Hookers or Cake

Where the self-obsessed get serious about silly
I'm too wacky to be hip.

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      ------------------------------------ There was a large painting of Evel Knievel shaking hands with Richard Nixon. It hung in the Mayors office. Late one evening after everyone went home. I took it down to the lab. I zoomed in on Evel’s left eye a 100x and enhanced it. It was an address. I went to the address. It was a modest, 1970’s style, split level ranch home in the suburbs.

      ----------------------------------- Inside I found a dead parrot lying on a waterbed. I revived the parrot with some saltines and adrenaline. We became good friends. The parrots name was Randy. One night a few years later while Randy and me played Gin Rummy, he sang me a song about a fire. The title of this blog was never mentioned but I sensed it, and Randy confirmed it by giving me ‘THE LOOK’.

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          • November 23, 2010 10:06 am
            “I haven’t been touched like that in ages,” Rose whispered to Stella after the mandatory TSA pat down. “Hell I aint been touched period, in… well I guess its been almost 20 years.” sighed Stella. The dormant oxytocin released into their systems as a result of human contact now produced a flush and rush of feelings and emotions. “I need a fucking cigarette,” declared Stella standing up. “Oh Stella, there aint a cigarette around here for twenty miles.” “Bullshit!” Stella blurted. “I saw a smoking room next to that bar. Come on Rose, lets go get a drink.” And the two of them tottered off in search of a Pall Mall and a proper Tom Collins. Later that evening someone got a phone call. It seems that grandma had broke her hip, falling off of a bar. words by Hookers or Cake pic via rrrick

            “I haven’t been touched like that in ages,” Rose whispered to Stella after the mandatory TSA pat down.

            “Hell I aint been touched period, in… well I guess its been almost 20 years.” sighed Stella.

            The dormant oxytocin released into their systems as a result of human contact now produced a flush and rush of feelings and emotions.

            “I need a fucking cigarette,” declared Stella standing up.

            “Oh Stella, there aint a cigarette around here for twenty miles.”

            “Bullshit!” Stella blurted. “I saw a smoking room next to that bar. Come on Rose, lets go get a drink.”

            And the two of them tottered off in search of a Pall Mall and a proper Tom Collins.

            Later that evening someone got a phone call. It seems that grandma had broke her hip, falling off of a bar.

            words by Hookers or Cake pic via

            (Source: )

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