Hookers or Cake

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

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      • ------------------------------------- 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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          • October 18, 2009 1:13 pm
            Your feeling a little hungry so you skip across the street to 7-11. “Creeque Alley,” by the Mama’s & the Papas is playing over the stores sound system. You grab a Mickeys big mouth, a pack of Parliaments and make yourself a chili dog. Standing outside taking a huge bite, you see some little kid door ding the shit outta your Trans-Am. “Hey!” you shout, but in doing so you inhale the hotdog right down the wrong pipe. You try to swallow. Then you try to cough it up. Nothing. Your body begins convulsing in an effort to dislodge the dog. But its no use. You fall to your knees in front of the 7-11. The last thing you see is Liberace’s smiling face in the sky.The End back up or start at the beginning

            Your feeling a little hungry so you skip across the street to 7-11. “Creeque Alley,” by the Mama’s & the Papas is playing over the stores sound system. You grab a Mickeys big mouth, a pack of Parliaments and make yourself a chili dog.

            Standing outside taking a huge bite, you see some little kid door ding the shit outta your Trans-Am.

            “Hey!” you shout, but in doing so you inhale the hotdog right down the wrong pipe. You try to swallow. Then you try to cough it up. Nothing. Your body begins convulsing in an effort to dislodge the dog. But its no use. You fall to your knees in front of the 7-11.

            The last thing you see is Liberace’s smiling face in the sky.

            The End

            back up or start at the

            1 note Filed under:  Choose your own mustache, choose your own adventure, mustache,.
            1. hookersorcake posted this
          by Peter Vidani. For .
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