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 11:58 pm

            Its never to early in Vegas for a drink. You wander across the street to Rum Runners. Much to your disappointment the joint is pretty dead. A couple of old folks pulling slots, a mustachioed bartender and some dancing girl in the back. You amble up to the bar and order a Harvey Wallbanger. The bored stripper is twirling absentmindedly around a pole. You might as well sample the wares… so you wander over and sit down. The song suddenly changes to one of your songs, Mustache Fuss. The DJ musta recognized ya. You look around but you don’t see a DJ.

            “Whats with the music?” you ask the stripper.

            “Oh the jukebox has got a mind of its own,” she sighs, “Wanna Dance?” she smiles, nodding towards some red curtains in the back. She’s surprisingly cute and young especially for such an off the strip, dive. The whole vibe seems a little bit odd.

            Do you and head to a private room


            Do you politely decline and

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