Hookers or Cake

Did I ever tell you about the time I was on the Price Is Right? We’d been given free tickets in front of a wax museum. My girlfriend got excited and my friends were kinda interested, so we went.

The studio was really bright and smaller than I thought it would be. They had a bunch of ushers lined up just herding us in like cattle. There was a really bad stand up comedian on stage giving a midget a hard time for being from Boston. I guess he was there to warm up the crowd. After about 5 minutes the lights started flashing and this really loud 70’s music blared. The announcer yelled some names and people ran to the front of the auditorium while the audience cheered. Suddenly my girlfriend was screaming in my face and my friends started jumping and yelling, “Thats you bitch!” they pulled me to my feet. I guess the announcer had called my name. So I haphazardly jogged down to the front of the auditorium. On the way I tried to high five several people but I missed each one. I was running down a slope and they were all jumping up and down, I couldn’t get the timing right. And I think I mighta even knocked over some old lady but the usher kept pulling me along and yelled “keep going!” so onward I went.

When I got to the front, Bob came out to much fanfare and asked us each where we were from and I was just in shock and I guess I said, “Sure dude!” And Bob shot me this glance that said, “I’ll slit your fucking throat kid,” but the audience kinda laughed and Bob stuck out his chin and retorted “Whatever, Hippy!” the audience thought that was really funny. 

I never got up on stage though, some bitch named Wanda kept bidding 1$ more than me and she finally won. When she got on stage. She kissed Bob on the cheek and Bob made her reach into his pocket for some money. Oh yeah. So after the chick pulls a 100 out of Bobs pants they giggle and coo a bit and then Bob does this over the top windmill Elvis point and says “I bet you’d like to drive home in this,”

“A NEW CAR!!! screams the announcer.

And the curtain opens revealing a powder blue convertible. The audience is just jumping up and down and screaming and there is this DING! DING! DING! DING! DING! noise and everyone is losing their fucking mind they just keep jumping up and down and screaming with delight and the DING! DING! DING! gets louder and louder and the announcer keeps screaming “A NEW CAR! A NEW CAR!” and people start tearing off their clothes and just beating the shit out of each other.. They’re all sooo excited - tearing off their flesh and smashing thier bones and setting themselves on fire and the whole place just starts shaking and falling down around us. I run up on stage and Bob gives me a wink and we hop into that powder blue Chevy and gun it through a wall into another studio where we run over several kids and a marching band of clowns. We then crash through a soap opera and a news room set up before finally smashing through the 13th story windows of the studio high-rise. All goes quiet and Bob looks over to me, his white hair like a perfect cloud in the bluest of blue skies.  He whispers, “I love you. I’ve always loved you!” and the music swells as he takes my face in his hands and violently bites off my entire upper and lower lips. He smells like gunfire and a pine forest full of semen.

As a day trader I’m really digging the whole occupy Wall Street thing. Before all the protesting started, this whole place closed down by 6pm. So I’d get off work, run to the train, and just go home to New Jersey. I’d eat my microwave dinner, work out, play video games or maybe go to TGI-Fridays with my buddy Chet and try to get picked up by some drunken MILF’S.

 Now I walk out of the office at five and there is this nonstop party going on. And these people have the best drugs!  Most of it I can trade straight up for my adderall. I got a 10 strip of acid for only 5 pills! Also there are a lot of hot chicks who are totally impressed that I have a job and a BMW and shit. I made out with this one hot redheaded MILF actress and I got a handjob from some unemployed trucker… yeah, I was pretty fucked up on some weird Shulgin designed psychedelic and I thought I was gay for old gruff hard working men for about 2 hours. I guess I snapped out of it when someone came around with a taco truck.

Its funny how these hippies say the don’t like money, but they would all snap a kittens neck for 2 taco’s and a Tecate. Tacos, according to Adam Smith, are a gateway drug to full blown asshole capitalism. 

Lately I’ve decided to just stay here in the park and then use the gym down the street.. I have a locker there and there’s a dry cleaning place and a Starbucks right on the corner. Fuck! Looks like someone can finally afford to live in Manhattan Biatches!

Viva la Revolution!

When I was a kid candy cigarettes were popular. The packs they came in looked just like real cigarettes and even had the same name as the popular brands; Lucky Strikes, Kools, Camels, and Marlboro’s. I had a friend Joe who had a 3 pack a day habit. He developed diabetes within 6 months, but it was the cancer that finally got him 2 years later at the ripe old age of 7. Come to find out candy cigarettes are more dangerous and addictive than real smokes. 

I visited him in the hospital, the whole second grade class did. The cancer had started in his lips and spread to his entire face. As a result the skin had been removed from his entire face and it covered with a kind of clear saran wrap that allowed doctors to easily monitor the aggressive cancer. Joe just sat there in bed, a small faceless monster chomping candy cigs, high on pain meds. Sometimes I guess he’d get too much morphine in his system and he’d stand in his bed and chant commercials slogans like a rabid tele-evangelist. I can still see the whole second grade class visiting him in the hospital all of us crying or catatonic with fear.

Little Joe standing on his bed, a candy cigarette between each finger, holding his hands high above his head, waving to the sun, chanting over and over, “We love to fly, and it shows! We love to fly and it shows!”

Telepathic Cigarette

I was at a giant convenience store/gas station when I saw a large sign proclaiming, “ELECTRONIC CIGARETTES $9.99!” and before I could wrap my mind around the endless joy of what the sign could mean, a famous blond girl that I’d seen on TV walked out the front door.

She froze in fear like a frightened forest creature that suddenly had an entire city spring up around it. I heard a child’s scared voice in my mind, “cigarette?” like a small shy answer to a great cosmic question. I instinctively reached for my pack of Kool’s and held them out to her as an offering. She cautiously approached and I set down the pack on the hood of my Hyundai. She then scampered over like an awkward young foal and opened the the pack with surprising quickness and dexterity. She ate at least 3 or 4 cigarettes before two members of her security detail rushed over, picked her up, and tucked her neatly into the back of a massive black SUV.

I retrieved the now almost empty pack off the ground. It smelled faintly of plastic and Watermelon Bubblicious.

Then it happened again. The earth began leaking bits of joy. At first only one kitten could see it, but then it slowly became apparent to everyone.

People wandered the streets dripping with bliss and weeping. They embraced one another and inanimate objects with equal vigor. Everyone thought it was like, really, really awesome. To see a bunch of uptight bastards crying about love down on Wall Street… it was television gold.

The children even came out of their rooms for the first time in days, just to see the magic, sparkly, purple love that the internet was all atwitter about. It seemed somehow familiar to them, like deja vu, like a forgotten sense perception from the womb.

After 3 days, everyone on earth was completely tangled up in bliss, frozen solid. Everyone except for the kittens. Suspicion was hardwired into their DNA. They remained alert in their hearts at all times. The kittens fought the bliss violently as they’d seen this happen before.

  Civilizations come and go. It always seemed to happen the same way. The world becomes overly toxic, people go insane and everything looks really bleak. It’s then the atmosphere begins to seep a kind of purple ecstasy, like manna from heaven. Happiness for the staved soul. Within a matter of days everyone is frozen solid with bliss…  then all the frozen people grow long roots and are covered with rough skin. A year or 2 later they’re indistinguishable from what we call trees.

The earth starts over, refreshing and renewing itself. It’s a peaceful time, until one day a couple of fish wander out of the East Hudson River looking for a trendy new restaurant…

Story by HookersorCake (pic via )

Mr. Giggles never did get use to my robot leg.

His ferocious display of snarling barks

whenever I clanked around the house…

and though its been 3 years

since Mr. Giggles passed

I can still hear his suspicious growls

from deep beneath the flower bed.

sometimes in dreams I find him

alone and whimpering

my phantom leg in his teeth.

Anyone can bitch.

The art is in listening for the deeper mystery.

The executioner wears a clowns nose

as he slits the throat of your childish love.

You mourn what could have been, 

while the rioters remind you of what will always be.

There is a great peace in being broken

being found out as a simple fraud.

A smile, in the humiliation.

Sure it hurts at first  

also quite disorientating

but its like when you were a child 

you gathered yourself in

and rolled down the hill

you roll and roll, endlessly out of control

the earth rushing madly around your ears

you stand and turn to run but fall straight into the ground

everyone laughs and you flop over on your back spread eagle 

and as the clouds and blue sky spin down around you

 or is it you…

 spinning up in them?

whatever the case, you find yourself

a bright blue spinning freedom

full of clouds, birds and weather.

This picture annihilates me with its grace and beauty

Its depth of understanding

like a walrus taking a warm shuddering piss

upon the heart of Christ

upon these 2 for 1 hot apple pies from Mc Donalds

I gaze deeper

the mind falls silent

a song in my heart

soars never landing

The Bhavacakra

The ancient wheel of death and rebirth.

Writing tips from a shitty writer.

Always use cliches - Sure, the books and professors will tell you the exact opposite. They’ll tell you to use original words and unique phrasing to excite the mind and to keep the reader on its toes. Well I’m here to tell you they’re dead wrong. Only an asshole would make up their own cliches. The reason lousy writers need to make the language interesting because they aint got shit to say. Their story is as old as the hills. If you have a good story, cliches are quick and easy shorthand to unfurl your far-out ideas upon.

For instance, I’ve been a close personal friend of David Bowie’s for almost 15 years. Now David, as many of you know is a wild and interesting cat, but many of you would be surprised if I told you he’s eaten the same thing for breakfast for more than 30 years. His reason is that he doesn’t have time to be bothered with petty decisions, so he always eats the same thing. He’s got crazy awesome David Bowie stuff to think about!

The same goes with cliche’s and writing. If you got crazy, mind blowing shit to deal with, who cares about making new and exciting metaphors? Its like filming a porno with a Great White Shark and crocheting fancy lace mittens for your cock (or vagine if yer a lady) for the big love scene.