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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          • April 16, 2011 12:08 am
            Like me for instance, I made my money in writing. I held weekly short story contests on my website. Every week I would pay $100 to whoever wrote the best short story. Every week I won that contest.  I made like six bajillion dollars.  I’m soo rich baby. After a while I paid some fancy people from New York City to write the stories and run the website for me. Now I hang out in the park all day and piss myself. Laying in the tall grass swaddled in love by the hot, bright sun. “Soon all of our troubles will be over,” the sun whispers to me. A couple more writing contests and we can buy that place in the mountains… it’ll be just the two us us.

            Like me for instance, I made my money in writing. I held weekly short story contests on my website. Every week I would pay $100 to whoever wrote the best short story. Every week I won that contest.  I made like six bajillion dollars. 

            I’m soo rich baby.

            After a while I paid some fancy people from New York City to write the stories and run the website for me.

            Now I hang out in the park all day and piss myself.

            Laying in the tall grass

            swaddled in love

            by the hot, bright sun.

            “Soon all of our troubles will be over,” the sun whispers to me. A couple more writing contests and we can buy that place in the mountains… it’ll be just the two us us.

            49 notes Filed under:  silly stories, rum punch gun,.
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