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 2, 2012 1:06 am
            [Flash 9 is required to listen to audio.] 4,828 plays

            Purple Rain was also exquisite in that it was a slow song. At school dances, slow songs, good ones meant that you would perhaps have some face to face time with a young lady. If you haven’t slow danced and kissed someone to the power and glory that is Purple Rain you missed the whole point of life.

            These days, now that I am an old family man, I just reenact the dance of consciousness through the magic of air guitar. Whenever this song comes on, I run outside naked through the wild frenzy that is nature. I gather the savage lush whisper of the trees into my lungs and sprint back inside and jump onto the table just in time for the solo. Then I gyrate an air guitar solo that would make a dead porn star blush. I fucking kill it! Sure everyone points and laughs, and sure sometimes I’m tasered and arrested if we are out at a supper club… but perhaps someday everyone will realize that this song changes your brain waves into theta, thus allowing one to relax into the core of your being. And after being loosed of the horror of separateness in the sea of sorrow, it can feel mighty nice. I for one like to thank consciousness for the magic of existence through interpretive dance and volcanic glory. Its the least I can do.