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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          tell me lies! Submit stuff
          • November 27, 2012 1:49 am
            I see a lot of writers talk about plagiarism and people stealing their work. It really pisses me off. Not in the way you probably think it should. Ya see I think stealing is grand, I just hate serious artists, they’re all so obvious and boring. Going forward I am encouraging people to steal my writing and stories. Because once they get done editing that pile of slop, I’ll steal it back. Seriously though, steal my stuff if you like it. Change the parts you want to change. Do whatever with it. I think thievery is wonderful. It aint mine anyway. Its like suing someone for having the same dream as I. How dare they?! The collective unconscious stole my memoirs! Its like suing my cat for vomiting up the pizza I had for lunch. What?Sure I get it. Some of you out there are real writers. A few even make a living on the stuff. And you work damn hard on every little dangling participle. Good for you. I’m sure you’re smart enough to realize that I’m just some lazy jerk who  has low self esteem and doesn’t value himself or just doesn’t put any real work into the craft, so his writing is crap. Now realize, you can’t use these reasons I just wrote because that’s mental thievery and I wrote them first. Come up with your own argument about why you’re so special. I’m sure you have plenty of practice. Get all puffed up and serious about art and the individual and your struggle. You are very special and unique and brilliant and deserve a ridiculous life of robots bringing you pizza. Just don’t come whining to me about how depressed and miserable you are and how all your relationships fail and nobody loves you. Haven’t you ever noticed? Real artists are almost always real shitty human beings. They are worse than any junkie or drunk. They will ruin good relationships and bright wonderful moments all in the name of their creative fix, just so they can squeeze out a few lines, paragraphs, or pages. The funny part is, the art itself doesn’t even have to be any good. Artists just need a creative high or the feeling of self worth that THEY produced something. Its their total identity, don’t fuck with it or they will lash out at you with all their fury… In other words, ffffffftttthhrrrrrpppp! Tell yourself whatever you have to, just stop using the alphabet you dirty thieves. Besides, we all know your novel was a subplot on The Love Boat. So steal my words/art/photoshopped nudes of Ray Wise, mix it up, have fun. And if you make some money on it, buy me a drink or one of them pizza serving robots.

            I see a lot of writers talk about plagiarism and people stealing their work. It really pisses me off. Not in the way you probably think it should. Ya see I think stealing is grand, I just hate serious artists, they’re all so obvious and boring.

            Going forward I am encouraging people to steal my writing and stories. Because once they get done editing that pile of slop, I’ll steal it back. Seriously though, steal my stuff if you like it. Change the parts you want to change. Do whatever with it. I think thievery is wonderful. It aint mine anyway. Its like suing someone for having the same dream as I. How dare they?! The collective unconscious stole my memoirs! Its like suing my cat for vomiting up the pizza I had for lunch. What?
            Sure I get it. Some of you out there are real writers. A few even make a living on the stuff. And you work damn hard on every little dangling participle. Good for you. I’m sure you’re smart enough to realize that I’m just some lazy jerk who  has low self esteem and doesn’t value himself or just doesn’t put any real work into the craft, so his writing is crap. Now realize, you can’t use these reasons I just wrote because that’s mental thievery and I wrote them first. Come up with your own argument about why you’re so special. I’m sure you have plenty of practice. Get all puffed up and serious about art and the individual and your struggle. You are very special and unique and brilliant and deserve a ridiculous life of robots bringing you pizza.

            Just don’t come whining to me about how depressed and miserable you are and how all your relationships fail and nobody loves you.

            Haven’t you ever noticed?

            Real artists are almost always real shitty human beings.

            They are worse than any junkie or drunk. They will ruin good relationships and bright wonderful moments all in the name of their creative fix, just so they can squeeze out a few lines, paragraphs, or pages. The funny part is, the art itself doesn’t even have to be any good. Artists just need a creative high or the feeling of self worth that THEY produced something. Its their total identity, don’t fuck with it or they will lash out at you with all their fury… In other words, ffffffftttthhrrrrrpppp!

            Tell yourself whatever you have to, just stop using the alphabet you dirty thieves. Besides, we all know your novel was a subplot on The Love Boat.

            So steal my words/art/photoshopped nudes of Ray Wise, mix it up, have fun. And if you make some money on it, buy me a drink or one of them pizza serving robots.