Monday, December 7


pearl harbor day is today,
and it's my dad's berfday, too.
he's two-thirds of the beast, today, friends.
that's something.
and as much as i'd love to surprise attack a declaration of open war
on my progenitor in a strike-first-and-talk-sh!t-later kind of hard style,
i'll instead wish that surly, burly, bald barbarian a happy happy one,
and let the lion in winter rest his weary head as comfortably as he can.
his mane is lookin' hella shystie these days,
so why stress the last few silver strands into a fight-or-flight scenario?
i've inherited a version of his sucky scalp,
so i feel entitled to talk a little noise about the original recipe.
that's a thing.
old and busted is what i've become,
but older and busteder is what he's been forever.
oh, c'mon.
he's got style, and personality, and both of those count for a lot.
quite literally, i learned it by watching him.
so, at sixty-six looooooooooooong-toothed years,
he's got a system that has directly influenced the focus and intensity of warrior poetry
for decades before it even had a name,
and i'm grateful to have an old man who instilled
a severe and serious set of values in me,
by and large through insane situational examples
and accidental doses of lightning-striking viking jauns.
i'll carry the curse of our werewolfen berserker bloodline as proudly as i can.
word up.
oh, yeah,
and also,
but still very important-
i F*ing LOOOOOVE pizza.
that's no joke.
pizza is expert, and more pizza is more expert.
last night was a homemade party, with all the toppings,
and a cracked oven stone with all the supernatural hottness of narsil, son.
believe it.
we crushed a triple-threat of pizza pie,
and every one of them was a mutha-flippin' explosion of excellence.
special thanks to ampy-d for the prep game that went to eleven.
check the pee-eye-zee-zee-ayy-type teleport:

you know there's underchee'.
there has to be-
that's my signature visionary activation,
and it takes each dough up to eleven.
mushrooms and not-dogs? delicious.
they changed the recipe.
that's a thing.
and it's more daiya(rrhea)y than ever before.
good news for people who love cheese,
but a little tough to swallow for those of us who like it less poop-ish.
we muscled through it, and fired up another:

asparagus, and artichoke hearts, and tempeh bacon bits!\
so dope.
the fat, and the acid, and the salt, and the italiano delciousness,
all at once was like angels dropping cupid arrows down our throats.
and we closed out the evening with the trademark jauns that we love the most.
check the finale-type teleport:

brussels, baconish, and onions.
classic Folk Life flavor in full effect for our faces.
that's that mandatory boomfire from the power-hour pantry
we raid for ingredients when the mise en place gets poppin'.
i love to make pizza almost as much as i love eating pizza.
i'll still eat pizza even if somebody else makes it.
in fact, maybe tonight is a go-out-for-pizza kind of night?
who knows?
it's berfday time, it's surprise attack time,
it's party time,
and it's ALL really happening all the time.
this is it, and that's satisfying;
never quiet, never soft.....

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