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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          • July 18, 2011 11:55 pm
            Poetry is for when you don’t have time to text emoticons. I want to fuck your heart tear the sky apart take you to Walmart and buy ya anything you want. A generator?? Really?! a fucking generator thats like $700 bucks. For that I could buy a bucket of chicken, a 12 pack, some of that good medical marijuana, and still have enough left to pay a troupe of clowns to beat the shit out of each other. I was thinking perhaps a lava lamp or maybe a video game or maybe a couple of model cars that we could both put together. …you always gotta go and crush the mood with your expensive practicality.

            Poetry is for when you don’t have time to text emoticons.

            I want to fuck your heart

            tear the sky apart

            take you to Walmart

            and buy ya anything you want.

            A generator?? Really?! a fucking generator

            thats like $700 bucks. For that I could buy a bucket of chicken, a 12 pack, some of that good medical marijuana, and still have enough left to pay a troupe of clowns to beat the shit out of each other.

            I was thinking perhaps a lava lamp or maybe a video game

            or maybe a couple of model cars that we could both put together.

            …you always gotta go and crush the mood with your expensive practicality.

            41 notes Filed under:  worst Gin Blossums song ever, prose,.
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