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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          • March 16, 2012 12:41 am
            I feel kinda selfish, always writing and making up silly shit. Artists are selfish that way, but I’m not even an artist and really not many people are any more. Perhaps that’s what is to become of us all. A bunch of vain bores whose only art is our absurd unfounded narcissism.Like a rock screaming into a mirror, “I’m so fucking hard, baby!”Its so obvious, yet so mesmerizing, I mean the rock could smash the mirror but then he’d have to pay attention to reality and reality is a mushy mess. Not hard and smooth, like rock. Sorry, prattling on again… where was I? Oh yeah, me! Yeah, I’m pretty neat. So let me pretend to care about each and every one of you, when I ask, “How are you?” and while you are jabbering away I’ll just be zoning out and thinking about me, and how fluffy and giggly I am.

            I feel kinda selfish, always writing and making up silly shit. Artists are selfish that way, but I’m not even an artist and really not many people are any more. Perhaps that’s what is to become of us all. A bunch of vain bores whose only art is our absurd unfounded narcissism.

            Like a rock screaming into a mirror, “I’m so fucking hard, baby!”
            Its so obvious, yet so mesmerizing, I mean the rock could smash the mirror but then he’d have to pay attention to reality and reality is a mushy mess. Not hard and smooth, like rock.

            Sorry, prattling on again… where was I? Oh yeah, me! Yeah, I’m pretty neat. So let me pretend to care about each and every one of you, when I ask, “How are you?” and while you are jabbering away I’ll just be zoning out and thinking about me, and how fluffy and giggly I am.

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            10. said: Reminds me of a line my friends keep quoting back to me: “Reality is a butthole I refuse to fuck.”
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            12. hookersorcake posted this