I am a Los Angeles-based twentysomething. I have a profession, and I have a secret life in music, and this blog isn't about any of that. I like Blogger because I can't read what you're thinking.
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Wednesday, June 29
MAGICIANS CAN ROT IN HELL, TOO
This is the third installment of the "Can Rot In Hell" 5-part series that I have randomly picked out my afro just 2 days ago. It will continue until Friday, when I find out that things cannot "rot in hell" unless I actually believed there was a hell.
WHOOPS WAIT MY BAD The 909. There's a hell in itself.
Anyway, magicians can rot in hell. I'm just kidding, I love magicians. But I was reminded of a time where I think I may have ruined a magician's career.
I was turning 8 (I believe) and I had this bitchin' Ninja Turtles themed birthday party. We had April the news reporter as the pinata, thus sparking my reputation for being a raging misogynist.
Before I opened my presents (THE GLORIFICATION OF MATERIALISM!!!!!!!!), a creepy clown showed up in the living room. I swear, at that point, all the chicks wanted to fellate me. It was sweet.
The clown did a 5 minute bit on the dullness of Jerry Springer and "stupid liberals." After, he performed some magic tricks.
LITTLE DID THE CLOWN MAGICIAN COMEDIAN MAN KNOW -- that I, too, was a magician. For two or so years prior, I had watched every magic special on TV (Copperfield was my Jesus), and I was an aficionado in making older people feel really stupid. My parents saw my passion, so they spoiled me with tricks to figure out in the privacy of my bedroom.
I was a kickass kid, remember?
Anywho, the clownmedian performed tricks that I already knew. I was pissed. I didn't ruin the show, but after his half-ass performance, I went up to my parents.
All they could say was, "I KNOW, HUGO. I KNOW. DON'T EVEN MENTION IT."
The guy pulled a bird out of an exploding kettle (I'm not kidding), used a Svengali deck (the CHEAPEST way to do a card trick), used the "I CAN MAKE IMAGES OUT OF A BOOK DISAPPEAR" trick ... I mean, the basics. This amateur didn't make a run for his buck.
So I went up to the assclown and said, "Hey, man, where'd you get your tricks?"
He said, "My wizard uncle passed them down to me."
Then I said, "WHAT DO YOU MEAN, THESE WERE MADE JUST YEARS AGO AND YOU CAN BUY 'EM AT UNIVERSAL STUDIOS."
Stomping to my room, I made sure to hit that goddamn pinata again.
And I laughed in my room. My friends asked what I was laughing at, so I performed better tricks than the freaking clown.
But in the end, they preferred the fucking clown more.
Stupid Republican kids.