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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          • December 2, 2011 12:57 am
            It was shortly after the war that my dead mother began sending me ice cream. Every afternoon at 5:30 sharp a big black limousine would pull up and the driver would get out. The limo’s rear window would lower, a bit of smoke would come out and a gloved hand would hold out a gallon bucket of ice cream for the driver to deliver to my doorstep. Always a different flavor. The driver was a young fumbling man who always said the same thing. “Its from your mom.” And then he’d hustle back to the limo, hop in and take off. Its funny, because I don’t recall anything significant about my mom and icecream. I think it was the 5th day when I opened the door to see a gallon of rocky road thrust in my face that I lost it. I ran down the sidewalk screaming at the limo, “My mothers been dead for seven years!” You think this is funny?!” The rear window lowered and I saw someone. It was a form of light wearing a set of black and white coveralls. It looked at me and I tried to stop but I stumbled and was sucked through the window into the beings mouth. Everything went black and I fell backwards down a long tunnel. I landed in a white room and lost consciousness. When I awoke I was approached by 7 cute little kittens, and by the way they looked at me, I knew I was in trouble. I tried to move but I’d been tied up. Those cute little kittens tortured me for 2 or 3 days. They cut off little pieces of me with their tongues until I was a screaming pile of bleeding sand. I sat there, every molecule exploding in searing pain until the pain become nothing but a dull roar. I then watched a hawk slowly circle down from high in the sky, it landed on my head and relieved itself. After that I was forced to listen to Careless Whisper by George Micheal for about a week until I dried up completely and blew away on a southeasterly wind across a vast ocean and slowly reformed back in my own kitchen. There was a knock at the door. Wow, deja-vu. It was 5:30 again. I went to the door. The driver held a gallon of rocky road out to me. I stared at the limo and the back window slowly rolled up. I took the Rocky Road, my mind agape. I went back inside and ate the entire gallon, alternately weeping and laughing. It was delicious.

            It was shortly after the war that my dead mother began sending me ice cream.

            Every afternoon at 5:30 sharp a big black limousine would pull up and the driver would get out. The limo’s rear window would lower, a bit of smoke would come out and a gloved hand would hold out a gallon bucket of ice cream for the driver to deliver to my doorstep. Always a different flavor. The driver was a young fumbling man who always said the same thing. “Its from your mom.” And then he’d hustle back to the limo, hop in and take off.

            Its funny, because I don’t recall anything significant about my mom and icecream. I think it was the 5th day when I opened the door to see a gallon of rocky road thrust in my face that I lost it. I ran down the sidewalk screaming at the limo, “My mothers been dead for seven years!” You think this is funny?!” The rear window lowered and I saw someone. It was a form of light wearing a set of black and white coveralls. It looked at me and I tried to stop but I stumbled and was sucked through the window into the beings mouth. Everything went black and I fell backwards down a long tunnel. I landed in a white room and lost consciousness. When I awoke I was approached by 7 cute little kittens, and by the way they looked at me, I knew I was in trouble. I tried to move but I’d been tied up. Those cute little kittens tortured me for 2 or 3 days. They cut off little pieces of me with their tongues until I was a screaming pile of bleeding sand. I sat there, every molecule exploding in searing pain until the pain become nothing but a dull roar. I then watched a hawk slowly circle down from high in the sky, it landed on my head and relieved itself. After that I was forced to listen to Careless Whisper by George Micheal for about a week until I dried up completely and blew away on a southeasterly wind across a vast ocean and slowly reformed back in my own kitchen.

            There was a knock at the door. Wow, deja-vu. It was 5:30 again. I went to the door. The driver held a gallon of rocky road out to me. I stared at the limo and the back window slowly rolled up. I took the Rocky Road, my mind agape. I went back inside and ate the entire gallon, alternately weeping and laughing. It was delicious.