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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          tell me lies! Submit stuff
          • November 6, 2012 12:25 pm
            Yes, thats my “I voted” sticker and yes my nipples are rock hard.

            Yes, thats my “I voted” sticker and yes my nipples are rock hard.

            82 notes Filed under:  gpoy, vote, obama,.
          • July 22, 2012 1:22 pm

            I’ve been told that I’m frightening the children during storytime. Isn’t that the whole point?

            46 notes Filed under:  There was an old lady who swallowed her dreams, gpoy,.
          • June 23, 2012 12:24 am
            Splash Nodding deep into the night listening to an old delight a mute black bird sings in my chest Don’t worry Its just an old Rod Stewart song not some mystical horseshit Sweet Jesus, all this candy breathes alot better when I live underwater.

            Splash

            Nodding deep into the night

            listening to an old delight

            a mute black bird

            sings in my chest

            Don’t worry

            Its just an old Rod Stewart song

            not some mystical horseshit

            Sweet Jesus, all this candy

            breathes alot better

            when I live underwater.

            30 notes Filed under:  gpoy, poetry, prose,.
          • April 14, 2012 2:01 am
            On waking up in jail She had a sweet madness in her breathe, like a delicious forgotten secret.  I kept waiting for her to tell me, I kept waiting for her to remember, but she never did. We just sat around the backyard slowly getting drunk, watching the sun tumble around the horizon. The darkness would splash at our legs and then on up to our minds until we were submerged completely. We sat dumb and giggling on the floor of an extinct ocean while prehistoric sea-monsters rolled past, their eyes the size of hubcabs, their teeth bigger than my fists.

            On waking up in jail

            She had a sweet madness in her breathe, like a delicious forgotten secret.  I kept waiting for her to tell me, I kept waiting for her to remember, but she never did.

            We just sat around the backyard slowly getting drunk, watching the sun tumble around the horizon. The darkness would splash at our legs and then on up to our minds until we were submerged completely. We sat dumb and giggling on the floor of an extinct ocean while prehistoric sea-monsters rolled past, their eyes the size of hubcabs, their teeth bigger than my fists.

            58 notes Filed under:  prose, gpoy,.
          • December 31, 2011 11:03 pm
            Blah Blah Blah Happy New Year Blah Blah Blah!!! from Hookers or Cake and poorly photoshopped Tom Waits!

            Blah Blah Blah Happy New Year Blah Blah Blah!!! from Hookers or Cake and poorly photoshopped Tom Waits!

            39 notes Filed under:  Tom Waits, Happy New Year!, GPOY,.
          • December 12, 2011 1:20 am
            There is a wild silence that ties itself to the trees falls from the leaves  telling ya “please baby please! won’t cha blow me?!” and tells you about a long ago war how god got frightened down at the store.   and lighting when its divided can run a sewing machine stitch together in my mind curling till I find the line running to 7-11 to get more cheap wine your laughter creates a breeze, and that in turn creates time to count all the rocks on Venus

            There is a wild silence that ties itself to the trees

            falls from the leaves 

            telling ya “please baby please! won’t cha blow me?!”


            and tells you about a long ago war

            how god got frightened down at the store.  

            and lighting when its divided

            can run a sewing machine


            stitch together in my mind

            curling till I find the line

            running to 7-11 to get more cheap wine


            your laughter creates a breeze, and that in turn creates time

            to count all the rocks on Venus

            40 notes Filed under:  The Ludicrous Breeze, gpoy, shitty poetry,.
          by Peter Vidani. For .
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