rabbit!! rabbit!!

it's the first of february, friends.
yuuuuuuup.
and that's good news, for sure.
it's a fresh start, on a fresh page of the calendar.
a whole new 'nother month of big fun is waiting for us to fill it up
with active participation and competent communication
and worthy warrior F*ing poetry in motion.
that's real.
now,
if you've not noticed, already,
you'll be kind enough to currently observe that the month's page
starts all the way over in the top left corner.
hmm?
yeah, man.
the first of the month is aligned with the first square.
and what happens when the number one day falls on a sunday?
that's riiiiiiiiiight.
starting today, and continuing until next sunday evening,
it's sandwich week!
woohooo.
eight days of delectable super-dopeness,
between a couple pieces of sliced bread.
that's the way it works around here.
the woodsly goodness,
and more specifically the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress,
and by that i mostly just mean me,
for the entirety of this week,
along with whomever happens to be joining me for dinner,
will all observe the mutable holiday ceremony of this moveable feast.
sandwich week is a special sunday-funday-number-one-day eight day
celebration of all the food in a grabbable handful of hopped-up hottness.
it has to happen when the time and the circumstances are aligned.
that's the way it has been decreed, duders.
and that's the way it is....
rules is rules, neighbors.
and that's an important one.
oh, yeah, and by the way-
y'know what else is an important rule?
the mandatory call-and-respond secret universal good fortune attractant.
yep.
the first word, two times, whenever the clock strikes and the page turns
and the birthstone changes over.
that first-of-the-monthly metaphoric metaphysical welfare check-yourself stuff.
yes.
yes!
YES!!
the magic mutha-'ucking word,
uttered with bubbling double bouncing b's all over the place.
wordimus prime, people,
we gotta say the syllables, and center ourselves in fortune's favoritism.
c'mon,
say it with me, one more time:
rabbit, rabbit!
that's it.
*
yesterday was pretty dumb.
really.
like,
i wished for misfortune to befall every single person i encountered.
what?
oh, i MEAN it,
don't you worry about that.
luckily, that's not the way it works around here.
i apparently don't have telekinesis, pyrokinesis, psionics, or anything like that.
so, it turns out, even with a whole bunch of darumas around,
my wishes weren't coming true.
ew.
instead,
everybody else all went about their profitable and fulfilling days,
wherever, whenever, with whomever, however they saw fit.
i guess it's fine that i can't will an explosion to cook anybody where they're standing.
but it's still a real bummer,
and i struggle with it regularly.
i 'm sayin', it CAN happen,
but not without premeditated placement of combustibles and accelerants,
and ignition.....
but that's just called murder, guys,
not cosmic justice befalling the bad guys by serendipitous circumstances.
which is lame, but very preventable.
just don't kill people, and you're probably doing ok...
anyway,
since i was all by lonesome for almost the entire day,
save an hour or two of tattooing,
i cut up another box, and i spread some paint around on it,
to span the time while my coworkers zapped crap on some saps,
and talked noise about nothing good whatsoever.
check the teleport:

more eyes?
yeah.
F* it, man.
what's more irritating than those mars-attackin' eyeballs?
well,
if i'd made it pink,
maybe it wouldn't look so much like zombie-modok
stuffed into a hello kitty iron man suit.
yep.
awwwwwwwwwwww.
damn.
a giant fleshy meatless head, with pointy ears,
in a bobotron suit seemed like it'd be fun....
...until i paid closer attention to the color scheme.
i'm dumb for not thinking ahead, and now the comparisons are inevitable.
i guess that's what i get for not being more mindful.
i must've been pretty dang preoccupied with all those mind-bullets
that i was shooting at everybody as the time ticked by me,
haha.
i ended up staying at the studio longer than everybody else,.
basically working on something for nothing,
mmmhmmm.
i might be doing it wrong.
that's the problem with real-life documentarianism.
it's NOT the glorified greatest hits, curated in compilation form,
it's ALL of it, as it really happens-
ugly true stories told by truly ugly people.
that's another 'nother rule, isn't it?
yes-
stay ugly, stay dope.
believe it.
*
hard styles are all i have at the ending of everything...
...but,
that's that january sh!t, suckas.
and that's in the past.
we're presently living in the future,
and that means sandwiches, b!tches.
i'm about that breadsly life, son.
no amount of retrospective circumspection is gonna reflect a prettier picture.
that's not how we're reppin' february, folks.
no way.
it's sandwich week.
we've already said rabbit, rabbit.
so we're clearly ultraelectromagnetically attracting activation
by the hectare-tare conversational conversion of hell's half-acre.
AND it's Black History Month.
that means our stay gold black gold four week frenzy
of berserker barbarian battle-beastly big business is just getting started.
the first eight days, duders.
starting today.
this is it;
never quiet, never soft.....