Hookers or Cake

If time is but eternity’s veil, and if we are to live as one in the present moment, we should probably all get naked.

- Wu Nu - the thirteenth pervert of zen

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.

The New Age shop down the way started selling sex toys. It was only a matter of time once they started selling tantric sex yoga books. Its a slippery slope.

I’d wandered in to see if they had any Wilhelm Riech books for my dominatrix, Marie, and I discovered they had a whole ‘sexuality’ section. I was pleasantly suprised to see a couple of ‘spiritual fisting’ books and what could be best desribed as a gigantic dildo section.

“Come on! I’m a middle aged white guy in a new age gift shop, I obviously have inadequecy issues, do you have to wave giant cocks in my face?”

While a lesbian couple snickered at my obvious discomfort, I spied the best thing I had ever seen. Dildo Ouroboros: A motorized sex toy that fuck’s itself. The box was emblazoned with slogans:

• A real conversation piece (if you can keep it out of your mouth!)
• You can fuck it - it can fuck you - or it can fuck itself!
• For the hard to please narcissist.
• Buy several and make a chain of ‘fucking machines’ to bind your hands and feet as you drown in a endless sea of desperation!

Wow, I betcha my lawyer would enjoy one of these. Hell, I might as well get one for my guru too.

I’ve had a couple of offers over the last year to write “humorous stories” for blogs. The problem is that places always want me to eliminate politics, sex, religion and cursing. I wonder if they’ve ever read my blog or if this is some strange ongoing hoax. But, I’m always excited to be offered money for my stories, so I give it a whirl.

One story I wrote involved a self cleaning oven that becomes filled with doubt and stops cleaning itself.  A repairman is sent out and the oven falls desperately in love with him and then there’s like 3 pages of the most explicit self cleaning oven fucking that I’ve ever written, followed by a graphic murder/suicide lovers quarrel. Strangely the only edit changes they suggested were that I change the self cleaning oven into an Apple product and if I could, change the phrase grudge fuck to hate fuck. I guess hate fuck trends a little better with their demographic.

Experimenting with social media.

I can chant shit poetry all the live long day. 

But as long as I post it with a pic of a naked

famous chick

It’ll get notes and reblogs and then I can say to myself,

“They love me for my poetry.

They love me for my art.”

Its not for my fake celebrity tits

they truly see the depths of my soul

and they like/love/reblog and I feel full

no longer made of holes

I am fucked completely.

I know, because they make us go through being human before we can become full fledged demons. When I was human, towards the end, I had a Real Doll made in my own image. I then had sex with it and took it to a fancy dinner. We went to the Sizzler.  It was out of sight, man.

In the parking lot me and my real doll made love again but we got into an argument about pudding, I don’t want to go into it here, but let the record show, I think pudding is really awesome! So I began punching my real doll in its stupid head with a tire iron. After gnashing my teeth and gouging out my eyes I ingested the real doll in its entire material form and became the fully licensed demon you see standing before you now. Basically, I live on the edge of town under the highway bridge and I scream at cars all day. Its a living, right?

So in the middle of the night I have a lot of time to think, I’ve been thinking a lot about evil, because all demons are told from day one (if they come from a good home) that they’re the embodiment of evil. But what does evil really mean? Drinking goats blood and scaring old house wives? I’m not evil. A bit of a weird jerk, but nope, I was really never evil. I feel ashamed and I feel guilty that I let my parents down. I guess I was always just too scared to really reach out and blow up a church or smash kittens all night with the boys. I guess I never really had it in me. Maybe I should get some therapy.

TGI(ptpwyc)F

Thank God its (play the piano with your cock) Friday