Thursday, December 31

dumps on YOUR face.

hey neighbors.
it's the last day.
and that means that it's a somber and semi-sh!tty sort of day.
because goodbyes are always bad,
even when they're more of a good riddance banishment.
that's my least favorite part.
like, when there just isn't any more.
it feels the same as when there's no cake left,
or there isn't any more money,
or any more mutha-effing time.
that's the hardest style, really:
having not enough when too much is the right amount.
and besides,
when you aren't trying to end the year as a drunken A*-hole,
so you can start next year off properly,
with hot diarrhea, sour vomit, and a headache-
you don't go all that crazy on the party scene,
or the late night funtime activities.
that's real.
just because we won't be out screaming and inebriated,
or desperately clinging to the idea that goodbyes are a reason to celebrate,
that doesn't mean we're sending the year off unloved and uncommemorated.
no way.
in fact,
with all the mother-F*ing bullsh!t snow,
and all the mad-dash d!ckturds who've clogged the whole
of the woodsly goodness with their privilege,
scrambling up halfway through the vacationy week to ruin the finale,
slaloming through the streets,
and blackening the diamonds of the slops like an infestation.
the lesion of these legions at their leisure,
bursting and posturing their pustules at this premier providence
of pow-powder courtesy of ma nature.
that's gross, but so are all the people who populate the second homes
and ski chalets of any snowy mountain town on the weekends.
we won't be drinking,
because that's THE lamest.
and we won't be skiing,
because we don't have time to squander on unproductive amusements;
we've got work to do.
we're working people, we put in work, we work with purpose.
and when we make it work,
we really work it out.
what i mean is,
we eat well, we talk a lot about everything,
and we span time side by side, arm in arm,
as a savage stormswept motivated dedicated tribe of warrior poets.
last night,
as in,
the second-to-last night of this year,
we dominated a powerful parcel of pouches of pure super-elite turbo hottness.
that's no joke, kids.
i started early, because that's what i do,
with tofu, and shallots and scallions and carrots and celery,
and i simmered that until it softened some,
and i fired up some minced garlic, and some soy sauce, and rice wine vinegar,
and ginger, g.p.o.p., mustard, and roughly ground black pepper,
and when that got exxxtra-browned,
i blasted it up a nother notch,
with napa cabbage, and shredded brussels sprouts, and mung shoots,
and i let that get a little extra-fire-fried in a dab of sesame oil.
word up.
that's how you get expert with what you won't see later.
that's a thing.
because that's just what goes on the INside of our bigtime burly business...
when it's nighttime,
and it's party-time in the style of sober homies
and snow day suppers are underway,
we mix up, knead through, roll out, cut up, stuff tight, and fold over
a whole bunch of overlapping doughy circles,
and make the best of being the best at being the best.
that's how it is, and that's what we do.
enough of the words about the good stuff we've got-
check the teleport:

we got the next-level pure-power nutrients from the mo'flippin' future.
sesame oil fried on two sides, with a furious bubbling steam-punking
whirlwind of superheated ambient moisture making sure they're cooked straight through.
we doo-doo that dirty diaperload of dopeness-type sh!t.
word up.
is that sesame sriracha spicy sauce for dipping?
it sure is.
with garlic and chili paste and sesame oil and sesame seeds
in that red ragnarok of righteous heat and fire for my mouth.
we ALWAYS run the tamari-ginger-scallion jauns, too,
because too much is the right amount,
and that's the only way we know how to do it.
a little sweet, a little sour, a lot of salty, and chock full of spiced up flavor,
added into the first-bitten opening of each dumpling,
charging the taste with combustible lusciousness,
so that the ensuing flavor grenade blast radius covers every available inch of
facepiece with maxxximum hottness.
it's real.
and it worked,
and we destroyed a triple batch of these weapons-grade self-contained delights.
i couldn't help myself,
i needed more,
so i kept making more.
and we ate every last one of them.
speaking of dumps.
i dunno if you folks enjoy my sense of humor.
i mean,
i'll agree it's puerile,
and most frequently also gastrointestinal,
and that's at it's best,
but, still,
an opportunity presents itself where the act of passing it up
would be so wasteful as to be unforgivable.
yesterday, as ampy took fabulous photos on our winter family hike
through the immediate woodsly goodness,
i caught a glimpse of those globes,
and i did what i felt i had to.

i mean, for real, though, that HAD to happen.
dumps on dumps on dumps.
we live it, we love it, you like it, you want it,
and all of it is really happening.
that's the whole point;
never quiet, never soft.....

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