peein' on my pannies?

if i had been able to make my own he-man action figurine,

back before the days when after-school cartoon cringer or orko ever existed,

i would've made a flapjack headed monster,

with syrup nozzle arms;

picture man e. faces,

but as a lumberjack breakfast.

i know, it would've sold a milion units.

the name?

what are you, an A-hole?

pan e. caker, obviously.

...c'mon.

y'know what i scoopled up today?

three big ol' compilations of calvin and hobbes collected comic strips.

i really love that stuff. hard.

when, before or since, has anyone captured that flavor of freshness?

i'm serious.

never, that's when.

plus,

when the get busy brushes were flowin' just right

bill waterston could watercolor his whole ass right off, ya'll.

i'm sayin', remember the dinosaur ones?

dope.

i had kind of forgotten about those turbofresh comics,

but i was reminded of 'em after a trip to the supermarket.

i happened to see a 'peeing punk-ass' rear windshield sticker,

wherein the squirt is squirtin' on 'work', (the word work, ya'll, seriously)

while his hat sports lures, and a caption reads: "gone fishin'".

and all this time i thought only shel silverstein could illustrate heartfelt poetry.

think about how epic the flippin' gaytardation must be,

fourteen long years after the strip has ended,

for jockhole redneck bumper-sticker-types to still crack up about a little kid

takin' a hot whiz on whatever vehicle brand or sports team,

just so whomever is behind them on the road will know

where their waterworkin' diaperbaby allegiances lay.

a small comfort can be taken, at least,

that the current incarnation bears little resemblance to the original calvin,
and is moreso a sh!t-salad backwards-ballcapped urbanesque toughlet.

i get it, kinda.

a young boy, vinyl buttcheeks bared,

relieving himself on symbols of tyranny and oppression,

namely ford logos and professional sports teams from new york,

is clearly a form of displaying superior patriotic american ethical values,

and not a thinly veiled nambla recruiting technique.

i mean, he does have his back turned, for decency's sake.

nice.

and the time and energy devoted to extrapolating variables!

mathematical physics theorists have got nothin' on these guys.

i mean,

have you seen the one where the red sox kid

is peein' on the yankees kid

who is peein' on the red sox B?

flawless victorious waterfall comeuppance indeed!

the trickle down effect and last laugh revenge,

all in a die-cut public urination affirmation.

that's how you reach out and pluck america's heartstrings.

are you taking notes, hallmark?

chicken soup for the imbecile's urethra, perhaps.....

today,

i'll be sure to stay well hydrated,

just so i can channel the lovable spirit of mschief,

like an italian kokopelli, even,

(kokopellisimo, my ninjas,)

and take a 98.6 degree hilarous dousing on all that displeases me.

don't worry, my hat'll be on backwards.

a super-soakin' imp,

drenching this day all sweet and lovable,

and kinda ammonia-y.

stayin' gold, in shower form;

never quiet, never soft....

wizards and warriors.

where all ya'll scandalous skanks at?
because i'm over here.
y'know, at the fire.
seriously,
warm apple cider,
rip-roarin' woodsly flames,
starry night skies,
and crisp season-changing air;
that's what's poppin'.
five nights in a row,
five hot fiery evenings,
all dopeness, all the time.
i'm reppin' the wizardly druidic warrior style.
it goes good with blazing ragers.
and it keeps embers off of my melon
when i'm layin' scant inches from the heart of the heat.
nothing goes worse with a burgeoning blad-spot than a scalded scalp,
burnt bangs and flame-broiled follicles.
what i'm sayin' is:
while i may never turn into a beautiful swan,
ugly ducklings are only ever water-resistant,
regardless of how much hot fire spit they spout.

Folk Life & Liberty.
that's some big action bold business.
rural righteous really real life and freedom to act according to a worthy will.
now add in some hot fire.
heck yeah, kids.
even when it's at it's closest, smallest, and most meager,
the woodsly goodness provides a platform of pure awesome.
i love it when everything is going according to plan.
even when it's mostly a secret one.
if you take a deep breath,
you can smell the gratitude mixed in with the wood smoke.

uncle steven should be rockin' out on the deck all day,

with his dandy little sander machine,

and some linseed sealant an' that;

jess has been strippin' all day,

without a single dollar-dollar bill in her panties to show for it.

it's hard to get in 'em when she's got her business overalls on.

seriously.

paint strippin' just doesn't get me that hot and bothered,

although the chernobyl-sauce that gets things started might....

scrapin' old paint of older furniture is what's goin' on over here,

wallpaper-displeasure-powered redoo-doo and replacement;

i'm not trying to get in on any of that kind of improvement action.

however, i've been across the state and back again,

with scant results to show for my trouble.

i already rocked an extra-long stink-saturated stump,

crashed out on the warm lawn,

chatted it up well nice with my peoples,

and it's still daylight.

these times are happening, even though not much else is.

a proper day OFF, my ninjas;

never quiet, never soft.....

that's my jam(balaya)

food pictures are important for real-life documentation.
or so i hear.
if i had to choose between tattoo pictures to showcase my art skills,
or food pictures to showcase my fatness skills,
it's not any kind of hard choice at all.
tatblastin' is what i do for work,
but vegan shark-glutton barbarian banquets are what i DO.
proper doo-doo, an' that.
at any rate, i ate more often and in higher quality than i tattooed this week.
besides,
when's the last time i snapped a tee-zappity zip for your faces?
word up.
yeah,
that's some jammie-jam rice 'n' stuff for your face.
even the dedicated omnivorous meat-heads we had over for supper
scarfed, wolfed, and otherwise shoveled
brownish blops, glops, chunks, and hunks down their gizzards.
that's when you know you've brought the noise;
ironically, it's when all the noise straight-up stops,
excepting the mastication sensation of wet-diaper slapping chewface sounds.
do not close your eyes when that happens,
unless you're a dingy perv,
because you'll find yourself imagining moist nasty-ass business.
audible fouls, ninjas.
believe in it.
that's jess's hand game-show prize-modeling the bowlful of
yum4tumterrifficness.

whaaat?

triple threat myconid masterpiece?

yup.

that's buttons, chestnuts, and shiitakes;

little strips of meaty, beaty, gills, frills, caps and straps!

the magic number - magic + mushrooms = taste explosions for your facepiece.

BAM!

with hot-fire-roasted tomato chunks,

and carmelized shallots.

in the interest of to takin' it to eleven, just because:

pureed paste and whole-hog roasty toasted pine nuts, mutha-uckers.

pine nuts?

hell yeah,

that's the taste of luxury, b!tches.

punk-ass pesto it wasn't,

but delicious it most certainly was.

and if you think the nuts are small,

you should see the pine weiners.

oh, c'mon....

when all else fails,

and there's nothing else to say,

a stuffed-face and a fat belly will always carry the day.

there's food on the table,

water in the kettle,

cider on the stove,

and fire in the hearth.

really real, and really happening.

all of it, all the time;

never quiet, never soft.....

sunny sunday.

wedding bells rang loud and hard yesterday.
and while the woodsly goodness enjoyed perfect nearly-autumnal sunny weather,
the city limits of seacoastal shorelines suffered for it.
puddles and puddles, kids.
and piles of pleated plastic pour protection;
seriously mutha-lickin' torrents of nor'easterly liquid spirit-dampening!
it didn't really wash up any waterbabies, though,
and it actually kind of rocked it.
the house it was held in put all other houses to embarrassment.
all of 'em.
hard.
and the folks who attended were almost all verrry white,
which meant i didn't have to hold a single solitary conversation;
nobody knew who i was or why i was there,
and they cared even less than that.
...score!
there were a few highlights:
-outdoorsy wetness, making for interesting dance moves on the slick dance floor,
-unfriendly drunken NYC bandmate A-tards talkin' music talk
and gettin' hit on gallons of wine.
i mean, wine?
c'mon.
-and a kickass cocoapuffy chocolate labrador named moxie,
who not only munched up a dozen or so of the special-order devil's food cupcakes,
but intermittently sniped snippets of snacks from even the most closely guarded larders,
that smelly wet mess was the real belle of the ball in my eyes.
keepin' it real, and just doo-dooin' what it do.
just be dopeness, indeed.


it's sunday.
normally a day of rest for regular folks.
us IRregulars had moves to make,
tatgrinder zappage to snap off,
and real-life to endure, endear, engender, and incur.
we're poised on the precipice....
the winds are blowin' an' that.
change is the only constant, i've heard,
and apparently, we're constantly catchin' that current.
currently,
it seems as if i'm part kite;
preferably the kestrel-kin
and not the diamond-shaped, but not diamond hard, patchwork piece of parchment.
i don't think i'd look good with a ribbon bedazzled eeyore tail, at any rate.
either way,
there's sure to be some glidin' all along the cloudcovered warpaths.
whistle-blower? never.
hornblower? certainly.
and you can bet your bottom-most dollar that when i blow my own horn,
i'm a hard-style blowin' blowhard for certain.
the season's ready to change,
and so am i;
never quiet, never soft.....

NEVER FORGET!!!

wait,
what?
yesterday?!
sh!t, i guess i forgot.
ah well,
so much for attempts at hardline nationalism.....

it may smell like rain,
but trust me on this one, kids,
that's LOVE in the air.
no foolin',
we're going to a wedding today.
a real maritime new england magical late summer seacoast affair.
for the future mr. & mrs. settle.
you read it right.
yeah, i know, that's some sh!t...
jess's college roommate and her manly man are finally tying the matrimonial knot up
with some gnarly nuptials and all that goes with doo-dooin' that sort of thing.
a wedlock head lock is headed down the altar,
and we're gonna be there to bear witness.
abby and wade are darn good folks, and they deserve all the happiness in the world.
everyone should be so lucky.
and because of their good fortune, i get a free day off from work,
but probably not any cake.
buttercream is oh-so sweet and delightful, i'm just not that into gettin' 'rrhea.
(...unless it's gonnorrhea, and then the gettin' is the only fun part.)
surely,
a better way for a non-drinking vegan to spend a saturday there is NOT.
to prepare myself for the ever-anticipated never-original conversations
with the 40+year-olds in the boku big drinkies crowd well in advance,
here's some engaging dialogue i can only hope to include in the day's festivities:
-"heck yes, it hurts. right now, in fact. do you have any vicodin?"
-"why did i do this to myself? to cover the track marks, obviously."
-"you could never? i don't blame you, the inks contain siphyllis,
although, judging by your leopard-print dress, so do you."
-"what do they mean? really? they're symbolic of my transformation from victim to survivor, marking important events in my cathartic awakening......PSYCH! they're just great for starting conversations with drunken old ladies at weddings"
-"what DO i do for work? i'm a full-time lover, part-time janitor. although meghan's law means no schools for me. for either thing. bummer"
it should go over well, i'm sure.
i'll just blame it on the sauce.
of course, only you guys will know i'm referring to weak sauce, not booze.
nice.
oh, come on.
warrior poetry in motion is never easy, my ninjas.
it should be great, in any case;
the sun is peekin' out in spite of predicted predicaments of partial pouring,
the sky is blue,
people are in love and participating pretty actively....
it's going to eleven, on the twelfth.
today is the day.
moreso than every day.

i know, ya'll.
i'm kind of an A-hole.
that's why none of you invited me to your weddings, yeah?
truthfully, i'm looking forward to seeing jess all dressed up,
especially since she looks so damn good all the time anyway,
and this time we've got perfectly paired outfits and haircuts as well.
being included in the big action is a good feeling,
even if it's only as an extension of my own better half.
i'll take it.
i put the moans in matrimony;
never quiet, never soft....

axe and smash!

better known as demolition, right?
for those of you who had healthy childhoods;
axe and smash were leatherclad s&m fetish-suited professional wrestlers,
more commonly referred to as the tag team duo of devastation
commonly cheered and jeered by mulleted metal-heads and pseudo-urban midwesterners
under the mosh-magical moniker of demolition.
(shhh, listen. can you hear the megadeth playing in the distance?...)
nobody's wrestlin' with anything but pangs of conscience up here,
but plenty of smash-bashin' barbarian heavy-handed
axe-haft hammerin' is happenin'.
who would have guessed that home improvement involves so much home demolition?
i'm wrecking my house under my own volition.
on purpose, an' that.
hell,
it's costing us loot, to boot!
but,
the new & better berserker battle platform is gonna rule my jewels off,
and that's totally worth all the power-washed waterboarding
that i'm torturing myself with right now.
i lament the lack of dead bird lovin' in the forests of flavor,
because we've got enough tar here to puritanically punish
even the most unrepentant pilgrim,
all we're missin' is the feathers.
when the last ant kicks the bucket,
and the last square-head screw gets torqued into place,
what should we be expecting:
lantern posts?
i think so.
wrought iron plant hangers?
F* yes, my ninjas.
a kickass spiral-staircase gate with blackened iron hinges?
of course.
what am i? an A-hole?
maybe, but i'm an apehole A-lord with soon-to-be elite deck, too.
recognize.

i don't just screen my calls,

i screen my doors, and my photos, too.

uncle steven gets busy, ya'll.

and in case you mutha-flippers weren't sure about how it goes;

a sawzall really actually truly saws all.

seriously, i was there. i saw it all.

c'mon.

these days are unfolding.

they're unfolding from incredible unsolvable origami animal shapes.

some kind of geometric capybara or somethin'.

i can't do much but reactively participate,

enjoy the slow striptease of unfurled events,

and follow the clues left behind by the secret universal plan.

it's like a treasure hunt,

and the prize is a fresh Folk Life in the woodsly goodness.

it's all really happening,

and i am pretty mutha-lickin' grateful for the time i have been given;

never quiet, never soft.....

sleptember.

oh man,
sleeping is SO dope.
when you turn in and your brains turn off.
so good.
i especially love sleeping when the nighttimes get chilled up.
long nights,
hard times,
and dew droppin' thermometer poppin' flannel sheetin' snoozefestivals.
rip van winkle could team up with robert van winkle,
and i'd still out-snooze the both of those ice-ice (water)babies.
i think i could probably sleep for two months straight.
hell,
i've even done it before
just ask the old turnpike tattoo crew from around the turn of the century.
i managed to do about two consecutive month's worth of couch-surfin',
hangin' ten in forty wink increments.
what's the coolest letter in the alphabet?
obviously,
it's ZZZZZZZZZZZZ.
yeah!
i'm already prepped and primed for a pillow fight.
wherein i go ten rounds against a pillow,
seeing who smothers whom first.
my money's on my mighty sandman manatee melon, kids.
i could win with my eyes closed.

i thought of a sure fire recipe for penultimate success in life, love, and whatever else:
excess + suck.
except not in that order.
suck-cess, an' that,
obviously.
sorta too bad the word cess means 'assess' in crumpet english,
and 'luck' in shamrock english,
and not 'sh!t', like in cesspool.
i don't get it, either, ya'll.
but seriously, though.
it kinda makes sense, yeah?
i've got plenty of all of that stuff,
and tons of resultant great luck in assessing sh!ttiness,
and sh!t-suckin' salad tossery, too.
...metaphorically, i mean.
still, i'm mostly happy with what's happenin',
so who's to say it isn't workin'?

uncle steven has got a whole truckful of tools,
and since i'm the only tool who serves almost no household purpose,
i'm stayin' stashed away in my very own toolbox.
(that's what SHE said)
if you listen closely,
you can almost hear me sawing wood.
in my sleep, i mean.
never quiet, never soft.....

hit the deck.

manly work is being done over here.
i've got a seventy foot tall german blitzkrieger terrorizing the planks he's walkin'.
proper shivering on the ol' timbers, an' that.
what am i talking about?
uncle steven has arrived from connecticut's sh!t-salad tossin' territory
to raise hell and raze barns.
barnstormtroopin' is on the menu, ninjas.
did we discover some doo-doo buttery buttressing?
yep.
how about carpenter ants?
uh-huh.
they should be called A-hole F*tard bastardhole ants,
because they don't actually do any carpentry,
they just kinda choke on wood and suck.
(that's what SHE said)
in what i would call a justifiable genocide,
we hit 'em up with a hefty dose of chernobyl-sauce.
well nice, they get proper sawdusted and busted.
F* 'em all, and let god save the queen, since we sure aren't gonna.
is that not very vegan?
caaaaa-aaaare? i didn't smother them in chocolate and eat 'em,
i just offered up a sacrifice to the mighty house spirits.
you'd best believe that hungy hungry house spirits want blood tribute.
i'm pretty sure that's a proven scientific law.
and besides,
uncle steven was quick as lightning,
pulled out a helpful handy can of zyklonic cylon syrup,
and did the dirty deed.
i simply don't feel compelled to be a whiny whingeing waterbaby about it.
i'm just sayin',
more uncle, less ant.
that's my mutha-uckin' word, bleedin' heart baby b!tches.
go easy.
the construction is being conducted in segments,
on the broken segments of these insect inhabiters.
i'm pretty sure that's very patrioticly american.
should i have traded 'em some wampum first?
there's tar and flashy flashing, and shingles and sh!t everywere.
when the dust settles and the insecticide fumes clear
will i have a functional garage?
i sure hope so.

does my ass look big in this carapace?

where's this one think she's flyin' off to?

yeah, right.

not once, not never.

not less than eleven seperate instances today made me so glad i cut my hair off.

i mean,

spiders, cobwebs, sawdust, spiders, ants, fatty boombattie backbottom beetle bizzles,

mosquitoes, spiders, and assorted airborne stickinesses;

that's the kind of stuff that would've made me fully flip the F* out,

most especially if it had gotten into, upside, or around my luxurious samsony locks of old.

turns out,

dangley princess hair and manly environments don't mix that well.

nice.

my weekend is over.

already.

it included a whole bunch of eyeball to printed word contact.

i read a LOT.

i'm no smarter for it,

and my house isn't any better prepared for inhabitation,

but it still happened.

it's 5 p.m. wednesday,

do you know where your hottness is?

never quiet, never soft.....

big breakfasts.

i guess that vegans all kinda celebrate not going to work

by gorging on gorgeous globs of greasy goodness.

we doo-doo that shark-gluttonous freaky-eatie sh!t.

it's a real thing.

i'm sayin',

this delish dish may not be served up in an outre-hip community co-operative urban food spot,

but my kitchen isn't one to shirk sh!t, and not rise to the occasion.

i'm sorry-ish,

all you die-hard earth-nest-grimy bicycle and dreaded head-lock dudes,

but my early morning weekendy hottness is pretty dope all by it's ownsome in the woods.

and that's with or without a side-order panniecake with pinwheel pecans.

some of ya'll may be thinkin':

that's a lot of yellow for one plate.

and normally, i'd agree.

but polenta is just so pleasant,

and that tofu scramble has triumphant turmeric,

and paprika, (think of it as a toner)

to utilize the essential nutrients,

replicating eagle's eggs powers,

and activating the inner 'ness.

as in, hottness.

it also helps it to rock my flippin' socks off my feet.

besides,

if you think that's a lot of yellow,

try standing across the street and looking at the giant lemon i call home.

oh, and that's not actually some cedar bark strips on my plate, either, ya'll.

it's pretend bacon.

it can pretty much stop pretending,

and change it's name to tasty construction paper,

because i'll still snack on it when i feel the urge.

word up.

we're fueled up and unfurled out for a big fun day.

yeah.

i think we're gettin' wall primer or some sh!t.

jealous?

i'm on some new other other sh!t today.

a little reactive participation, my ninjas.

events unfold, ya'll.

like it or not,

there's times and places for all kinds of stuff.

i'm on a mission,

to stop, look, and listen,

and figure out where and when and how my times are.

word to hour glasses,

i came to crack asses.

oh, c'mon.

how about you mutha-flippers?

is it just good times, like j.j. and florida?

hard times, like really real life and minneapolis bum cafes?

or ALL the mutha-forkin' times?

you know how it goes....

it's all really happening.

acting and reacting,

we're part of it;

never quiet, never soft......

labor intensive...

whoah!

i like how i always make a semi-surprised face when i take my own picture.

one would assume a self-portrait is at least partially prepared for.

i mean,

i'm pointing a camera right into my eyeholes,

so i completely knew what was comin'.

do i seem a bit like a spaniard of old?

i think don quixote might've had the same flavor before he got old and crazy.

i sure could use a right hand man of la mancha to take some photos.

maybe then i could spend a little more time actually being surprised.

the orange glow from the autumnal embers and ciaroscuro focus

seems to help hamper the hard style of lookin' like me all the time.

the darker the better, i guess,

when it comes to the optimal light for catchin' a glimpse of your main ninja, eh?

i figured some duders out there were wondering

about my devastatingly dashing good looks.

....yeah,

i still haven't found any,

but,

i'm slowly inching my way to contentment with my new short and sweet and sour hair.

what a day.

we had howlin' full-moonin' wolfmen and ladies in the studio today.

no, i really mean it;

bayin', sobbin', throbbin' and all that kind of warbled woeful wailing.

it makes for a loud hard work scenario.

leftover baked zitis and little corgi dogs are fillin' out the remains of the day.

tonight may see a replay of our onion-shaped orb of fiery hottness.

the front lawn and garden got a miniature makeover today;

jess yardworked it for all it was worth.

my weekend starts now, my ninjas.

all you sancho panzas had better believe it;

never quiet, never soft.....

glorious. laborious. victorious.

"it feels like it's really fall now. like the season just jumped off"
true enough, and well said, jim.
our buddy came by for dinner and the first fire at the new citadel.
jess's ma delivered us a chiminea,
and with the scaped-up raked-up bark and splinter leavings from the cords of woodsly goodness,
we blazed up a brief respite from the pre-fall fall in temperatures.

yeah,

those're the solar lights back behind my ladyfriend.

and that view is from the sherlockian study upstairs in the fortress.

times are being had ya'll.

and they're pretty flippin' good ones.

holiday weekends in a vacation town can be pretty sh!tty,

but we live on the opposite side of the traffic jam jamboree,

and there's no place we needed to go.

there's no place like home base, anyway.

all of that was after a nearly nauseating shark-gluttonous feast.

uh-huh,

shark gluttony is when you may have actually swallowed the fork,

and the napkin,

in a balls-out barbarian no-chewing allowed brutal noodle gnashin',

sauce bossy blop-bashin' feeding frenzy.

i made my unparalleled 5 pound pantload pannie-pan of italian thunder last night.

you read that right.

and you missed out, hard, on a chance to go insane

all the way from your tongue to your bung!

wooooooooord.

world-famous it ain't.....yet; but it sure should be.

because it is pretty mutha-uckin' incredible, edible, and unforgettable.

word to gettin' nude,

i came to eat food....

it's like rome gettin' razed by vandals in your mouth.

it's like alderaan gettin' F*d up by the de*th st*r behind your teeth.

it's like eating pornography...?

y'know, kinda awesome, but just so dirty.

okay, O-kay, okay;

it's actually just a big-ass tray of vegan baked ziti.

but it is also all of those other things too.

and i've even got some left over.

recognize.

never quiet, never soft.....