Hookers or Cake

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The Trouble With Chester

I’m working on a spec script for a cartoon show about a dead raccoon named Chester. Chester lies dead on the back porch of a model home in an abandoned gated community. The model home is fully furnished with a thoroughly modern kitchen. There is a small child robot floor sweeper that befriends Chester and together the learn all sorts of life lessons. Most of the lessons center around the finality of death and the roaring void because Chester doesn’t say or do anything, as he is dead and rotting.

Though there will be some fun song and dance numbers done by the maggots living in Chester’s body. And heart touching songs that the robot child sings into the void.

Last spring I went down to that new church by the river.

Everyone just looked at their I-phones while the minister

gulped hot coffee and screamed at gods crotch

I was still heartbroken over losing Tammy

but I was happy

I’d decided to go to the old steakhouse after church

to have myself a nice steak dinner and a few highballs

then I’d blow my brains out while I rode the mechanical bull

But once I got a bellyfull of whiskey and drew my revolver, riding that bull

…ohh the screams!

I still get hard when I think about it.

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.

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Maybe I’ll write a nice Christmas story…

In the backyard of my friends house there is a huge evergreen tree on a hill. Its tall enough to whisper to the birds and make friends with the clouds.

 One winter evening I was over there making music in the basement with my friend when we took a break and staggered out back to have a smoke. As we were were both taking a leak we saw some small red twinkling under the evergreen.

“You see that?”

 ”Yeah.” I nod.

We both zip up simultaneously and slowly walk closer…  tiny red lights. We get down on all fours and stick our heads under the low hanging branches like a couple midgets peeking under a fat womans dress. Mushrooms. Red and white ones. I pick a big one and hold it up.

“Dude,” I say way too seriously, “we need to eat these.”

“I don’t know if thats a good idea…” my friend says.

“Its like 2 days before Christmas and God just left us cosmic presents under a giant ass tree. I’m eating one.”

I popped it in my mouth. My friends sighs and mutters under his breathe as he looks for a smaller one to ingest.

I blink and the next thing I know I’m at an Arby’s and I got a gun in a woman’s mouth, but then she starts sucking on it all sexy like as she slowly morphs into my friend, who in reality is just eating a Big Roast Beef.

“Man, I’m fucking wasted,” I whisper. 

And he just nods and continues to commune with the strange meat.

The lights seem to be getting dim and I look around. Theres a spotlight shinging on something just behind the counter. I go over and theres a woman laying on the floor. She has just given birth to what looks like a small skinless pony.  The pony is trying to stand but it keeps falling over. Finally it gets up and steadies itself on knocked knees and just as its about to take its first step its grabbed by several hands of a large machine that tear its scared braying body into pieces. The pieces are then served on a bun with a sprig of mint to the waiting guests. When I look back to the woman she is pregnant again and staring up to me expectantly.

“Will everything be ok?”

Her large eyes search my face for some sort of sign. I smile and she smiles.

“Everything will be just fine.” I say to her, patting her hands. And suddenly I have a gun in my hand again.

Happy Holidays everybody!!!

Lost in some soft tumbling darkness

wandering to the store in a stoners happy haze

ice cream and maybe some chips…

I see Jesus is on the roof at Walgreens. He’s gigantic and has creamy white thighs and Oh wow! He’s… yeah he’s touching it.

Jesus came back as a giant, listless, sexual pervert. At first it was a really big deal. 

“Christ has returned!” It was all anyone talked about

and then he just became a nuisance.

Jacking off to a field of flowers or a sunset

people would just call the fire department

and they’d hose him down and he’d try and smash the fire truck.

You’d be driving home and the radio would say, Jesus is north of 57th on the turnpike and tearing shit up. Traffic would be backed up for miles.

Yeah, Jesus aint gonna go so quietly the second time.

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Hey the greeter at Wal-Mart just told me the best story!

I went to visit my mother every month or so. We’d usually watch a movie or something on TV. She lived in this weird old apartment above a 7-11. I always liked that apartment. Years later they would discover that beneath the 7-11 was an ancient crypt. Actually, it was an ancient Chucky Cheese Pizza place, from the future. It was full of dead alien robots delivering pizza that did not exist yet.

Beneath the future Chuckie Cheese was a lost cave where the Druids of Gaul had once worshiped the virgo paritura (the virgin mother of god) 

It was in that same cave that God got his first handjob and sprayed painted the words to “My Sharona”

The New Age shop down the way started selling sex toys. It was only a matter of time once they started selling tantric sex yoga books. Its a slippery slope.

I’d wandered in to see if they had any Wilhelm Riech books for my dominatrix, Marie, and I discovered they had a whole ‘sexuality’ section. I was pleasantly suprised to see a couple of ‘spiritual fisting’ books and what could be best desribed as a gigantic dildo section.

“Come on! I’m a middle aged white guy in a new age gift shop, I obviously have inadequecy issues, do you have to wave giant cocks in my face?”

While a lesbian couple snickered at my obvious discomfort, I spied the best thing I had ever seen. Dildo Ouroboros: A motorized sex toy that fuck’s itself. The box was emblazoned with slogans:

• A real conversation piece (if you can keep it out of your mouth!)
• You can fuck it - it can fuck you - or it can fuck itself!
• For the hard to please narcissist.
• Buy several and make a chain of ‘fucking machines’ to bind your hands and feet as you drown in a endless sea of desperation!

Wow, I betcha my lawyer would enjoy one of these. Hell, I might as well get one for my guru too.

(Source: hookersorcake)

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The old story spoke of a blood red bird that lived in a dark tangle of wires inside a robots chest. The robot was a medic in the military. It retrieved the bodies from the front line.

Once the robot brought back all the wounded and the dead it would be repaired if it’d been shot up or damaged. The bird would also be watered and fed.

In the evening the bird would sing the robot to sleep, and sometimes sing to it all night long, however long it took.

And when the robot awoke in the morning it would be refreshed.

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Happy Thanksgiving from Hookers or Cake