chocolate overload!!

neighbors,
there's no such thing as too much of a good thing,
because too much is the right amount.
don't believe me?
check the teleport:

see?
so much chocolate, all at once,
but with all the right moves, and all the best flavor, in a ring of power!
no kidding.
chocolate fudge cake is expert.
i made it up as i went, but it worked out pretty well-
it goes a little something like this:
2.5 cups of flour
2/3rd cup of cocoa
.5 cup tapioca
1 stick of butterish
3 T creamchee'
1.25 cups dark brown sugar
.5 tsp salt
1 tsp baking soda
1 tsp baking powder
1 cup of non-dairy milk
1 T vanilla
6oz soy yogurt
.5 pkg chocolate chips
and a handful of cacao nibs-
whisked all fluffy,
poured strong into a greased and floured bundthole pan,
and baked for a while- 45mins? at 350F,
until the bottom(top) had all the cracks a finished cake should develop.
steam's gotta escape,
and still, it's just the moistest, densest, richest thickest jaun on the countertop.
for real.
chocolate ganache drizzles?
you bet.
cocoa icing, too??!
heck yes.
grated dark chocolate sprankles?!?!
F*ing right.
there's a lot,
and then there's an albie rock A LOT.
one's bigger, bolder, burlier, and measurably superior on a grandstanding scale.
i doo-doo that freaky sh!t,
and i do it as hard as i can.
*
i keep trying to be nicer at work,
and every single time,
i end up losing it,
and i snap off a piece of really realness,
open up my infinite nature, via the internal 'hood bag,
unleashing that old school original recipe head-noddin' sh!t talk.
why?
because being nice to a dude who only 'loves metal and being high'
is not something i think i can feel good about being accountable for.
i could spend that energy thinking about food,
or pooping,
or seriously almost anything else.
i can't help myself, kids-
the autonomic failsafes that prevent me from blacking out and having a stroke
due to falsified tolerance for all things terrible are highly efficient hair-triggered
defenses against the dark arts.
what?
c'mon.
we'd never ever ever EVER hang out if i didn't have tattzaps on offer,
because i meticulously avoid all forms of non-expert interaction off the clock.
don't get me wrong, duders-
i don't eff up the tattoos,
and i don't outright insult anybody,
because that's not that cool...
but i DO dismantle the mechanics of low-functioning semi-conscious
non-conscientious consensual sucktardation.
i don't want to talk about 'partying'.
i don't party unless it's a pizza or berfday party-
i know, i know,
it's called partying, tho, which sounds like so much FUN-
and it sounds way better than saying-
'getting very inebriated and making impossibly poor choices'.....
damn.
i'm never gonna get into this nice business, am i?
awwwwwwwwww.
my jibes and zings get snider and snarkier as the day goes on.
i'm for real trying to develop a higher saturation point,
but i truly feel as though circumstance and coincidence
are testing my very best efforts to reinforce my resolve.
i want to not care.
y'ever heard somebody say that before?
it'd be great, i think, to genuinely be indifferent to the doo-doo buttery
kinship that the majority of clients share in their own sad sort of instinctive
not-radness,
but pretending saps away my strength and satisfaction.
that said-
i s'pose i'm just not a nice guy.
however,
i'd like to believe i'm one of the good guys.
the jury is out,
and the story changes depending on who you ask,
but i'm reporting the truth as it unfolds along the creases of a secret universal plan,
and that can't ever stop;
never quiet, never soft.....