red tights
cocaine nights
and the Bhagavad Gita
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------------------------------------ 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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she had been a stripper
a drug addict and a whore
and I loved her dearly
the glow of a woman at peace
a woman that knows the depth
and breathe of the boundless range of
all experience
gorgeous - full blown - woman
fearless - crazy - fucking woman
thankfully crazy
for its in the madness
that a man truly comes to know himself
an explorer of the frightening wilderness
a wilderness he knows in his heart
as home
the mother of all things
rains down bliss and death
with the whimsy of the very weather
born murdered and died
again and again
the primordial art of the cave
the porn rack at 7-11
I love you both
for your ends exceed me
and tear me asunder
in short
you blow my sweet motherfuckin’ lil mind
and thank god for that!
And the king bestowed upon me
a set of magical wrenches
encrusted with priceless jewels
but they were metric
and therefore fucking worthless
TGIF Bitches…
“So maybe I had a little too much to drink last night. I thought that I was listening to Skip James and enjoying a giant pile of cocaine. Come to find out my roommates white cat was just meowing at me because I kept poking at it with my American Express card and trying to snort it.”
- Condoleezza Rice
Our threesomes were not yer run of the mill threesomes.
My partner had to hear the commingled sounds of papers being ripped in half and Donald Ducks voice, or they simply could not stay sexually aroused. We quickly grew tired of recordings so we hired the best sound artists money could buy. Then every year we would try out the newest batch of award winning sound editors and foley artists.
Thats how I met Karl. His paper ripping was good, but it was his Donald Duck… his Donald Duck sounds ruined me and eventually ruined my marriage.
TGIF bitches…