Hookers or Cake

Where the self-obsessed get serious about silly
I'm too wacky to be hip.

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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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          • September 25, 2012 1:28 pm

            : Jade Bos - LP Press

            Tonight I saw grown men weeping on TV. The sanctity of our life has been shattered, our fathers and children lied to. America is in trouble people, I’m talking about the American football game. I’m serious, this is gonna be 72 pt font headline deal. ‘Respected’ grown men are going to accuse the NFL of being rotten cheating animals! Babies are going to begin to doubt the wonder of reality, and we’re all gonna slaughter each other in the streets.

            I don’t want to live in a world where the wondrous American spectacle; the best dad gum drugs, violence, and gambling spectacle there is - is openly mocked by money grubbing charlatans and fools. Sure, the Gods are indifferent to war and famine, but this time they’ve gone to far. The need to realize that if the coliseum is not honest then neither shall be the church or the bedroom, thus chaos shall rule supreme. Duality will fall out of balance and the ying will eat the yang (or is it vice versa?) Reality’s sacred veil has been torn apart and shat upon. This is the end.

            I’ve started a , because I know everyone is clamoring to know what Hookers or Cake’s views are on topical events. This little piece was in response to watching Monday Night Football where grown men almost wept and did much gnashing of teeth in response to a blown call by the replacement referees. It was hi-lar-eee-us

          • August 7, 2012 2:31 am
            I was nine years old when I won my first wrestling meet and they gave me a great big trophy. I stood on a platform and was applauded by our coach and bunch of strangers. Afterwards, I felt kinda like being alone so I walked back to the group home on the other side of town by myself. A little more than half way and I realized I had to pee so bad I was about to piss my pants, but being on main street I couldn’t just go in the street so I tried to sneak into Tom’s Cafe. The old lady at the front caught me and asked if I was looking for someone and I told her I had to pee. She said if I was meeting someone I could use the restroom. I lied and told her I was meeting my dad. When I came back out of the bathroom the old woman was waiting for me. “Why don’t you sit right here at the counter,” she said, “and wait.” She was on to me. I obeyed and sat there with my trophy trying to figure out my next move. “Hey Kid, did ya win?” said the old man in the kitchen window. “Yes, sir,” I said. “Well thats great. Hey you want an icecream?” “He’s meeting his father here,” interupted the old lady. “Oh Yeah?” said the old man “Well I’m sure your Pops won’t mind if you have a milk shake. Fix the kid a shake, Fran. You like chocolate?” I nodded. Forty minutes later and the milk shake long gone, I jumped when I felt a hand on my shoulder. It was one of the waitresses, “You hungry sweetheart?” she said. “Sure,” I nodded. Certain that I was still going to be in big trouble. “You like hamburgers and french fries,” she smiled. “Yeah,” I said looking down at my trophy. And just like that ten minutes later I was eating a big hamburger and french fries. I realized later they were all impressed because I was such a great wrestler that they gave me food. Because I was a champion, a champion wrestler! Later that same week I was getting a ride to practice from our coach with a couple other kids from the group home. Coach stopped at a Sports Store and came out with a whole box of trophies and medals for an upcoming meet we were hosting. In the box was a magazine with pictures and prices for all of the trophies. I found the one I’d won and saw that it was worth a whole $5.75 Counting the milkshake and hamburger it had probably earned me more than that already. I took my trophy to every restaurant in town and I gave em all the same story. I got two free hamburgers with fries, a cheeseburger, fried chicken, a slice of chocolate pie, and even a banana split.  I had five free meals and three desserts. More than thirty dollars by my count and all with one five dollar trophy. Even if I never won another wrestling meet I could just buy a trophy and tell everyone I was the champion and turn it into free food and desserts. It was a fool proof plan, but lately things haven’t been going so well, even though I continue to buy more and more elaborate trophies, I haven’t even been offered so much as a root beer float in almost thirty years.

            I was nine years old when I won my first wrestling meet and they gave me a great big trophy. I stood on a platform and was applauded by our coach and bunch of strangers. Afterwards, I felt kinda like being alone so I walked back to the group home on the other side of town by myself. A little more than half way and I realized I had to pee so bad I was about to piss my pants, but being on main street I couldn’t just go in the street so I tried to sneak into Tom’s Cafe. The old lady at the front caught me and asked if I was looking for someone and I told her I had to pee. She said if I was meeting someone I could use the restroom. I lied and told her I was meeting my dad. When I came back out of the bathroom the old woman was waiting for me. “Why don’t you sit right here at the counter,” she said, “and wait.” She was on to me. I obeyed and sat there with my trophy trying to figure out my next move.

            “Hey Kid, did ya win?” said the old man in the kitchen window. “Yes, sir,” I said. “Well thats great. Hey you want an icecream?” “He’s meeting his father here,” interupted the old lady. “Oh Yeah?” said the old man “Well I’m sure your Pops won’t mind if you have a milk shake. Fix the kid a shake, Fran. You like chocolate?” I nodded. Forty minutes later and the milk shake long gone, I jumped when I felt a hand on my shoulder. It was one of the waitresses, “You hungry sweetheart?” she said. “Sure,” I nodded. Certain that I was still going to be in big trouble. “You like hamburgers and french fries,” she smiled. “Yeah,” I said looking down at my trophy. And just like that ten minutes later I was eating a big hamburger and french fries. I realized later they were all impressed because I was such a great wrestler that they gave me food. Because I was a champion, a champion wrestler!

            Later that same week I was getting a ride to practice from our coach with a couple other kids from the group home. Coach stopped at a Sports Store and came out with a whole box of trophies and medals for an upcoming meet we were hosting. In the box was a magazine with pictures and prices for all of the trophies. I found the one I’d won and saw that it was worth a whole $5.75 Counting the milkshake and hamburger it had probably earned me more than that already. I took my trophy to every restaurant in town and I gave em all the same story. I got two free hamburgers with fries, a cheeseburger, fried chicken, a slice of chocolate pie, and even a banana split.  I had five free meals and three desserts. More than thirty dollars by my count and all with one five dollar trophy. Even if I never won another wrestling meet I could just buy a trophy and tell everyone I was the champion and turn it into free food and desserts.

            It was a fool proof plan, but lately things haven’t been going so well, even though I continue to buy more and more elaborate trophies, I haven’t even been offered so much as a root beer float in almost thirty years.