returning.

one full eight day weeklong admission bracelet.
...that's what i'm wearing,
in dayglo neon pink.
yeah.
i'm looking molto expert, and i'm feeling molto fresh,
and i'm now permitted access to every evening's dinnertime dopeness
at the ever-lovin' fryeburg fair.
word.
the fair is a little emptier than in years past,
with fewer and fewer exhibitors,
and smaller, scaled-back exhibits.
that's indicative of a dwindling rural appreciation and participation
from an ever more modernized population,
and the predictable decline of a folksy way of doing things.
awwwwwwwwww.
but,
y'know what's even worse than that?
increasing food costs.
mmhmmmmm.
my yearly feasting is going to hurt more than just my bellyhole this year.
i could scale back on the chickpea chowfest,
or only get the base models,
or even skip a day-
i could do that,
sure,
but that's what poor people do,
and that's not how we get busy during fair week.
so,
without any further preambling,
check the triumphant-return-type teleport:

yessssssssssssss.
the first two treats of the week,
and damn if they didn't go down so smoooooooth.
all the flavors-
that fiery woodstove pita jauns.
the lemony tahini hottness,
the cawnky crawnch of those fritters.
neighbors,
this is what i want to be happening,
and the workweek is just an unfortunate interruption from
the savage stormswept gluttony i engage in as soon as i enter the fairgrounds.
when you pound down two terrific sandwiches in a row in record time,
what do you do next?
c'mon.
don't be dumb, duders.
you get another 'nother one,
obviously.
too much is the right amount,
and i needed uno mas,
with baba-F*ing-ganoush, and cucumbers.
teleport:

yeah!!!!
my appetite is whetted for more and more.
the insatiable craving that true gluttonous produces is a real thing.
that's the only real problem with the times in between the fair times, kids-
when i'm not currently crushing down a couple of falafels,
i couldn't care less about anything else..
but,
i'll more than make up for that this evening.
i've got my personal fryeburg falafel festival,
set along the outskirts of maine's blue ribbon agricultural classic,
and that is where i'll span all of my spare time this week.
seriously,
in seven days' time, i'll look fatter, feel fuller, and be grosser.
self-destruction and controlled demolition are technically the precursors
to self-improvement.
y'gotta clear the lot before you build your castle, y'feel me?
ha.
maybe that's just how we do things in these parts,
but i assure you,
that's the way the blueprint will unfold,
seven times over, in expanding halves,
so that the bigger picture, powered by an indulgent after-work semi-vacation,
will be presented in all it's garbanzo glory before next monday.
wordimus prime';
never quiet, never soft.....