portsmouth, new hampshire.
the green elephant.
have i ever made a non-A*-hole face when it's time to get delicious, and make wishes?
i can't help it.
i get excited,
like, to eleven,
and my face is superlatively expressive in those instances.
what can i say?
the ugly truth is written in every wrinkle.
you know i love food.
you know i want allllll of it,
especially when it's that new new vegan hottness, y'feel me?
i ordered all the food, and i ate all the food,
and i spanned time with my copilot and constant companion,
and together, we set a record for most food in the least time in one sitting.
and they agreed,
shark-gluttony is what we've got,
and how we do,
and what's really 'hood when the northern mountain barbarians
invade the gentrified quarter of the prosperous seaports of the south.
that's that lightning striking viking sh!t,
and instead of longships,
we blaze in on subarus,
and all-wheel drive ourselves crazy with berserker binge eating
like a brutal batch of boss hogs at the trough.
i mean it.
check it out for yourselves:
and after we terrorized alllllll the apps,
we still dominated a main event apiece.
even if only on the insides,
how can we be so skinny,
and live so fat?
i think it has something to do with being the maestro?
when we were stuffed full to the brim with vegan proteins
and spicy spices and sticy sauces and soy-based butthole-battling business?
that banana-nay-nay-noonoo jauns showed up with a candle:
i s'pose that's exxxactly why amber called ahead.
that's very sweet,
and so was that dessert.
forty isn't old if you're a tortoise,
but who the F* has time to move that slowly?
i guess i'm not ancient,
but i'm hopefully a whole lot wiser than i was last leap year.
and that's what i want, always.
moving forward, towards the inevitable end.
there's too much to do to do anything else.
i am grateful for the time i have been given,
and for the ones who take the time and make the effort to include me in theirs.
i have the best ones around me.
this is What Is,
and i'm digesting that fact far slower than the supper
that's already made a second grand exit.
forty years of poop and butts.
i have a style,
and it's an awful one.
you're welcome and i'm sorry, all at once;\
never quiet, never soft.....