bludgeoning.

huh?

nope.

even though the closest thing to a local team

won the big fat prize at the stupidbowl,

i didn't do any patriots tattoos yesterday.

however,

i kicked it up to the next level,

and tattooed a couple of alcohol-stinkin' stubbly south-shore hooligans,

and they took it further than any traditional fan-fueled loco logo jauns.

yep.

hybridized (possibly wal-mart influenced)

tom brady initials and numbers m.v.p. tattoos.

yep.

they sacked the quartrerback.

yikes.

holy F*ing sh!t, kids-

i thought it was a joke, at first, but the truth was right there,

waiting to activate a little adversarial anniversary unluck,

a tribute to new england's own #12,

taken to eleven, 

for the thirteenth year commemoration of my best and worst mistake.

woohooo.

as my buddy shawn noted-

the patriots won.

i lose.

hard styles, y'all, are the way we do our thing.

snow day doo-doo butter, and a few meager movie checks.

how else would i celebrate living up here for all this time?

ew.

*

y'know what i learned yesterday?

my sweet honey baby, ayn rand, is born on groundhog day.

that's real.

she'd be 110 if she wasn't busy being super dead for these last few 30 or so years. 

awwwwwww.

i know a lot of folks find her off-putting.

especially bleeding heart diaperbabies.

that's actually a door-lock test of friendship for me.

if you can't hang out with my girl, we can't hang out either.

what?

sure,

she was a hard-hearted hater;

and yeah,

she was cold and calculating;

and no doubt,

she had no time for touchy-feely do-goodery;

what's more,

she was blindingly NOT hot (haha)...

but,

she kept it realer than real,

and brought it harder than hard,

and while she went out on the bottom of the heap,

broke, broken, busted, and beaten...

i wouldn't expect anything less from a worthy warrior poet's rest.

nobody leaves with the title,

and rules is rules, until the end.

she is posthumously my bottom-b!tch, forever,

like, 4eva eva,

and that's just the way it is.

***********

sandwiches, however, 

will always rise above controversy.

they are bigger than sports, and philosophy, and everything else.

this morning,

i elevated my mealtime magic with some simply excelsior sandwich styles.

that's the serious big action activation up in here.

yessir,

i got extra expert on some other other sh!t, neighbors.

flax seeds, tapioca starch, and a scoop of flour,

blended up with silken tofu

(next time, i'm using firm, and i'm pretty firm on that point)

and turmeric, and cayenne,  nootch and g.p.o.p. and a scooch of liquid smoke,

and poured like batter over bacon-style bits of vegan pink parts,

and bell pepper, and red onion, and roma tomato slices.

yeah!!

what do you get when you got all of that?

you get omelet-style scrambled soybeans, son!

check the teleport:

c'mon.

three levels of toasted, buttered wheat bread,

sriracha,

tomato,

sprouts,

and love, kids.

i'm about them breakfast works, friends,

and i make 'em work, too.

hmmm?

lunch?

i eat bagels, man.

teleport:

with all the sandwichy stuff in there,

untoasted round bread ring,

and green pepz, and hot pepz, and black pepz, 

that left me full of pep,

and hummus,

and both of those are really good things to have inside of you.

i mean it.

i chatted and hollered and inappropriately-phrased my way 

bullishly brazenly and barbarically through the last two-thirds of my work day.

powered by sandwiches?

that is indeed the case,

and this is just the start.

sandwich week continues,

through subzero weather with worsening wind-chilled freezing airflow,

through long days and bright nights of blue light and black ice 

and white shite blowing down and out from the clouds.

it's all really happening,

and i'm eating it all as hard as i can;

never quiet, never soft.....