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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          • May 19, 2012 11:32 pm
             Lament of the used-car-salesman  The Saturday night parties are just getting started I ‘m making banana bread and trying convince my dog that one can learn how to control their dreams. He doesn’t believe me. The wife is out of town… I should be driving an overpriced import and doing cocaine with ridiculous looking women at some terrible club. Making jokes about postmodern sofas. I should be wearing cuff-links made out of Woodrow Wilson’s teeth and jumping over the Grand Canyon while enjoying 50% percent fewer calories. I should be roaring through deep black space, the unblinking eye of god, being eternally reborn. But here I am wrestling on the kitchen floor with a wolf, waiting patiently for snacks.

             Lament of the used-car-salesman 

            The Saturday night parties are just getting started

            I ‘m making banana bread and trying convince my dog that one can learn how to control their dreams. He doesn’t believe me.

            The wife is out of town… I should be driving an overpriced import and doing cocaine with ridiculous looking women at some terrible club. Making jokes about postmodern sofas. I should be wearing cuff-links made out of Woodrow Wilson’s teeth and jumping over the Grand Canyon while enjoying 50% percent fewer calories. I should be roaring through deep black space, the unblinking eye of god, being eternally reborn.

            But here I am wrestling on the kitchen floor with a wolf, waiting patiently for snacks.

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            4. said: LOVE!
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            12. said: nice
            13. hookersorcake posted this