Lewd Pony Press

Specializing in offbeat humor, shitty poetry, and sacred literature

54 notes


Hey wonderful humans! My new book goes on sale on Amazon in a few minutes.

Hookers or Cake II

Amazon says that it won’t ship for 2 - 4 weeks but this is a lie. It actually drop ships within 24hrs from one of 12 locations across the country and is even available in the UK and Australia! Of course you can always get free shipping if your order is $25 and it totally qualifies for their 4 books for the price of 3 thingy.

I worked all year on this little bitch! Its filled with 30+ illustrations for the kids! 116 pages and looks, feels, and smells just like a real book. Ands its only $8.95 and £5 in the UK.

If you received an advance copy you can always give it a scandalous review.

Ok, enough whoring… Happy New Year!

Hey wonderful humans! My new book goes on sale on Amazon in a few minutes.

Hookers or Cake II

Amazon says that it won’t ship for 2 - 4 weeks but this is a lie. It actually drop ships within 24hrs from one of 12 locations across the country and is even available in the UK and Australia! Of course you can always get free shipping if your order is $25 and it totally qualifies for their 4 books for the price of 3 thingy.

I worked all year on this little bitch! Its filled with 30+ illustrations for the kids! 116 pages and looks, feels, and smells just like a real book. Ands its only $8.95 and £5 in the UK.

If you received an advance copy you can always give it a scandalous review.

Ok, enough whoring… Happy New Year!

Filed under hookers or+cake whoring the new cover is sweet

49 notes

hookersorcake:

I’ve always had reoccurring nightmares about zombies but lately my dreams have taken a turn for the sexy.
Hot Zombie 3-way - Zombie Orgy  
and the neat thing about zombie sex is it doesn’t matter if they’re a boy or a girl or a canned ham or whatever - zombies by their very nature are full of holes and in the midst of a blood orgy any orifice will do.
The bummer is that the sex isn’t very good, not that it doesn’t physically feel good. No the sex feels awesome, its just that… I dunno the zombies don’t really seem that into it ya know?

hookersorcake:

I’ve always had reoccurring nightmares about zombies but lately my dreams have taken a turn for the sexy.

Hot Zombie 3-way - Zombie Orgy 

and the neat thing about zombie sex is it doesn’t matter if they’re a boy or a girl or a canned ham or whatever - zombies by their very nature are full of holes and in the midst of a blood orgy any orifice will do.

The bummer is that the sex isn’t very good, not that it doesn’t physically feel good. No the sex feels awesome, its just that… I dunno the zombies don’t really seem that into it ya know?

18 notes

hookersorcake:

nochymozg:

Een overzicht van ” book” oproepen ’ Hookers of Cake’ door Jade Bos.

The wild and wonderful Philip T. Hunter gives me the best book review ever.

(via hookersorcake)

30 notes

hookersorcake:

After the Army I went and lived in the city. I enjoyed the machinations, the trains and brick buildings - it coulda been 1920 or science fiction. I’d sit in the diners and drink too much coffee, fiddle with some old Beckett book and maybe a drawing. I never read more than a sentence or two as it was more than enough. The endless murmur, a quiet hymn that rustled around in my head. Beckett courted death - not like some romantic hero, but like a man who stared at a wall for a number of years until he understood.
Understood very plainlyThe basic functionalityof How It Is.Beckett wasn’t afraid of death becausehe had a secret.I wasn’t afraid of death because I wasan old women slurping soup.Chicago wasn’t afraid of death because it had alreadyburned down to the ground.The three of us sat around chuckling about itwhile the sparrows got drunk in the rain.

hookersorcake:

After the Army I went and lived in the city. I enjoyed the machinations, the trains and brick buildings - it coulda been 1920 or science fiction. I’d sit in the diners and drink too much coffee, fiddle with some old Beckett book and maybe a drawing. I never read more than a sentence or two as it was more than enough. The endless murmur, a quiet hymn that rustled around in my head. Beckett courted death - not like some romantic hero, but like a man who stared at a wall for a number of years until he understood.

Understood very plainly
The basic functionality
of How It Is.

Beckett wasn’t afraid of death because
he had a secret.

I wasn’t afraid of death because I was
an old women slurping soup.

Chicago wasn’t afraid of death because it had already
burned down to the ground.

The three of us sat around chuckling about it
while the sparrows got drunk in the rain.

44 notes

hookersorcake:


 In an attempt to help IBM super computer, Watson seem more human, I’ve been hired to help ghost write his autobiography.

I had a pony named Wild Fire, actually he was a full grown Arabian  Quarter Horse. I paid $400 for him using my summer work money and paper  route. I boarded him at my Uncle’s ranch for $100 bucks a month until  one winter due to flooding the price of hay had gone up and by early  spring I was flat broke. I didn’t want to sell him so my Uncle came up  with a great idea, we would enter Wild Fire into a suicide race. A  suicide race is run on a 1/4 mile dirt track, straight up a hill, then  down the hill, across a muddy creek bed, over a fence and around a tight  circle till you come sprinting down the home stretch. Well, Wild  Fire was really fast and jumping fences seemed to be his true passion. I  could make some good money…Two months later in August, when poor limping Wild Fire came in dead  last, I realized that this was probably the end. No one in my family said much to me that day. Two  weeks later they said even less, especially while I took the small  adhesive number off of Wild Fire’s thigh, from the auction. The Sioux  Falls stockyard had a horse auction every Wednesday. Wild Fire had sold  for a whole $80 bucks. Rendering plant money, Wild Fire would become dog  food and glue. I sold my tack for another $50 and still owed my uncle  another $20. He wasn’t a bad guy, he paid for the gas, burgers and Cokes  on the way home, he was just a poor rancher. I studied the little  adhesive number that I’d taken off of Wild Fire during the ride home.  Number 37 not any bigger than a playing card. That’s funny Joe Delaney  was #37. Joe Delaney was my favorite football player till he died 2  months earlier trying to save 3 kids from drowning. Joe Delaney couldn’t  swim. Later that week, I had gone shopping for new school supplies with my  mom. My dad had mentioned something about poor Wild Fire being turned  into glue. Dad had a good sense of humor, he’d grown up on a dirt farm  during the great depression. So dad made a small joke and I immediately  had an even better joke! I took Wild Fire’s old number 37 off of the  bulletin board and ran over to my new school supplies and put the number  squarely on my new bottle of glue. It fit perfect. Everyone laughed,  laughed really hard.I told this same little story to Hugh Hefner, late one evening  in the grotto of the Playboy mansion. I remember old Hef smiled  knowingly and laughed. He told me that he’d caught herpes several times  throughout the years but was always able to cure it using a highly experimental embryonic stem-cell treatment. Hef went on to say  that it took him awhile to realize that the clinic where he had the  procedure, was also the same clinic that performed all the abortions  for him and Playboy.
“I was having the cells of my own aborted fetus’s  spread all over my body,” Hef stared off into the distance, his heavy,  wrinkly eyes widening at the thought. “It dawned on me right in the  middle of a treatment and to be honest it felt a little weird at first,  but then I saw the whole depth of the situation, the humanity of it and  then I felt wonderful, it was in that moment I knew I had truly  manifested myself into God.” He beamed like a drunken turtle. “Is that  how you felt,” he jutted out his chin at me, “when you put that number on the bottle  of glue?”
 Just then Pat Sajak yelled at us from the other side of the  pool, he’d pulled his penis & testicles out the front zipper of his  jean cut-offs and was holding up a bag of coke the size of a human head.

hookersorcake:

 In an attempt to help IBM super computer, Watson seem more human, I’ve been hired to help ghost write his autobiography.


I had a pony named Wild Fire, actually he was a full grown Arabian Quarter Horse. I paid $400 for him using my summer work money and paper route. I boarded him at my Uncle’s ranch for $100 bucks a month until one winter due to flooding the price of hay had gone up and by early spring I was flat broke. I didn’t want to sell him so my Uncle came up with a great idea, we would enter Wild Fire into a suicide race. A suicide race is run on a 1/4 mile dirt track, straight up a hill, then down the hill, across a muddy creek bed, over a fence and around a tight circle till you come sprinting down the home stretch. Well, Wild Fire was really fast and jumping fences seemed to be his true passion. I could make some good money…

Two months later in August, when poor limping Wild Fire came in dead last, I realized that this was probably the end. No one in my family said much to me that day. Two weeks later they said even less, especially while I took the small adhesive number off of Wild Fire’s thigh, from the auction. The Sioux Falls stockyard had a horse auction every Wednesday. Wild Fire had sold for a whole $80 bucks. Rendering plant money, Wild Fire would become dog food and glue. I sold my tack for another $50 and still owed my uncle another $20. He wasn’t a bad guy, he paid for the gas, burgers and Cokes on the way home, he was just a poor rancher. I studied the little adhesive number that I’d taken off of Wild Fire during the ride home. Number 37 not any bigger than a playing card. That’s funny Joe Delaney was #37. Joe Delaney was my favorite football player till he died 2 months earlier trying to save 3 kids from drowning. Joe Delaney couldn’t swim. 

Later that week, I had gone shopping for new school supplies with my mom. My dad had mentioned something about poor Wild Fire being turned into glue. Dad had a good sense of humor, he’d grown up on a dirt farm during the great depression. So dad made a small joke and I immediately had an even better joke! I took Wild Fire’s old number 37 off of the bulletin board and ran over to my new school supplies and put the number squarely on my new bottle of glue. It fit perfect. Everyone laughed, laughed really hard.

I told this same little story to Hugh Hefner, late one evening in the grotto of the Playboy mansion. I remember old Hef smiled knowingly and laughed. He told me that he’d caught herpes several times throughout the years but was always able to cure it using a highly experimental embryonic stem-cell treatment. Hef went on to say that it took him awhile to realize that the clinic where he had the procedure, was also the same clinic that performed all the abortions for him and Playboy.

“I was having the cells of my own aborted fetus’s spread all over my body,” Hef stared off into the distance, his heavy, wrinkly eyes widening at the thought. “It dawned on me right in the middle of a treatment and to be honest it felt a little weird at first, but then I saw the whole depth of the situation, the humanity of it and then I felt wonderful, it was in that moment I knew I had truly manifested myself into God.” He beamed like a drunken turtle. “Is that how you felt,” he jutted out his chin at me, “when you put that number on the bottle of glue?”

 Just then Pat Sajak yelled at us from the other side of the pool, he’d pulled his penis & testicles out the front zipper of his jean cut-offs and was holding up a bag of coke the size of a human head.

40 notes

hookersorcake:

The Devil loaded up his El Caminowith knick-knacks and other worthless shitand hit the open road.“Congratulations everyone, we lost the war on drugs!”Awww hell, we lost a lotta things.That’s life ya know, an endless process of losing.Once you come to grips with this reality(and really - the sooner the better)Only then can join the party of human-fucking-beings.Because it’s all a losing proposition.“But be of good cheer and rejoice,” cry the cocktail waitresses.It’s house money, always has beenIf you can’t recognize thatwell I’ve got no advice other than “Good luck!”Life’s not about hoarding or winningit’s about gambling on something that you give a fuck about.And if you don’t give a fuck about nothing…it may be time to have another drink and rethink things.You probably don’t give a fuck because your afraid.Afraid to fail or some dumb notion.Afraid to reach out with your heartbecause you’ll git slapped down to the cold groundquicker than a epileptic clown on roller skates. Don’t take yerself so serious kidreach out with your heart and feel the burnfeel the frustration and failurefeel your heart being cookeda delicious feastfor the beasts of delusionInvite em all in!Have a grand partyand watch those sad fucks high tail it outta there.You’ve taken away their powerand now they’ll have to go elsewhere.

hookersorcake:

The Devil loaded up his El Camino
with knick-knacks and other worthless shit
and hit the open road.

“Congratulations everyone, we lost the war on drugs!”

Awww hell, we lost a lotta things.
That’s life ya know, an endless process of losing.

Once you come to grips with this reality
(and really - the sooner the better)

Only then can join the party of human-fucking-beings.

Because it’s all a losing proposition.

“But be of good cheer and rejoice,” cry the cocktail waitresses.
It’s house money, always has been
If you can’t recognize that
well I’ve got no advice other than “Good luck!”

Life’s not about hoarding or winning
it’s about gambling on something that you give a fuck about.
And if you don’t give a fuck about nothing…
it may be time to have another drink and rethink things.

You probably don’t give a fuck because your afraid.
Afraid to fail or some dumb notion.
Afraid to reach out with your heart
because you’ll git slapped down to the cold ground
quicker than a epileptic clown on roller skates.
 
Don’t take yerself so serious kid
reach out with your heart and feel the burn
feel the frustration and failure
feel your heart being cooked

a delicious feast
for the beasts of delusion

Invite em all in!
Have a grand party
and watch those sad fucks high tail it outta there.

You’ve taken away their power
and now they’ll have to go elsewhere.

40 notes

hookersorcake:

The Devil loaded up his El Caminowith knick-knacks and other worthless shitand hit the open road.“Congratulations everyone, we lost the war on drugs!”Awww hell, we lost a lotta things.That’s life ya know, an endless process of losing.Once you come to grips with this reality(and really - the sooner the better)Only then can join the party of human-fucking-beings.Because it’s all a losing proposition.“But be of good cheer and rejoice,” cry the cocktail waitresses.It’s house money, always has beenIf you can’t recognize thatwell I’ve got no advice other than “Good luck!”Life’s not about hoarding or winningit’s about gambling on something that you give a fuck about.And if you don’t give a fuck about nothing…it may be time to have another drink and rethink things.You probably don’t give a fuck because your afraid.Afraid to fail or some dumb notion.Afraid to reach out with your heartbecause you’ll git slapped down to the cold groundquicker than a epileptic clown on roller skates. Don’t take yerself so serious kidreach out with your heart and feel the burnfeel the frustration and failurefeel your heart being cookeda delicious feastfor the beasts of delusionInvite em all in!Have a grand partyand watch those sad fucks high tail it outta there.You’ve taken away their powerand now they’ll have to go elsewhere.

hookersorcake:

The Devil loaded up his El Camino
with knick-knacks and other worthless shit
and hit the open road.

“Congratulations everyone, we lost the war on drugs!”

Awww hell, we lost a lotta things.
That’s life ya know, an endless process of losing.

Once you come to grips with this reality
(and really - the sooner the better)

Only then can join the party of human-fucking-beings.

Because it’s all a losing proposition.

“But be of good cheer and rejoice,” cry the cocktail waitresses.
It’s house money, always has been
If you can’t recognize that
well I’ve got no advice other than “Good luck!”

Life’s not about hoarding or winning
it’s about gambling on something that you give a fuck about.
And if you don’t give a fuck about nothing…
it may be time to have another drink and rethink things.

You probably don’t give a fuck because your afraid.
Afraid to fail or some dumb notion.
Afraid to reach out with your heart
because you’ll git slapped down to the cold ground
quicker than a epileptic clown on roller skates.
 
Don’t take yerself so serious kid
reach out with your heart and feel the burn
feel the frustration and failure
feel your heart being cooked

a delicious feast
for the beasts of delusion

Invite em all in!
Have a grand party
and watch those sad fucks high tail it outta there.

You’ve taken away their power
and now they’ll have to go elsewhere.

35 notes

hookersorcake:

I wrote a review for my own book on Amazon. I know some of you may find this unethical but I don’t care. I’m riding this money train all the way to the top and no one can stop me. (cue evil laughter - long tracking shot of me running across a Long John Silvers parking lot and getting into a 1987 maroon Dodge minivan as the credits roll)

Please if you have a moment could you go to Amazon and leave terrible one star review? Thank You!

hookersorcake:

I wrote a review for my own book on Amazon. I know some of you may find this unethical but I don’t care. I’m riding this money train all the way to the top and no one can stop me. (cue evil laughter - long tracking shot of me running across a Long John Silvers parking lot and getting into a 1987 maroon Dodge minivan as the credits roll)

Please if you have a moment could you go to Amazon and leave terrible one star review? Thank You!

96 notes

hookersorcake:

My Dearest Justin, 
I’m sorry I haven’t written in a few weeks but  I’ve been busy. I have a new robot companion that I received for free  from the Gapple corporation. The literature says the robot acts and  interacts through a complicated form of arrogate algorithms derived  from a compiler program direct from the World Wide Web. In  other words, whatever the internet does, my robot companion acts out in the  form of simplified interactions. Isn’t it great Justin! I just fill out a few simple forms each day, Gapple gets their free  research and I get a free companion, so I’m not so doggone lonely anymore.  An all around win!
I call my robot Mr. Pickles, he seems to really like the name. Lately, Mr Pickles has taken to ripping the heads off of  people and yelling FAIL! down their throats. I guess its some sort of  meme. A meme is a kinda fad on the interwebs. For instance, let’s say  someone  takes a funny picture of a fat kitten looking surprised or of a  remorseful dog vagina, they put the picture on the internets and other  users insert the picture into amusing scenarios, while other people  circulate these pictures on social networking sites. It is uproariously  funny. But it can also get like really deep ya know, like when sometimes   people put a meme inside of a meme… I don’t even want to think about  it. It makes my poor little head hurt. Its pretty amazing. 
So  anywho, Mr Pickles was ripping the heads off all the hired help  and various neighbors the other day when I saw Trudy at the Hot-n-Bite,  you know Trudy from my yoga class… anyway Trudy starts telling me  about  her husband Ted and how all he does is cry about The Fear and The Void  day and night. While she’s prattling on, I see Mr. Pickles making a  bee-line across the parking deck for her. I quickly took Judy by the  shoulders and looked her dead in the eye and said,
“Trudy if  you value your life and I know you do… when that cute little robot in  the Tadashi cocktail dress comes over here and addresses you, you just  scream “Dog vagina!” as loud as you can, OK?”
Judy just smiled  uncomfortably at me and then laughed like I had said the funniest joke  ever. So Mr. Pickles arrives and offers Trudy a smoke pellet. Trudy  graciously accepts and then Mr. Pickles severs her head from her neck  with one fluid movement, he lifts her body up at the waist and  swings her around like he was playing a trumpet. “FAIL!!!”, he roars  down her throat. All the while, her carotid arteries are spraying blood  all  over him. Well I forgot my place and shrieked, “Your dress dear,” but  Mr. Pickles  just glared at me, dropped Trudy and began to roll over  to me. So I whisper, “Dog Vagina?” and luckily for me Mr. Pickles  laughed and decided to buy us root beer floats. Oh my new social life  sure  is exciting! Well I gotta run, looks like Mr. Pickles is ripping off  someones beard and eating it.
Love,
Mom 
XOXOXO

hookersorcake:

My Dearest Justin, 

I’m sorry I haven’t written in a few weeks but I’ve been busy. I have a new robot companion that I received for free from the Gapple corporation. The literature says the robot acts and interacts through a complicated form of arrogate algorithms derived from a compiler program direct from the World Wide Web. In other words, whatever the internet does, my robot companion acts out in the form of simplified interactions. Isn’t it great Justin! I just fill out a few simple forms each day, Gapple gets their free research and I get a free companion, so I’m not so doggone lonely anymore. An all around win!

I call my robot Mr. Pickles, he seems to really like the name. Lately, Mr Pickles has taken to ripping the heads off of people and yelling FAIL! down their throats. I guess its some sort of meme. A meme is a kinda fad on the interwebs. For instance, let’s say someone takes a funny picture of a fat kitten looking surprised or of a remorseful dog vagina, they put the picture on the internets and other users insert the picture into amusing scenarios, while other people circulate these pictures on social networking sites. It is uproariously funny. But it can also get like really deep ya know, like when sometimes people put a meme inside of a meme… I don’t even want to think about it. It makes my poor little head hurt. Its pretty amazing. 

So anywho, Mr Pickles was ripping the heads off all the hired help and various neighbors the other day when I saw Trudy at the Hot-n-Bite, you know Trudy from my yoga class… anyway Trudy starts telling me about her husband Ted and how all he does is cry about The Fear and The Void day and night. While she’s prattling on, I see Mr. Pickles making a bee-line across the parking deck for her. I quickly took Judy by the shoulders and looked her dead in the eye and said,

“Trudy if you value your life and I know you do… when that cute little robot in the Tadashi cocktail dress comes over here and addresses you, you just scream “Dog vagina!” as loud as you can, OK?”

Judy just smiled uncomfortably at me and then laughed like I had said the funniest joke ever. So Mr. Pickles arrives and offers Trudy a smoke pellet. Trudy graciously accepts and then Mr. Pickles severs her head from her neck with one fluid movement, he lifts her body up at the waist and swings her around like he was playing a trumpet. “FAIL!!!”, he roars down her throat. All the while, her carotid arteries are spraying blood all over him. Well I forgot my place and shrieked, “Your dress dear,” but Mr. Pickles just glared at me, dropped Trudy and began to roll over to me. So I whisper, “Dog Vagina?” and luckily for me Mr. Pickles laughed and decided to buy us root beer floats. Oh my new social life sure is exciting! Well I gotta run, looks like Mr. Pickles is ripping off someones beard and eating it.

Love,

Mom

XOXOXO