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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          • June 24, 2010 9:45 am
            God’s secret identity part 1,354,661,407 The original version of Rogers and Hammersteins classic musical Oklahoma! was just 3 hours of God shaving his balls in a mirror while the devil played trombone. The critics yawned. So then the play was supposed to end with a World War III of ironic pie fights, but the bakers always got lost on the lower east side. The nights got so dark that we had to pin on bells lest we lose our very selves. Various sounds and whispers spent hours on their hands and knees feeling their way along a road that wasn’t even here yet. The thieves licking thier lips. God cursing as he nics himself for, like the billionth time.

            God’s secret identity part 1,354,661,407

            The original version of Rogers and Hammersteins classic musical Oklahoma! was just 3 hours of God shaving his balls in a mirror while the devil played trombone.

            The critics yawned.

            So then the play was supposed to end with a World War III of ironic pie fights, but the bakers always got lost on the lower east side.

            The nights got so dark that we had to pin on bells lest we lose our very selves.

            Various sounds and whispers spent hours on their hands and knees feeling their way along a road that wasn’t even here yet.

            The thieves licking thier lips.

            God cursing as he nics himself for, like the billionth time.


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