Hookers or Cake

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

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    • Illustration
    • My Video's
    • The best of Hookers or Cake
    • ------------------------------------- How this blog got its name

      ------------------------------------ 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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      • Inspiration
      • art
      • ----------------------------------------- some tumblr friends

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        • Rrrick
        • Fuzzy Dave
        • Wonder Tonic
        • ----------------------------------------- some writing

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          • Josh Luft
          • I'm a Veronica
        • Mr. King was here
          • Aloha Friday
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          tell me lies! Submit stuff
          • October 17, 2009 12:35 am
            You find the address in Hermosa Beach. Its a nice house on a hill,overlooking the Pacific Ocean. Not sure what your getting yourself into, you take yer .38 revolver out of the glove box and put it in your pocket. What a beautiful day it is, as you gaze at the ocean. The house is quiet, you knock and listen intently. A few moments later the man who you saw on the video opens the door. He nods, smiles and motions you inside, you follow him to the back of the house. There is a quiet zen garden with a koi fish pound. “I am Mr. Chief Billy” he says bowing slightly. You bow your head and introduce yourself. You tell Mr. Chief Billy your story. He is quiet and still. He takes a long drink of his Super Big Gulp and clears his throat. “Your friend Frank is here. He is sleeping upstairs. He or rather, his mustache, has opened a gateway to another dimension. Your friend is not strong enough of a spirit to keep these rascals at bay, so I have stepped in on his behalf. Let me go see if he is awake.” The Chief leaves. You look around. You need to piss so you step off to the side of the house to relieve yourself. Voices. Not Franks or the Chiefs. Coming from the front of the house. Sounds like Russians. Dammit! Musta tailed me. Sneaking around towards the front of the house you peek through a knothole in the fence. Yep 2 of em, holding Makarov pistols. They kick the front door in, Shit!Do you pull your .38 and blaze in after emorDo you hightail it outta here while they’re preoccupied . *** art by Mark Weaver ***

            You find the address in Hermosa Beach. Its a nice house on a hill,overlooking the Pacific Ocean. Not sure what your getting yourself into, you take yer .38 revolver out of the glove box and put it in your pocket.

            What a beautiful day it is, as you gaze at the ocean. The house is quiet, you knock and listen intently. A few moments later the man who you saw on the video opens the door. He nods, smiles and motions you inside, you follow him to the back of the house. There is a quiet zen garden with a koi fish pound.

            “I am Mr. Chief Billy” he says bowing slightly. You bow your head and introduce yourself. You tell Mr. Chief Billy your story.

            He is quiet and still. He takes a long drink of his Super Big Gulp and clears his throat. “Your friend Frank is here. He is sleeping upstairs. He or rather, his mustache, has opened a gateway to another dimension. Your friend is not strong enough of a spirit to keep these rascals at bay, so I have stepped in on his behalf. Let me go see if he is awake.” The Chief leaves. You look around. You need to piss so you step off to the side of the house to relieve yourself.

            Voices. Not Franks or the Chiefs. Coming from the front of the house. Sounds like Russians. Dammit! Musta tailed me. Sneaking around towards the front of the house you peek through a knothole in the fence. Yep 2 of em, holding Makarov pistols. They kick the front door in, Shit!

            Do you after em

            or

            Do you while they’re preoccupied

            .

            *** art by Mark Weaver ***