the lower kingdoms.

awwwww,
look at this big-headed weirdie:

he hung out all dang day,
watching me stack wood.
we moved him a couple times,
as our logs got higher and farther and deeper an' that.
he's still there now.
i'm only showing y'all his adorable segments, neighbors,
because he helps dilute the disgusting horror
you're about to check, via teleport:

ugh.
welcome to my nightmares, ninjas.
that mean mama-jama is munching a locust
the size of my thumb.
and my thumb is flippin' huuuuge.
gross-out explosion, kids.
seriously.
i will spray a sphere of vomit and panic out of my whole head.
and then punch myself unconcious,
over and over and over.
i just can't hang out....at ALL, y'all.
huh?
yeah,
it does get worse:

c'mon.
she's the exact same F*ing size, b!tches.
they're everywhere under our eaves.
eating,
and growing,
and eating,
and spinning,
and catching,
and horrifying.
i am honestly considering sh!tting my pants,
just to get the feeling of sh!tting my pants
over with.
that's my instinctive reaction.
what?
yeah,
there are about a billion wood/wolf/jumping/brown
and hairy, scary, and totally awful, massive monsters
in all their eight-legged splendor,
all up and over the newly delivered wood.
ugh, ugh, UGH!
we inherited a whole subspecies of disaster.
in fact,
i'm gonna get in the shower,
and scrub away the day,
with slapping at imaginary arachnids in my beard.
goosebumps, duders.
i've got 'em,
and it's honestly like eighty degrees outside.
groooooooooooooooooooooosssssss.
pants-sh!t, suckas;
never quiet, never soft.....

adios, augustus.

this is it, duders.
summertime is on it's way out,
in spite of what the calendar says.
august is all done.
what the F*?!
y'know what we got rad doo-dooing today?
i'll give you a hint-
my hands are full of splinters,
through the workgloves i was wearing,
and my arms and back feel as old as they actually are.
yuuuuuuuuuuuuuuup.
woodstackin', my ninjas.
we get busy like that.
a little over half the heap,
hauled and hefted,
and stowed away in the big sexy shed.
word up, neighbors,
check the teleport:

c'mon.
it looks lovely, doesn't it?
i know.
but still, suckas,
there's all this left to piece together
and tetris puzzle stack in rows:

awwwwwwwww, man.
but compare it yesterday's post,
and you can see we've removed molto mountains
of maple and oak, no joke...
we're even being smart, too.
huh?
birch burns quick,
and hot,
and is terrible for really cold weather,
since it flashes up in smoke,
and the coals wither away with expedience.
as such,
we're keepin' it real by keepin' it separate:

smart.
like i said.
so far we've got three piles of white and grey
put aside for autumny ignition.
use it up early,
and save the super-hard long-burning business
for the dead of february.
yeah.
***********
august needed a send-off worthy of warriors,
and their culinary poetry in motion.
we used primal ingredients, mutha-'uckas.
y'know,
like hot fire!

affirmative, A*blasters,
we grilled it up.
garden fresh patty pans, son!
and flame-broiled bread with that extra-virgin jauns.
c'mon.
*
in other,
more EXPERT news,
ZERO heavy industries A.R.-15-type lower receivers
are, at long last, in stock and awaiting assembly.
that means you can order a rifle.
in fact,
it means you really should email me immediately,
and order a couple.
your arsenal of zombie defense is not complete without one.
get on it.
*
august, i'll miss you,
but it's time for apples and pumpkins
and raking leaves and planting mums.
new england IS autumn, mutha-lickas,
and new hampshire IS new england.
recognize;
never quiet, never soft.....

would.

cords and cords and cords and cords
and cords and cords and cords.
duders,
the special delivery trucks came by and dropped off
a whole humongous heap or three of some royally
righteous maple, oak, beech, birch, and locust.
just sayin', neighbors-
corduroy is the fabric of kings,
but cordwood is the fabric of reality.
yuuuuuuuuuuup.
y'all ninjas know what time it is:

wooooooooooood!
and that's not even the half of it.
literally.

seven cords of hardwood,
for your face!!!
the main ingredient in hot fire,
and the primary component of warm winter lodging.
we've got a forest's worth of felled logs,
cut. split. seasoned. the works.
guess who gets to spend tomorrow pilin' it up?
yeah!
man's work, mutha-'uckas.
i doo-doo that sweaty toil-type sh!t.
that new sexy wood hut we've got hangin' out
is about to get packed full of this year's goodness.
that's right, kids.
stayin' roasty toasty in the woodsly realm.
the Fortress is stocked,
and the logs are getting stacked,
and the whole dang thing is really happening.
***********
elsah's berfday?
......expert.
green elephant?
deliciousness, in massive overdoses.
were there any wrapping-papered treats?
c'mon.
what are we?
A*-holes?
of course we packed a party bag full of dopeness.
you should know about our competent compliments.
seriously.
we've had a rad day,
a rad night,
and a rad friend in elsah.
we're grateful for the time we've been given,
and especially grateful for the worth-a-damn
duders and ninjas we span it with.
believe it, b!tches;
never quiet, never soft.....

the drop off.

duders,
where the F* did summertime go?
for real.
we've got perfect weather
sending us straight towards september.
but that hardly even seems to matter.
the post-rainstorm reality up here is still.
still, as in: tranquil, placid, quiet.
all the out-of-towners left ahead of the rain,
and it's dang-near deserted up here now.
i like it.
a lot.
traffic?
nope.
crowded shops and restaurants?
uh-uh.
busy tattbomb studio?
no sir.
awwwwwww.
that's the cost, neighbors.
idyllic woodsly solitude is only available
at the expense of those sorely-needed movie checks.
ouch.
well,
that may be only part of the overall big picture expense.
all the washed-out wires and branches,
and the destruction at the swollen riversides.
there's that sh!t, too.
over here at the Fortress, we lost power, finally, too.
honestly,
tea and toast doesn't lose much flavor when you've
got a gas range and oven, y'all.
and the juice was back on by 11 a.m. anyway.
so much for roughing it.
all's well that ends.
regardless of how, just as long as it does.
like today.
over.
and done.
tomorrow,
the weekend gets underway.
wood deliveries,
sewer line construction,
tree and vine planting,
and lawn mowing....
not to mention the first day of school for my kids,
and elsah's berfday,
and a probable trip to get fatter than fat
at the green elephant.
three weeks of going downeast to portland, maine,
in a row.
luckily,
i won't need to return until dark dark dark
get there on the 26th of september.
you ARE going, right?
they're playing everywhere in new england,
if you don't go see 'em,
we can't hang out anymore.
decreed, duders;
never quiet, never soft.....

storm surges.

robobotrons.
you know i love 'em.
seriously,
i can't get enough.
they've gotta be clunky dorkbots, though.
no slick streamlined spaceship sh!t.
that's weak sauce, for sure.
i need that steam-powered bucket-o'-bolts jauns.
that's what's up.
we're surviving the savage stormswept wetness,
and our washed-away roadway,
and all the otherwise non-incidental drizzles
of a regular old rainstorm, disguised (hyped)
as a horrifying hurricane of harm and hazard.
serious safety measures seem excessive in this instance.
and here i was kind of looking forward to
a barbaric blackout of rough usage and hard times.
awwwwww.
neighbors,
maybe we'll just turn the lights off,
light some candles,
and the (aptly named) hurricane lanterns,
and camp out in the sunroom.....
but not until my science-experiment art party
is over and done with.
huh?
why else would i mention robobotronics?
duders,
i've been doodling.
for real.
not that i'm gettin' F*-all accomplished by doo-dooing it,
but there is bobot-building arthur makeyness
underway in the woodsly goodness.
yuuuuuuuup:

hard-hearted,
hard-headed,
hard-pounding...
...from the future, my ninjas.
that there is a self-contained dildoid tentaculator.
right?
you know it.
i think i'll have to lop off one of it's legs, though.
then,
it'll be an eleven-limbed construct,
and therefore just a little bit more expert....
***********
when the weather outside is supposed to be scary,
the rednecks come out in force.
pickup trucks and loggin' boots, kids.
if you weren't wearin' 'em,
you didn't come into white mountain tattoo today,
that's for sure.
i mean,
i was there, too,
in my usual sunday best,
drawing 'bots.
and watching the water levels rise.
it's all happening,
even when it's not quite the master disasterpiece
one might've been hoping for.
the hard rain sounds pretty soothing on the roof.
pittering, pattering, and splattering,
as the juice pours out of the sky,
and permeates the entirety of our delighted earth;
never quiet, never soft.....

visitations.

hey there!
duders,
we went out tonight for some pre-storm fun.
that's a real thing.
we didn't go to a restaurant,
we didn't go to the movies
although we did doo-doo that last night,
and conan the barbarian was just right
just like we knew the berserker fury hottness would be.
it had all the ingredients i expected, in 3D.
swords?
yeah.
chopping arms and legs and heads?
heck yeah.
sorcery and monsters?
yep.
boobs?
you know it.
-
but no, y'all,
that wasn't what we did at all tonight.
tonight,
after we'd gone home to take care
of our responsible adult duties,
after work left us feeling hollowed-out and used up,
we left the safe haven and hermitage of the Fortress,
and went out to have dinner with friends...
...at their house.
i swear to god, neighbors,
we really did.
going over to grown adults' houses,
as grown adults ourselves,
without the gauntleted fist of tight, restrictive,
controlling, firmly-clenched Folk Life tyranny of
our own snactified sanctuary.
other people's places, instead of ours.
F* that comfort zone jauns, i guess.
a free-flowing free form interaction, kids.
we did it.
and i don't think i ruined it for us, either.
i'm never positive about that,
but i'm pretty flippin' sure at any rate.
yuuuuup,
eric, jenny, and morgaine made us supper.
we tried not to shark glutton it too grotesquely...
...on the first helpings at least.
after that,
it was the chompa-chomp of hard-style
heaping helpings of hot homecooked healthiness.
vegan food!!!
and it wasn't even vegan just because of us.
smart vegans in the woodsly goodness, y'all.
we found 'em.
***********
today was a good day, neighbors.
some anonymous duder brought me an iced coffee,
george showed up with pizza and pipe tobacco,
toby and erin brought me a 'naughty' gingerbread pornament,
and we had a saturday night out.
tomorrow is supposed to be a scary rainstorm,
but tonight it's all clear on the northern front.
unlike the western one,
where it gets pretty noiseless,
or so i've read.
up here,
in the mountains, even on a clear night,
it's always;
never quiet, never soft..... 

hunkering down, bunkering in.

neighbors,
i got home late.
why, and where was i?
i'll tell you-
i had to go-go-go to the store,
and make sure we had the necessary components
for a hurricane survival escapade.
bread, milk, whatever, an' that,.
that's what wasn't on the list, y'all.
we have important concerns over here
beyond the bulk-bought bushels of staple food we stockpile.
i had to go to the store to insure happy night-times.
huh?
no,
naughty-pants.
not that.
i had to get treats!
i've got packs and packs of snacks, kids.
it's true.
snacks are a must in this house.
the wifey can't go more than a mini-minute without
shoving shovelfuls of treats into her mouth.
it's real.
she's an elite snack-destroying, salty treat-seeking mrs.
and she needs to have the savory favorites for her face.
without 'em,
oh man, there's trouble in paradise,
and even worse trouble in the woodsly goodness.
snacks are what keep me safe.
no snacks, no peace.
word up.
so,
in the interests of marital bliss,
and physical safety,
it's snack time.
i may eventually be murdered in my bed,
but it won't be tonight.
or at least it won't be tonight by my wifey's own hand,
but possibly by her negligence.
snack-bomb comatose sleep is the sleep of oblivion, kids.
i guess we'll see what happens...
***********
there are stocks of all the comestibles,
but there's one thing i'm running out of:
duders,
i'm eating my nerd book rations too quickly.
serious.
my head is filled with wizards and warlocks,
spellcasters, sorcerers, mages, arcanists,
summoners, multiple 'mancers, and magicians.
no joke, my ninjas.
it's high nerd season at summer's end,
and the Fortress is beseiged by page-eating
superdork word-devouring gluttony.
bookworms, b!tches,
are only half as hungry as your homeboy in the hills.
i stayed up until the break-a-break of dawn,
gnoshing down a novel of narniaesque-extrapolation,
and immediately when i woke up just a baby nap later,
i got poppin' on some forgotten realms.
i remembered.
oh, c'mon.
now,
tonight,
to take a break from reading all
about barbarians and battle-beasts,
we're gonna get hawaiian-style on some late night sh!t.
the other conan, friends.
the one with the sword chops and skull-crush kicks an' all that.
yuuuuuuuuuuuuup.
the sword never sleeps;
never quiet, never soft.....

recovering, uncovering, and covering up...

duders,
it's rainy in the forest.
it's rainy everywhere, really-
now,
everybody who lives on the correct coast
of the united states already knows all about that.
there's powerful stormswept raging weather afoot.
heck,
we've got hurricane forces hurtling towards us.
that's just nature....winning.
a brutal barbarian brouhaha of precarious precipitation.
in the air,
on the ground,
and swirling all over the flippin' place.
kinda made me want to curl up with a nerd book
and take it easy under the covers.
instead,
it was time to get back on the grind,
with my inflamed inner thigh,
and knocked-about knee parts kicking my A*.
neighbors,
even a day later,
i still hate getting tattooed.
just sayin',
even a checked teleport can't cure this:

ouch.
and yes,
that's a samurai general holding up my weiner with a stick.
initially unintentional,
but currently pretty awesome, for sure.
it feels like all the rain in the world could not soothe
the hard-style hot fire i'm cooking under.
word.
***********
in other news,
i started a pretty mutha-'ucking big cover-up today.
me and my fine points got busy,
and business was down and dirty, y'heard me?
 i marky mark 'em, with my magical markers, my duders...
our buddy george had a regrettable, forgettable
doo-doo buttery patch of poop
on his impressively appointed calf.
now,
he's got half a poop boat,
but also the beginnings of a werewolfen warrior beastman.
yuuuuuuuuup.

c'mon.
how many lines is too many?
you know it.
there's no such thing.
i know you're surprised,
not just a tattoo picture, but an in-progress one, as well.
the wonders never cease, i guess.
we did a whole bunch of lining,
and a barrelful of black,
but by the time we got down to brown,
the shattered skin and shinbone had had enough of all that.
so,
until next time, ninjas;
never quiet, never soft.....

blasted.

ugh.
duders,
it's high time i let y'all in on a little somethin'.
i haaaaaaaaaaaaate getting tattooed.
hard.
harder than ever, even.
every single time i get tattbombed, zapped, or blasted,
i get the shivery quivers,
the cold shakes,
and the achy breaks all over.
for the record,
it's hard to type
when you've got the tooth-chattering goosebumps.
so,
by now you know what i did today.
yuuuuuuuup.
good guess.
i did get hit up and lit up in portland, maine,
all tsunami tattoo-type family dopeness.
and i loved the atmosphere,
and i loved the company i kept,
but the knee/inner thigh/more knee hot fire?
hard hearted hate escaped my furnaces,
in between the grimaces and gut crunches.
and just what have i got to show for it?
shades of grey.
and a big missing part of the day.
that makes two days,
in a row,
of tons and tons of car rides,
eating up the miles and absolutely devouring my weekend.
now,
it's time to get basted with barbarian bouillon,
or at least some scalding shower water,
and suit up in my sweatshirt and socks,
and get ready to sh-sh-sh-shake it up.
***********
i'll leave you ninjas with a little bit of
my vicious, virtuous valkyrie vixens:

c'mon, neighbors,
that's what's up.
i don't know what was going on,
but i know what i like when i see it,
and my eyeballs are wide open;
never quiet, never soft.....

the upside.

traditions, kids.
that's the way we get it poppin'.
and shen i say poppin'?
yuuuuuuuuup.
i mean G-POP.pin'.
garlic powder, onion powder,
and the noooootch!!
what kind of uber-hottness happens when
i add the baby treetops to that concoction?
if you don't know,
this may be your first time,
and i'll let it slide the once,
but the rest of you b!tchbags
all know what time it is, right?
riiiiight.
time to check that miki-fikin' mutha-lickin' teleport:

BOO-YA, ninjas!
that's right.
mutha-uckin' broccoli bread.
this is how experts get expert(e).
don't fret about the bottom-bloppity blowout.
it's pure and simply cosmetic damage.
structurally?
this oblong bundle of broccoli and bread is sound...
...SON!
y'see that pot of red deliciousness?
tomato-style dippin' sauce.
italiano, kids.
that's a thing.
ready to go one slice deeper?

c'mon.
as usual,
daddy gets both butts.
that's how we do that sh!t at the Fortress.
we're leavin' with full bellies,
and fond memories.
the last broccoli bread until thanksgiving.
and you missed it.
ah, well,
you've got many months notice, now,
to gear up and get ready for that radness when it happens.
you've been made aware of when and where,
now make it happen.
wordimus prime;
never quiet, never soft.....

exeunt.

awwwwwwwwwwwwwwww, man.
this is it.
summer's over, as far as i'm concerned.
harvest and maple go away, today.
exit, stage left, an' that.
true story.
it's time to pick up, pack up, and push off-
we run the risky roadways of new england,
on a garish gambit to asscrackachussetts,
for a midway battle to brush back tears,
on a hard-style hostage swap-type handoff and changeover,
and barrel-A* our butts back home again,
empty handed, empty-hearted, and empty nested.
yuuuuuuuuuuup.
school starts in a mini-minute,
and the gallant girlie-girls have got to get reindoctrinated
to the nutmeg nancypants waterbaby weak sauce sorcery
of their native state of residence,
and leave behind the iron-clad castings of viking virtue
and woodsly goodsly active expertism.
neighbors,
that's just not that dope.
fact.
*
what were we doo-dooing last night,
besides not blogging?
well,
it was our last night together for a while,
so we got rad,
to eleven:

hell yeah!
hot fire, my ninjas.
harvest built the initial pyre,
and then we played with matches.
c'mon.
beau even came by,
to get a last-minute dose of the dopeness,
and we all drank root beers,
got roasty toasty by the barbarian blaze,
and generally enjoyed the time we had left.
that's appreciation for What Is.
duders,
we even left work early to get started
on all the intensive family togetherness jauns.
real mutha-uckas do real things,
and sometimes that means telling the tattbombers
to get bent, get lost, and get out of the way.
we're on that making the minutes matter jauns.
tomorrow,
we'll all worry about where we're at,
today,
we're happy about where we ARE.
*
now it's time, y'all.
to load up cars,
gas up the petrol tanks,
and eat up the miles.
weekend day off?
not hardly.
this is the hardest style, kids.
and whether you say goodbye,
farewell,
adios,
aloha,
adieu,
arrivederci,
or whatever the F*,
it still sucks balls.
summer, yo.
over and out, connecticut.
i am grateful for this time,
and for the worthiest ones i span it with.
it's all really happening,
each and every single thing;
never quiet, never soft.....