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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          • December 28, 2012 11:10 pm
            Just a few wordsand a bit of silencemake me incredibly happy.Listen -  I took a theology class once and no one said a thing all year. For the final we remained in silence, only we drank ice cold beer and listened to old Van Halen.We found God in Panama, drinking Coors light. I thought after that I could find peace anywhere, but I guess, sometimes I still have a little trouble with all the damn noise. If I were to be an ass and offer some advice on creating or living or cooking or whatever? I would say, be quiet. Immerse yourself in silence and then do. I’ve found it to be quite enjoyable. Even if you’re singing Shout At The Devil down at karaoke. Its best done in complete silence. Like a slow ball rolling continually out of its center. Like a baked casserole screaming as if its God asking for a witness to devour itself.


            Just a few words

            and a bit of silence

            make me incredibly happy.

            Listen -  I took a theology class once and no one said a thing all year. For the final we remained in silence, only we drank ice cold beer and listened to old Van Halen.

            We found God in Panama, drinking Coors light. I thought after that I could find peace anywhere, but I guess, sometimes I still have a little trouble with all the damn noise. If I were to be an ass and offer some advice on creating or living or cooking or whatever? I would say, be quiet. Immerse yourself in silence and then do. I’ve found it to be quite enjoyable. Even if you’re singing Shout At The Devil down at karaoke. Its best done in complete silence. Like a slow ball rolling continually out of its center. Like a baked casserole screaming as if its God asking for a witness to devour itself.