Hookers or Cake

Maybe god just forgot about us, because we were all so fucking lame. Its an infinite cosmos, right? Maybe there’s just more interesting shit cooking up in some other universe. Perhaps god just put us on auto pilot - you know, into a black hole/goldfish bowl where time collapses on itself so we continue to do the same shit we’ve been doing for millions of years. Every now and then, an angel will feed us a new toy like the printing press or nuclear fission and we’ll chew on that for a few hundred years.

I used to draw when I was a small child. I drew mostly hot rods, gun fights and monsters. But one day it dawned on me, if I wanted too, I could draw boobs. Oh boy, I got pretty excited. Duh! Why didn’t I think of this before?

So I hid under the kitchen table with a stack off paper and my pencil. There was a great silence in the cosmos. Never had a vision of ones destiny been so clear. I bowed my head and the silence listened for the roar. “I will draw boobs!” shouted consciousness in its singular declaration of being.

And thus the master set off to collect his bounty. But oh what great darkness is this? Why dost the gods make me a butcher? I could not draw boobs! I could draw circles with dots in them. I could draw w’s with little eyes on them. I could draw a half circle with a  raisin upon it. But none of these were boobs! Dejected, I stormed off in search of my bubble pipe. Oh cruel vale of tears…

As I stood on the veranda studying the horizon, the neighbor girl walked by. She was a bright eyed giggler full of inwoven springs and tight jostling things that made my mind weak. I could barely breathe. I knew right then I would spend the rest of life being a slave until I became the master, the master of boobs. I turned around and went right back inside, TO WORK!

and there was my mother. She was looking at my boob drawings. Oh shit. The noose hath slipped round my neck.

“Why are you practicing the alphabet?” she asked.

What? She doesn’t know, she thinks I…

“I just like letters?” I said.

“Oh - well, pick up your toys its time for supper.”

That was the moment that I learned incompetency can save your ass. And I thought, perhaps it better to master a different art form.

Did you know that Hookers or Cake began life as a pornographic blog? That might explain the name. I would post softcore, amatuer porn and write terrible poetry inspired by the pictures. Here is an example (for scientific use only! NSFW)

I’ve since learned that all forms of pornography are wrong. Interestingly its only men who have pointed this out to me. They love and care about women so much that they feel it thier duty to eradicate pornography from the face of the earth. I am with them. I love women too and I do not want them hurt by this dirty filth we know as pornography.

Tis a shame because I really liked looking at boobies. Actually its the face and the boobays in unison. Really it was the whole naked ladieness of giggling, jiggling flesh… that I enjoyed. But its wrong, so no more.

The problem is that since I’ve given up porn I’ve noticed myself looking at even modestly clothed ladies, lustily. Yesterday I saw a newspaper ad with a woman wearing a brassiere and almost bit a hole in my favorite cardigan. National Geographic is off limits, so are museums. Those Spanish speaking TV channels are full of porn. Bouncing, laughing, full blown, temptresses - saying God only knows, to leering little fat men. Women’s tennis is out of the question with all the grunting and lunging. The WNBA is fine. Bjork? Nope, can’t listen to it for 2 seconds. There is a fruit stand on 4th street that I’ve also learned to avoid. Full ripe melons glistening in the sun…

I’ve also become suspicious of nature. The way the sun warms me and makes me feel. The gentle fragrant breeze caressing my face. Have you ever pondered just what exactly a tree is doing to the sky?! I’ve stopped going to the bathroom too as I found the process fundamental dirty, wrong and suspiciously stimulating.

 I had to give up drawing. First it was curved lines, but now even using only straight lines… the way some of them would intersect… why it would make even Prince Rodgers Nelson blush. Peit Mondrain is a whore-monger!

I don’t know what shall become of me, but I love and respect women too much to view any aspect of them as sexually exciting or pleasurable. My sole interest in them is now 100% purely analytic. We are friends and co-workers and business associate’s, except for the ones that dress like whores. Like my Boss, Judy who insists on wearing short sleeves. She shall be cast in a lake of fire for all eternity. She’d probably like that though. She’d probably find that one great big turn on.