success is measured in bites.

feelin' awesome?

yep.
feelin' awesome.
with three chunky chomped-up chickpea challenges
completed right out at the entryway.
bing! straight outta the box an' that.
bam. bam. bam.
that's a strong start, y'all.
what comes next?
check it out:

feelin' full.
part two of a three-step process for success.

grumbles and mumbles in my bellyhole.
a top-coat of tahini, and a mug of rootin-tootin' sarsaparilla,
y'know,
to settle things down a bit.
and after a quick photo attempt
with my new favorite animal, the human-boobed sow,
(who stayed modest sleeping on her stomach)
it was time to bring the thunder.
it was windy as F*.
the answers were blowing,
on woodsmoke scented gusts,
mixed with animal doo-doo.
take it to eleven, albie rock.
...and then double it.
uh-huh:

folks,
i give you number twenty-two.
ka-pow! feelin' awful, yet?
yep.
...finally.
successfully shark-gluttoned into oblivion.
a cucumber-accompanied clod of
carotid-clogging crunchables.
holy smokes.
holy horsecrap.
holy sh!t-salad.
dreams really do come true, huh?
yeah.
***********
it's a holiday weekend for regular folks.
that's probably good news for some of y'all.
not much changes for woodsly goodsmen and
woodsly goodwives, though.
we just do what we do.
despite the octagenarian buick-drivers
wreaking bedlam on the byways and overlooks
of this idyllic mountain vale.
look! a tree!
drive slower.
look a tree!
swerve into the breakdown lane.
look a tree!
for goodness' sake, duders.
it's a forest.
they just can't see it for the trees.
c'mon.
orange.
yellow.
green.
brown.
sounds like my toilet after feel-awful falafel friday.
awwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww, man.
hard styles
and real life.
we got them jauns up here.
true stories told truly;
never quiet, never soft.....

feel-awful falafel friday.

duders.

duders, duders, duders...
it's always an uphill climb towards greatness.
the acme,
the apex,
the pinnacle.
the tippity-top of the heap.
i mean it.
you know,
it's always a good idea to set realistic goals.
that way,
a feeling of accomplishment is never too far away.
a little hard work,
a little sweat and tears and elbow grease,
and then the big payoff.
now,
in career-minded folks,
that may exemplified by a promotion and a raise.
in berserker barbarian battle-beasts, however,
our goals are more concrete,
and even easier to attain.
the sweat and the tears are still mandatory,
but it's fryolator grease, and not the elbow variety,
that lubricates the gears of warrior poetry.
kids,
what i'm trying to say is:

promotion, ninjas.
fattest.
fullest.
hardest.
i doo-doo that chunky chickpea-type freaky falafel sh!t.
literally and figuratively.

seventeen falafels.

down the gullet of your favorite glutton.
bam-a-lama!
quicker than hurry-up even.
***********
today is the day.
again.
like most days, even.
but with the added incentive of being feel-awful falafel day.
to be fair,
it begins as feel-awesome falafel day,
but then gets kicked up that next notch.
y'know, to eleven.
or as it reads on the roadmap to ragnarok:
TOO FAR.
that's where we're taking it this evening.
beyond the borders of enjoyment,
past the point of good sense,
and over the line of weak-sauce sorcery,
and into the realm of lightning-striking vikings.
word.
***********
there's a sow in the hog barn, y'all.
no surprise there, really.
but what IS surprising/marginally disturbing
are the human boobs she's got dangling.
huh?
c'mon.
i wouldn't make that up.
i attempted pictures last night,
but she got all modest and rolled over.
i'm on it, though.
neighbors, i'm tellin' you;
out of ten possible teats,
only two have milk in 'em.
the top two.
a matched pair of bare-skinned mom-bombs.
it's horrifying.
and it's yet another 'nother reason i'll stay meat-free.
unwitting anthropomorphism?
gross.
vegetarian sensibility?
assured.
nightmares for weeks?
probably.
it's all really happening,
even if not much else is;
never quiet, never soft.....

grotesque.

four more falafels?

jeez.
now it's actually starting to hurt.
bad.
at both ends.
but i can't/won't stop,
until i reach the pinnacle of shark gluttony.
creating a paradigm an' that.
one tahini-drippin' guini at a time.
teleport?
check it:

actually, this is my buddy jim's falafel.
in the interests of real life documentarianism,
i've got to confess-
i ate my first one waiting in line for my second.
no photos, just swallows.
gulpin' like a gutshot gulpeador.
ouch.
but, i used this artist's representation just to let
all y'all hungry hippos out there know-
they get got, and then ate the F* up.
all those jauns are in my bellyhole.
also for the record,
i wouldn't bother with that fancy light tahini action,
in my opinion, it detracts from the overall carnage;
tahini is like astroglide for my epiglottis, kids.
lube it up,
slide it down.
(that's what she said?)

this picklelicious one is all me though.

yep.
third times the charm.
it rained the whole time we roamed the fair.
and it was a brisk forty-one degrees.
how did we cope with four hours of fairgrounds under water?
yep.
falafels.
my whole body feels deep-fried, duders.

whooo-hooooo!
and another one.
fourteen falafel sandwiches.
four days.
am i getting fatter?
uh-huh.
it's about as ferocious as you'd expect, neighbors.
but it's for a good cause.
self-destruction.
isn't that how vaccinations work?
a little bit of awful,
to inure yourself to it's presence?
well,
worthy warriors doo-doo that even harder.
a lot of awesome turned awful in my innards
makes for an even more goatlike capricorn aura
all around you rural ragnarok wreaking battle-beast buddy.
...that's me.
***********
now,

i should mention right here that i don't just eat falafels.
there's other stuff, too.
like bunnies,
and chickens,
and goats,
and alpacas,
and all the other stuff you'd expect at a country fair.
but mostly,
it's all about the falafels.
if more was happening,
more would be forthcoming.
sorry, friends and neighbors-
time stands still while we make our spirits and memories.
fa.
la.
fel;
never quiet, never soft.....

sweetness.

the whole world is on hold

whilst the fairgrounds are callin' to us.

like a sailor to a siren's song,

those sandwiches are just luring me in....

everything else is just not as important.

what's the score?

three more falafels last night, y'all.

huh?
that's only two.
i need one more for the road-
...pretty F*n' rad, too.
that's ten for the week,

and that after only three days.
and that also means today immediately
goes to eleven.
and they taste even mutha-lickin' better
than they mutha-flippin'  look,
and don't even try to tell me they don't look good.
wooooooooord.
really good.
***********
let's talk about little babies in my house.
cuteness to eleven, ninjas.
and y'all know me.
babies don't normally make me get soft-centered and gooey.
i'm a hard-hearted hatemonger,
but i always give credit where it's due.
and i doo-doo that little doodoo monster,
i'm tellin' you guys-
little harlen is adorable.
the dog, however, can't hang out.
for real,
a little squishy, stinky, squeaky round pink thing?
sounds like a chew toy?
looks like a piglet?
that's a snack.
and our little 'tarded special needs beast
would love nothing more than to snack up
on a little baby rump roast.
be easy.
we worked it out,
and everything's cool.
except the dog.
nature vs. nature vs. nurture.
infinity and beyond, y'all.
from falafel to falafel,
the world is one beige blur;
never quiet, never soft.....

eaten.

fat?
yep.
two more right out of the gates...
for my face:
and then another one, y'know, like for dessert:

and then another 'nother one,

because i'm so not kidding around...

duders-
they've got home-cured pickles.
and they are off-the-charts dope.
my brain almost can't handle the heroic hottness.
and neither can my bellyhole.
but only almost.
because after all,
we go to eleven up here.
...in gambling,
seven means craps.
in falafels, doubly so.
that much gonzo garbanzo
is devastating, y'all.
and they've added extra cayenne pepper this year.
trust me on this one.
i spit hot fire, after all.
(out of my butthole)
woooooooord.
it feels like vacation up here.
it smells like fresh cut wood,
but that's because those nasty A*-lords
have been chainsawing away all the natural goodness
since the super-early-shirley a.m. hours.
mutha-uckers are destroying the whole landscape.
someone is obviously kidding me.
except these sixty foot trees are gone for good.
bunch o' b!tch-bags is what these city planners are.
and these lumberjackoffs,
and the civil engineers.
civil would've been a heads-up before we bought the place,
that they planned on F*ing our A*s.
y'know?
lame cake needs falafel power to soothe the savage battle-beast.
***********
anybody else having google machine image upload problems?
i sure am.
maybe i jinxed it with the tattoo pictures.
could very well be the case.
but,
i assure y'all.
every tasty sandwich is getting documented.
real life doesn't take shortcuts, after all.
set your goals;
never quiet, never soft.....

i doo-doo them jauns.

soooo,
my homeboy toby got this last month.
and i took a picture.
seriously.
i almost don't believe it either.
but it's true.
look:

pure fish.

...like a grown up real-person tattoo.
no bubble-cheeked cartoons or nothin'.
welllll,
maybe just a little tiny bit.
old ways, y'all.
they die hard.
like batteries and bruce willis.
how about that?
i figured since the last tatblasted-up jammer y'all saw
was 'the estar bunny',
maybe i should let heads know about how i'm still here.
and still sincere,
about all the things i doo-doo.
here, for really real, is another 'nother one-

..and it's a not-exactly-creative cover-up, too.
got a goobieblop of unwanted weak sauce on your chest?
no problem.
how about a big black hole of a monster mouth?
okay?
well, i hope you wanted a battle-beast-
because that's what's on the menu.
word.
so there it is;
a couple of more recent, non-crayon-based zappers,
for your faces.
i still do this stuff.
surprised?
never quiet, never soft.....

this just in.

in my bellyhole, i mean.
ohhhhhh, sh!t!!
it was like a perfet relapse.
like a junkie shooting the whole bag.
falafels, neighbors.
pure heaven for my whole face.
oh how i missed my little deep-fried nuggets.
fa.
la.
fel.
one two three.
check this chickpea chastisement:

three in a row,
right down the hatch.
chomp. chomp. chomp.
shark gluttony, duders.
and they went down sooo smooth.
and quick.
i mean, with all the bite and swallow,
and none of the tedious chewing...
that's my word, too, ninjas.
we stayed at the fair for all of thirty minutes.
just long enough to get our whole-week-long admission armbands,
and that tasty tahini-troweled garbanzoey goodness.
food, photos of food, and non-stop monotonous munching.
really real.
it almost makes my horribly disfigured clear-cut acreage
a little less terrible.
almost, but not quite-
i'll find solace at the tail end of a whole wheat pita,
until i find satisfaction for the wrongs of this miserable world;
never quiet, never soft.....

Fryeburg Fair.

today is the day.
the big one.
the one i've waited one whole entire long year for.
the real life rural blue ribbon classic, ninjas.
the fryeburg fair.
why aren't you here?
i mean it.
where are you?
it's sunday.
y'all aren't working.
so there's no good excuses i'll entertain.
i'm just sayin'.
the fair.
The Fair.
THE FAIR!
rain. shine, frost, gale-force winds,
train derailings, flash floods.....
...there's not a whole holy helluva lot that can
realistically come between me and my
mutha-uckin' falafels.
***********
in addition,
it's my sister's 33rd berfday!
i have a thirty-three year old sibling.
and she's younger than i am.
and, it's her big day.
happy berfday, little mary grace.
(she's not here for falafels, either, duders)
weak sauce and b-day cake don't make it o.k.
***********
aaaaaaaand,
in other news,
we're gonna have a baby!
whoah.
hold on.
we're gonna have a baby in our house.
jeez.
c'mon, now.
little baby harlen and his ma and pa,
my brother-in-law and his ol' lady,
are our fryeburg fair houseguests for the next four days.
my father-in-law and his lovely wife betty are headed up, too.
some people know what time it is at least.
(it's fair time- which works every time)
boring daily doings,
and doo-doo buttery deeds in between feedings.
it's all really happening,
but so is the mutha-b!tchin' fair, ninjas;
never quiet, never soft.....

almost.

it's only important if it's important to you.
interest breeds action.
disinterest breeds disdain.
and what matters hard to some folks,
is completely irrelevant to other duders out there-
like car people.
i personally couldn't care any less about
super-jacked up lifted trucks with winches,
and gunracks, and huge redneck tires,
any more than i give a flying F* about lowered, lit-up
leathery, fast & bi-curious speed coupes.
therefore, to me, they don't matter.
at all.
in fact, they're pretty mutha-lickin' stupid.
and it's the same principle with everythingand anything.
some people like the way their smelly armpits reek up
a room with oniony soup whiffs.
soapy showers just aren't important to them.
other people devote tons of time to collecting sneakers.
but not wearing them.
i hate sneakers, y'all. (trainers to you british kids)
from where i'm standing, gentleman warriors wear shoes.
it's personal definition, duders.
y'know,
how you define yourself.
it's one of those things.
perspectives, i guess.
i can't hang out with the dithering misery of ambition or inclusion.
seperate sovereignty
just be dope, right?
or else, you've got to F* right off.
if you've got that eleventh level viking spirit,
the gratitude and the generosity for what's all really happening,
then,
anywhere is as awesome as you make it.
fun is how you make it, after all,
not where you make it.
moths, neighbors.
it's still all about the moths.
do what you do.
and the rest works itself out.
me?
i'm grateful for having stuff to do,
for having duders to do it with,
and for having a place to do it at.
i live a Folk Life.
that's my important thing.
everything else is just window treatment.
***********
it's almost the fair.
northern new englandy hottness.
in F*ing full effect.
it's also almost time for my favorite middle eastern treats.
Falafels.
eight days of dietary delightfulness.
eight days of chick peas and pitas.
eight days of gastric shark gluttony.
they don't make enough sit-ups and push-ups to undo the
savage damage i'm about to inflict.
tremendous tahini tuesday?
yeah.
monumental mixed pickle monday?
sure thing.
sauce-saturated saturday?
so good.
feel-awful falafel friday?
abso-F*n'- lutely.
it's important if it's important.
sharkbite munching,
animal petting,
overall wearing,
rural real life northwoods living.
Folk Life.
here is where we make the fun,
but loud, hard, and fresh is how we doo-doo
that autumny hottness;
never quiet, never soft..... 

rabbit!!! rabbit.

it's the first of the month.
and it's mutha-F*ing october!
ka-pow!

martha's own rabbit, rabbit. good luck for the whole dang month?
right-seems like it...
check this little tidbit of post-vacation doo-doo butter:
we were gone for a few days,
and came back to a lawn coated in molto rakeables,
and a forest unmistakeable for it's fewer trees.
oh yeah.
less trees.
the sun came up, sorta, behind the clouds.
it got brighter out, at least.
and that shed some much needed light on our backyard.
surprise!
while we were gone,
somebody decided to get lumberjack like a heart attack,
all up and over on our woodsly realm.
sewer line construction started in our ansence,
and they bulldozed a trail through OUR backyard,
so our neighbors can flush away their poops.
i'm not even a little bit kidding...
check this out:

c'mon.
i tried to go and get some bagels this morning,
but found this in my way:

bam-a-lama.
trucks,
and saws,
and wet rainy washout manliness.
but that isn't tree work from the stormswept fury of
the mountain's skies.
surprise!
the state has appropriated a 20' right of way,
straight up the butt of our backyard.
sorry property lines.
and in the middle of my harried, hurried phone calls,
i've got duders tellin' me about how they're NOT wrecking my yard.
their clearing the state's yard.
da, comrade.
for the good of the state.
somebody obviously thinks we're A*-holes.
live free, or die, or get proper F*ed.
there IS a third option after all.
awesome.
anybody out there want to imagine the choice words
i've already exchanged?
yeah.
choice.
berserker barbarian battle-beastliness, ninjas...
with copious profane statements of emphasis.
we went from a forest to a meadow,
while martha's vineyard kept us moist.
some rabbity rabbitude over here, huh?
mutha-F*ers are tryin' to F* my A*
harder than ever...
hard styles and hard times.
good morning, october;
never quiet, never soft.....

ops.

black-ops photo-ops.
martha's vineyard.

word up.
aquinna, a.k.a. gayhead.
speaking of:

uh-huh.
as in happy, duders.
c'mon.
and check the edgartown hottness.

teleported, my ninjas.
you love it.
so hard.
vacation's over,
and hard rains are fallin';
never quiet, never soft.....