus,
all i had to do was the dishes.....expert!
neighbors,
cilantro is your friend,
and if it is not,
then know that i am your enemy.
check the teleport:
yuuuuuuup.
so,
i guess i have at least one friend around these parts.
of course, she is more than that.
...and she garnished the meal, and freaked it off with some salsa, too.
which goes to show that my homegirl ampy d knows all about
the importance of activating the exxxtras in order to ensure it goes to eleven.
after all, the rules are here for our own improvement,
and we worthy ones have got to do it harder, louder, fresher,
and in greater quantities of superfancy unnecessariness.
that's a thing.
besides,
the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress no longer opens it's doors to lazy diaperbabyism.
that's that old busted jauns.
the new hottness is all about MORE.
like, more tacos, for starters.
...
limes, by the way, make everything better.
if you ain't squerkin' 'em on your mexico-style yumbos,
you most probably don't know anything about anything.
i got that scurvy-fighting citrus squeezie sauce al over my whole meal,
because i know that if there's an extra exxtra,
i need it, i want it, and by jove (or whatever) i've flippin' GOT to have it.
once i know about it, it's mandatory.
what?
because too much is the right amount, obviously.
*
it's fiiiiiiinally tuesday.
my hands feel like old sticks wrapped in dry leaves.
i'm no osteo-authority,
but my instincts tell me your hand bones shouldn't be crunchy.
damn.
i've still got a fulllllllll as F* day of zipzaps to slap on some folks,
but at least tomorrow does't have the implied cruelty of interminable toil.
on the seventh day, i don't rest, but i also don't tattoo....
i s'pose i'll take what i can while i can.
i've got half-crippled mitts,
and i've got nothing much left to talk about at work.
i guess i could try listening,
but between the banal banter
and the bad music that pumps in from the main body of the studio,
i'm probably better off bellowing my own bandied hard-styled blowhard bard business.
i mean,
c'mon.
i'm no profound monologist,
but i'm not about to subject anyone to slipknot
or gossip about the latest facebook fight i posted.
certain things are just beneath me.
ha.
tuesdays are hard, but no movie checks are even harder;
never quiet, never soft.....
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