Drunken Post

I don't noramally rigte posts when i'm drunk ubt its about time for a new post so here I am. I try to updsdate my blog at least twice a week but sometims its hard cuss of my job and shit. God i hate my job i wish i coiuld just blog all fucking day long and tell those fuckers to kissoff. I staretgd the is blog like two.5 yuears ago so i could get some poon but so far i haven't gotten shit form you poelple. that babble chik is kinda cute but all she dos is have babies with some other guy. Then theres revee who got me unbanned form medialien forum by having intercrourse with the moderator. She's really sweat nad shit but shes datting a candy bar. sissy bloned sounds hot and her avatar looks lick maralyn manson, did you no she was discovered in a drug store having amilkshake/ drug stores don't have milkshakes anymore maybe if they did more poelple would be discoverd. PEPO;LEE PPEPLE PEOPLE fuck tahts a hard workd to spell when your drunk.

Time for a new paragraphy. So i went down town to thsi bar hopping to score some poon, their wawas a cute watress wtih a black halter top thing i tried to show her my weewee but she sparyed me with mace damn btcih. The bartender made me a rum and coke and i drank it but didnt even taste lany alcohol which is wiered cause i usualy taste that shit real easy. I thought he jsut gaeve me a awated down cola so i asked for another and then another. bY the tird i was feeling real good so i decided to get he fuck outta there and gol home.

ON my a way to hte car i had to piss like a moituehrfucker so i foudn a cobblsstone alley and pissed in it I hoep they don't mnind. I know you'res nots uppoped to drink drukn but i had to get home and paint my dormers befrore the homos associatastion gets mad at me agian. I past dead bird on the sidewalk i swear to you it smeelleed just like cherry koolaid, isn't that cdrazy? Or amybe koolaid smeels like dead birds, i don't know for sure. When i amd runk, I like to eat Taco bell food and i dont knwo why that is but i think everybody eats taco bell when they're durnk. So i went there next and ordered something and ate it all up.

Then i realised it was tood ark to paint my dormers plus i couldt' find my latter so i decided ot take a fuckign shower. I cleaned my bathroom today which if cuking hate to do mbut it needed it cause mold was growing on the tile groute. i filled an empty spary bototle with bleach and water to spray on the mold but fuck if the spray bottle didnt want otw ork so i just pourd the fucking bealch driectly on the mold and guess waht it's gone! i'm like martha fucking steward, bitches. Thend i had to piss real bad again so i got aoiutta the shower and piseed all over the fucking gfloor that i jsut cleaned tdoay, usually i hafe pretty good aim but notu when im' drunk. sonfoabtich i hate toilets.

YOuw ever wahtch that ER show? ica n't stand it except for thaot hot blond chidkc waht ever her name is. Otherwsiek its sucks as far as im' concerned. When in was driving home tonight i was swerving all over the place but damn if i didn't know all the words to hotel california and vcitim of love by the eagles. I swear i know all their lyricds so good i could sing them if i was dead. Thye has a enww album comign out next month you should check it ouit lots of news ongs. i already heard one new song thats actually an old song by jd souther they used todo in concernt not many poeleple know that but i do bc i'm a big fan. ms. babble hates the eagles but shes a bichtc so whoo cares.


goodamit im' hunry agian lucky i have some fuckign doritos in my caibnet. honestly I could eat doritos the rest of my life and neve get tiredk of them. They havfe lots of flaovors now but noacho will alwas be my favorite i think. Try the smokin cheddar sometime tho it really is smoking but not really. anybody nkow owhere i can get some quality poon i woiuld apprefdiate it. Fuck its cold outsdie tonigt i guess fall is here. I never licked fall when iwa s in school becase fall meants chool was starting agin and i fuciking hated school. Now i ckinda like fall becdause the weather is coolrer and i have to work anyaway so wahts the fucking dirfference.

Mona Lisas and Red Hatters

Mother Dyckerson is really losing it. She has always been a little goofy...like the time she asked me to look at her TV remote because it wasn't working. Turns out she was trying to change channels with a calculator. Or the time I asked for a Dustbuster for Christmas, and she got me a Shop-Vac with a 10 gallon tank.

Now she has gone and joined something called the Red Hat Society. For those of you not familiar, the Red Hat Society is an ever-growing group composed of old bats on the verge of senility who convene on a regular basis for the sole purpose of making fools of themselves. They have local chapters around the country, so chances are you've seen them out in public. They are easily identifiable by rosy-colored head coverings.


What exactly does the Red Hat Society do, you ask?? A better question might be, what don't they do? For example, they don't raise money for charity. They don't read to the blind or make quilts for the children's hospital. They don't organize bake sales to raise money for the PTA. In fact, they don't seem to do anything constructive or meaningful in any way. They just have lots and lots of spare time.


Mother D's local chapter went to lunch last weekend. They got themselves a big table at Olive Garden, ordered ridiculous amounts of pasta, and gorged themselves like they were on one of them Japanese game shows. Oh yeah, and then they had a kazoo playing contest. That's right, a kazoo playing contest. Right there in the restaurant. Mother D won second prize - some cheap piece of crap from the Dollar Hole. Yeah, that's worth making an idiot of yourself in front of people who are trying to eat their calzones. If I was the manager of that Olive Garden, I would have called the cops and had them all arrested for disturbing the pizza.


I'm thinking of starting my own club, the Blue Hat Society. We'll engage in turf wars and commit violent acts against the Red Hats. If a Red Hat tries to enter our territory or even looks at us funny, we'll shank their wrinkled old asses. Or better yet, perhaps I'll form an Ass Hat Society. We'll drive around the neighborhood and blast our train horns in front of unwitting pedestrians. Yeah, that would be awesome!

Meanwhile, I'm going to start searching for a nut farm for Mother D...

Check Out My Package!

Guess what was waiting to greet me when I came home Friday night! No, it wasn't the Hor dressed as a French chamber maid. That was Thursday night. It was THIS:


That's right, ladies and germs! It's the ONKYO TX-SR505S 7.1 Channel Home Theater Receiver!! I know what you're thinking right now: "Dyckerson, that must have set you back a pretty penny!" Well think again, Copernicus! I ordered that baby last week from the good folks at Amazon.com for a paltry $219.99. That's a savings of $79.01, or 26% off the list price! Retail is for CHUMPS!! I invested in this versatile piece of hardware to replace my aging stereo receiver, which I never even bothered to hook up when I moved last year.

Now without further adieu, behold for yourself...the TX-SR505S in all its unwrapped glory:


Isn't it beautiful?? It's also available in black, but I went with the silvery finish because it's shinier, and everybody knows shinier is better. (If you get one for yourself, just make sure you avoid the lead version from China.)

Now you're probably wondering exactly what the TX-SR505S is all about. Allow me to put it in layman's terms for you simpletons. The TX-SR505S boasts 75 Watts per Channel Minimum into 8 Ohms, 20 Hz-20 kHz, 0.08%, FTC (2 Channels Driven); 100 Watts per Channel Minimum into 6 Ohms, 1 kHz, 0.1%, FTC (2 Channels Driven), DTS-ES Discrete/Matrix, DTS Neo:6, DTS 96/24, Dolby Digital EX, Dolby Pro Logic Iix, 2 HDMI Inputs and 1 Output (1080p Pass-Thru to HD Ready Displays), and Color-Coded 7.1-Multichannel Inputs (Receive 7.1 Surround Sound from Compatible Blu-ray and HD-DVD Players).

Impressive, ain't it??! And it's a cinch to install! All you need is a few common household tools...such as scissors, a flashlight, wire cutters, needle nose pliers, a flathead screwdriver, a crimping tool, vice grips, a soldering iron, cable ties, a blowtorch, an air compressor, a hacksaw, blasting caps, adhesive tape, a staple gun, at least 10,000 feet of assorted cables, and a heating pad. Actually, the heating pad isn't required, but it sure is relaxing after you've spent three hours on your hands and knees hooking up this piece of shit.

The TX-SR505S comes with a big thick user's manual, but being a man, dependence on any kind of instructions is a sure sign of weakness. Instead, I rely solely on my gut. I mean, how hard could it be?? Here, I'll walk you through it.

You start with the speakers. We're talking surround sound here, so you'll need about 50 speakers of various shapes and sizes. And make sure you get the expensive speaker wire. You know, the kind where the insulation is all ONE COLOR, so you have to trace the positive and negative leads all the way across the fucking room so you don't get the wires crossed and end up blowing up the goddamn TX-SR505S, sending shards of silvery shrapnel deep inside your flesh. Once you have your expensive speaker wire laid out, rip the insulation off the ends and jam the exposed wire into the speaker holes. If you find you have more holes than speakers, simply shove paper clips in the unused holes.

Now it's time to hook up your components. This too is a breeze. Let's start with your cable or satellite box. If you have the HDMI, you'll want to use that connection. If you don't have the HDMI (or don't know what the hell it is), you'll have to settle for component and/or composite cables. If you don't have those either, you'll need some more paper clips. Once you have your cable or satellite box hooked up, it's time to connect your VCR or DVD recording apparatus. The beauty of the TX-SR505S is that it accepts component OR composite input from your recorder, but it only provides composite output back to the recorder. And because the TX-SR505S can't convert the signal, you're pretty much forced to go composite in to your recorder. Now you're ready to hook the receiver to your TV. I hope you still have plenty of cables, 'cause you'll need a set of output cables to match every kind of cable you have going in to the TX-SR505S! Component, composite, HDMI, S-video - you got an empty hole, you better shove something in that motherfucker! How about audio? You got a CD player or DyckPod? You better stick that in there too. And unless you're a complete jackass, you'll want to use the fancy schmancy optical cables. After an hour or two of this bullshit, your living room floor will look like R2-D2 threw up on it.


Let's talk about remote controls. By now you probably have 83 of them. Each one of them is "universal," but not quite "universal" enough to control all the advanced functions of all your components. So basically you have to keep them all within reach. One time I programmed my DVR remote to send a power-off command to the TV remote. Then I programmed the TV remote to echo that command back to the DVR, which in turn sent the signal back to the TV. They've been fighting it out for two years now.

OK, so now you're ready to watch some top-quality video entertainment. Piece o' cake! First, turn on your cable or satellite box. Then turn on your TX-SR505S. Then turn on your TV. Select the channel you want to watch on your cabllite box. Then select the appropriate input on the TX-SR505S. Depending on how you connected your cabllite box, you may also have to change inputs on your TV. But then again, you may not. Now adjust your volume settings. What's that? You say you can't hear anything? Dumbass, you probably forgot to assign your audio to the proper input when you configured your components. The TX-SR505S isn't a mind reader, you know. You'll need to unhook everything and start over again.

Perhaps by now you're sorry you purchased the TX-SR505S. Perhaps you'd like to return it and get your money back. But because you bought it online to save your cheap ass few bucks, you're pretty much STUCK WITH IT. My recommendation: Take your TX-SR505S to the roof of your house and drop it on your neighbor's retarded kids when they're playing in the yard. Now THAT'S what I call entertainment.

H.O.A. Holes - Volume II

My wood is in dire need of servicing.

That's according to a sternly worded nastygram I received from my fiendly neighborhood homeowners' association. Should you have any doubt as to my opinion regarding these Nazi pricks, I direct you to my March '07 post entitled H.O.A. HOLES. As soon as I saw the return address on the envelope, I knew I was screwed. These bastards wouldn't be writing me if they didn't want something. Here's what the townhouse terrorists had to say.....

During the annual inspection of the community the item(s) listed below are in need of repair or maintenance:
1. Paint trim on shed.
2. Repair rotten wood on trim around windows above entrance.

Item #1 actually amused me because the trim is the least of the problems with my shed. Sure, I can slap some leftover paint on there in no time. Won't cost me a dime. But that's not going to do me much good when the roof caves in, which it is likely to happen any day now. (That reminds me. I better find a new place to stash my O.J. sports memorabilia.)

Item #2 is the one that had me defecating masonry. Yes, I have windows above my entrance. And yes, those windows are surrounded by wood trim. And yes, that trim could be described as rotten...although I prefer to think of it as "charming" and/or "rustic." But who do these assholes think they are telling me how to maintain my own fucking property? Why should I listen to them? What can they possibly do to me??

If the above listed discrepancies are not repaired within 90 days from the date of this letter, you can be summoned before a Judicial Panel for your non-compliance and a monetary penalty can be imposed in accordance with the Virginia Property Owners Act.

Awww SHIT. I hate any sentence that contains the words "judicial" and "monetary penalty." Time for me to get an estimate...and I better hurry too. I got that letter 86 days ago.

48 HOURS LATER.....

So I called a home repair company I found in the yellow pages. They have a full page ad, so they must be good. They immediately dispatched their top sales weasel to my house to give me a free estimate. Well the free estimate turned out to be a waste of my time and an insult to my intelligence.

"Allow me to introduce myself," said the weasel. "My name is Jack Mehoff and I represent the A-1 Repair Company! Here, have a colorful pamphlet!"

He handed me a folded 8.5" x 11" piece of paper that looked like it came out of his bubble jet printer five minutes ago. He then ENTERED MY HOME and sat in MY CHAIR.

"My, what a lovely home you have! I see you're a musician," he said, pointing out my collection of dusty guitars.

"Yeah, sure," I replied. "I see you're wearing a leather belt. I guess that makes you a cow. And that pen in your hand...you must be a Pulitzer Prize winning author."

Then he starts bombarding me with personal questions. "Tell me, where are you from? How long have you lived here? What kind of work do you do? Are you willing to accept Jesus as your Lord and Savior?" I didn't know whether this guy was a repairman or a Jehovah's Half-Witless.

I'm no salesman, but I know when I'm being worked over...and this slimeball was buttering me up like a Sunday biscuit. He must've just finished reading Dale Carnegie's How to Con Friends and Fuck People up the Ass.

I cut him off at the pass. "Look, I just need you to patch up some rotten wood so I can get these goddamn bloodsuckers off my back. Can you do that?"

"I like a man who knows how to do business," he BS'd. "Let's go take a look."

We walked outside and I pointed out the chunks of wood falling from the side of my house. He pulled out a clipboard and scribbled something. I'm not sure, but I think he drew an airplane.

"You know, we could cover up all this wood with maintenance free vinyl siding. We do have a special going on right now," he blabbered.

"I don't want to cover it up, you dipshit. I want to FIX IT. FAST and CHEAP, like YOUR MAMA!" I screamed. As you can tell, I was starting to get a wee bit agitated.

"Very well then." He whipped out his Dollar Tree calculator and started punching in some random numbers. "Now before I give you my estimate, I want to point out that the A-1 Repair Company prides itself on doing high quality work," he said. In other words, I was about to get reamed. "The figure I came up with is $915."

"Nine HUNDRED and WHAT THE FUCK?? YOU GODDAMN MOTHER SUCKING TOAD LICKING ASS FUCKER, you come in here and sit in MY CHAIR and WASTE MY FUCKING TIME with your BULLSHIT SALES SPIEL so you can try to ROB ME BLIND??!" I asked calmly. I feel I was polite but firm.

"Ahem...Well, you have to expect to pay a little more for top quality work," he retorted.

"I DON'T WANT QUALITY WORK, YOU BLUE-COLLAR BUTT GOBBLER! I WANT CHEAP SHODDY WORK, BECAUSE THAT'S THE AMERICAN WAY," I explained patriotically. "NOW GET OFF MY PROPERTY, YOU FUCKING COMMIE PRICK!!!"

At this point, I only have two days left before the H.O.A. sends their thugs over to beat me up. Desperate times call for desperate measures...so tonight I'm sneaking over to my neighbors' house, ripping the trim off his windows, and tacking it onto mine. That's what I call thinking outside the box. I'm a problem solver, dammit. Of course I'm creating a problem for someone else, but that's none of my concern. Besides, they should have thought of that before they let me move next door to them. Stupid bastards.

There Is A God

I know I've been in a funk lately. But thanks to an incident that occurred earlier this evening, my spirits have been lifted. Life is good!

You see, I live in a townhouse. The way the units are laid out, the living rooms are in the back, with a large sliding glass door leading to the back yard. Fences separate each yard, but I can still see, hear, and smell most everything the neighbors are doing when they are back there.

It was a beautiful late summer day here in Dyckersonville. Skies were overcast throughout the day, but not a single drop of rain had fallen. A perfect evening for a barbecue...or so my new jackass neighbors thought. I call them jackasses even though we've never met. I just assume they are jackasses because most people are. I figure I'll just go with the odds on this one.

Anyway, their grill came out around 6pm. I know this because the acrid smell of burning charcoal began choking me around this time. Of course I could close my screen door, but goddammit, it's the first cool night of the season and I'll be goddamned if I'll let those pricks ruin it for me. Then came the sound of something I truly hate. I ask you, is there anything worse than the sound of kids laughing and playing?? Happy people make me sick, but happy children make me positively homicidal. Children should be dead and not heard.

So there I was, my senses being assaulted, my entire evening about to be fucked by Mr. & Mrs. Suburbia and their retarded punkass kids. At that very moment, the clouds that had been lingering all day finally decided to blow their loads right over Dyckersonville. And it didn't just rain. It POURED! HA! HA HA!! HA HA HA HA!!! HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!!!!!!!!!

I ran to the door to get a better look. The kids' laughter instantly turned to bloodcurdling screams as they hurried inside, leaving dear dad stranded with a giant plate full of soggy wieners and buns. Meanwhile, mommy was getting soaked chasing after the napkins and paper plates that were blowing all over the yard. BWAHA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!!!!!!!!!

Sorry, is it wrong to find humor in the misfortune of others?

I DIDN'T THINK SO!!!

HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HAHA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HAHA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HAHA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HAHA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!!!!!!!!!

I guess the ol' neighbors had to order take-out. Such a pity. Really it is.

HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HAHA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HAHA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!!!!!!!!!

HA HA HA HA HA!!!!

HA HA!!!

HA!

I think I'm done now. Man, I love the rain.

*

I would like to be hospitalized for a lengthy period of time.

I know most people tend to hate hospitals. I am not one of those people. Call me crazy, but I would like nothing more than to be laid up in a private room with an adjustable bed, color TV, and round-the-clock maid service. I would like to have bland meals brought to me on a plastic tray by a sexy nurse wearing a tight-fitting uniform. I would like the aforementioned nurse to feed me with a spoon and scrub me with a loofah. I would like to piss in a bag and shit in a pot without having to leave the bed, and I would like an underpaid orderly to clean up the mess. I would like a breathing tube to relieve me of all this pesky inhaling and exhaling, and I would like an I.V. tube to feed morphine into my system 24/7. I would like to be showered with cards, flowers, and confections by people I hardly know or care about. And most of all, I would like all of this to be paid for by someone who isn't me.

I'm not sick, nor have I recently sustained any debilitating injuries. I am just tired of everything and I need a fucking break.

I am tired of alarm clocks. I am tired of personal hygiene. I am tired of fighting the same goddamn traffic every day to go the same goddamn job and interacting with the same goddamn people. I am tired of pressing buttons on electronic devices. I am tired of listening to people and processing their words with my brain. I am tired of pumping gas. I am tired of loading my piece-of-shit dishwasher, only to end up having to wash everything by hand anyway. I am tired of coins. I am tired of reading and writing, but not of 'rithmetic. I am tired of doing laundry. I am tired of waiting in line at the store behind morons who, when they get to the register, are genuinely surprised that they are expected to actually PAY for their items, and who therefore spend 20 minutes of MY TIME searching for their cash or their debit card or their checkbook or their fucking food stamps. I am tired of bending down to tie my shoes. I am tired of looking at my neighbor's dogs when I take out the trash. I am tired of taking out the trash.

I think being in a coma would be very relaxing, as long as nobody pulled the plug on my ass.

I'd like to tell everyone I know that I am dying of a brain tumor. Boy, I'd really be the center of attention then, wouldn't I? Everybody would be all worried about me and shit. They'd bring me homemade soup and offer me pillows. No one would dare ask me to do squat...and if they did, I'd just say "Hey asshole, I have a brain tumor!" And if I ever did anything stupid like lose my car keys or forget somebody's name, I could just play the tumor card. People would be like, "Poor Dyckerson, that brain tumor is really getting to him now." It would be a free pass to say or do anything I wanted.

Life is too fucking complicated.

I'm thinking about selling all my shit on eBay and cashing in my 401K. I'll buy a tent and live off the land the rest of my life. No job, no mortgage, no taxes. I'll grow a long scraggly beard and carry a stick. I'll spend spring and summer at the beach, autumn in the mountains, and in the winter I'll hibernate like a bear. Yeah, I could get used to that real easy.

And I wouldn't miss you fuckers one damn bit.

September 11

No, we're not back. Nobody is going to read this, but I don't care. Today is the 6th anniversary of "9/11". It's been a strange one. I feel conflicted about this year for some reason. Lots of people just want to move on, don't want to see ceremonies, nobody dares wear an American flag anymore. Part of me agrees, but I think that's because forgetting is the easy way out. Pretend it didn't happen, and it's OK. But it's not OK. Thousands of people are gone. What else can we give them if not a day to remember them.

Fun With Spammers V: The Triumphant Return

I feel I must apologize for my recent outburst about the memes. It was rude and totally uncalled for. Don't get me wrong, I still hate memes more than life itself. I'm just a little cranky because I recently got turned down for a lucrative job offer I received in my email inbox. Read on:


Dear Sir/Madam,

Would you like to work online from Home/Temporarily and get paid weekly? We are glad to offer you for a job position at our company(Interface FabricsLimited),We need someone to work for the company as a Representative/Book keeper in your country. This is in view of our not having an office presently in your country.

My name is Mr Thomas Martins currently working as a consultant here in the United Kingdom. I found this medium an opportunity to contact you and talk to you to know if you can work with our company. I work as a consultant for a fabric company in United Kingdom called Interface FabricsLimited). I will like to know if you can work online from Home/Temporarily and get paid weekly.

***YOUR TASK IS TO CO-ORDINATE PAYMENTS FROM CUSTOMERS AND HELP US WITH THE PAYMENT PROCESSING***

BENEFIT IS AS FOLLOWS:
* The average monthly income is about $2000....
* No form of investments from you....
* This job takes only 1-3 hours per day....
* You do not pay any form of taxes....

REQUIEDMENTS:
* Full Name.
* Residential Address(In Full,Not P.O.BOX)
* Contact Phone number(s).
* Email.
* Age.
* Occupation.
* Bank Name(Only).

Reply me as soon as possible if you are interested for more details to this email (interfacefabricsll_001@yahoo.de) and I will be glad to get back to you within 24hr.

Best Regards
Thomas Martins
MANGER : INTERFACE FABRICS


Now I ask you, how am I to turn down an offer like that??? Here is my response to Mr. Martins.....

Dear Mr. Martins,

Bless you for contacting me via this medium about the job position with your company (Interface FabricsLimited). Yes, I would be thrilled to work online from Home/Temporarily and get paid weakly. Your offer could not come at a better time, as I am struggling to pay my legal bills after getting caught by security cameras in a somewhat compromising position. I also do not have an orifice in this country, but I enjoy interfacing with fabrics and I feel I would be a real asshat for your company (Interface FabricsLimited).

**PLEASE CONTACT ME URGENTLY ABOUT HOW I CAN APPLY FOR THIS EXCITING JOB POSITION AND WHETHER OR NOT YOU ALL INTENDS TO CONDUCT A BACKGROUND CHECK**

I am currently looking forwards for your reply.

Best regards,
Mitonimous Q. Dyckerson


Sure enough, Mr. Martins kept his promise and replied within 24 hours. What a guy.....


Dear Mr. Dyckerson,

Your email is well noted by us and we want you to fill the Requiement below before payment can be send to you by ower costomers.

REQUIEDMENTS:
* Full Name.
* Residential Address(In Full,Not P.O.BOX).
* Contact Phone number(s).
* Email.
* Age.
* Occupation.
* Bank Name(Only).

Best Regards
Thomas Martins
MANGER : INTERFACE FABRICS


This is a man who knows how to get down to business. I like that. Here is my response.....


Dear Mr. Martins,

First and foreskin, please feel free to call me "Mighty." My father was Mr. Dyckerson. Now before I begin filling out the REQUIEDMENTS, could you tell me more about your benefits package? I understand I will get paid weakly, but does your company (Interface FabricsLimited) offer health insurance? I only ask because I recently contracted a nasty rash from my associate RevRee and I would like to get treated before it spreads any farther. Also, I will need two days off in October so I can attend a Star Trek convention in Nigeria. I can probably get you a ticket if you would like to go. It is really beautiful there this time of year.

Thank you again and I looks forward to servicing yore costomers.

Best regards,
Mitonimous Q. Dyckerson


After not receiving a reply within 24 hours, I started to get worried. I decided I better follow up.....

Dear Mr. Martins,

I hope you did not take offense to my last email concerning benefits. If so, please accept my apologies. I can do without the health insurance and vacation time. Your company (Interface FabricsLimited) comes first in my book.

Here are the REQUIEDMENTS you requiested:
* Mitonimous Q. Dyckerson
* 3000 West Alameda Ave., Burbank, CA 91523*
* 213-466-5103*
* mightydyckerson@yahoo.com
* 69
* Entrepreneur
* First Bank of Switzerland

Thank you again for understanding. I look forward to your urgent reply.

Mitonimous Q. Dyckerson


* This was the address and phone number to write for tickets to the game show "Super Password." The show has been out of production for 18 years.


Shortly thereafter, I received the following rather terse message from Mr. Martins.....

FUCK OFF ASSHOLE.


Damn, was it something I said? I knew I shouldn't have asked off those two days. Oh well, perhaps opportunity will knock again someday! Until then, you may read about my previous encounters with spammers in Mighty Dyckerson's Fun With Spammers Collection!

• Fun With Spammers (the original)
• More Fun With Spammers
• Fun With Spammers III: The New Blood
• Fun With Spammers IV: The Holiday Edition
  

Tag THIS, Morons!

Listen up, kids. I've been blogging for over 35 years now, and during that time I have been memed, maimed, mocked, tagged, tugged, and yanked to death. So please do not send me invitations to answer a bunch of dumbass questions about my personal life. Trust me, the less you people know about my personal life, the better.

I have absolutely no interest in compiling a list of thirteen D-list celebrities I'd like to have urinate on my head. Nor will I rearrange the letters in my name to come up with adjectives that describe the interior of my large intestine. Finally, under no circumstances will I share my innermost secrets, highest hopes, or deepest fears with you crack smoking ass goblins. I would rather dip my nuts in honey and cover them with an army of hungry fire ants.

Furthermore, I refuse to perpetuate these 21st-century chain letters by passing them on to other bloggers. I wouldn't wish that on my worst enemy. And if your life is so fucking empty that you have to rely on memes to fill your blog, for God's sake find another source of online entertainment like Spider Solitaire or Texas Hang 'Em or child pornography. Or better yet, master the art of identity theft and steal the name of someone with an actual personality.

Oh, and one more thing. I know you jackasses are dying to leave me retarded comments like "You've been tagged, ha ha!" Please spare me. If I want to read something funny, I'll look at your SAT scores. Now get the fuck out of here before I "tag" you upside the head with one of Jenny's steel dildos.

Interpretive Poetry

Tonight's selection is entitled "Simple Simon." Please follow along with me.


Simple Simon met a pieman
Going to the fair;
Says Simple Simon to the pieman,
"Let me taste your ware."

- A pieman is a man who sells pie. However, when I read this, I interpret "pie" as poon. Thus, the pieman is actually a pimp...and Simon is a john looking for oral sex.

Says the pieman to Simple Simon,
"Show me first your penny."
Says Simple Simon to the pieman,
"Indeed I have not any."

- The pimp wants cash up front, but Simon is flat-ass broke.

He went to catch a dickey bird,
And thought he could not fail,
Because he'd got a little salt,
To put upon his tail.

- Simon changed his mind. Now he wants to have anal sex with a transgender prostitute ("dickey bird").

He went to take a bird's nest,
Was built upon a bough;
The branch gave way and Simon fell
Into a dirty slough.

- In this passage, the "branch" is the transgender prostitute's penis, the "bird's nest" is his pubic hair, and the "bough" is his crotch. "The branch gave way" means the she-male couldn't get it up.

He went to shoot a wild duck,
But wild duck flew away;
Say Simon, I can't hit him,
Because he will not stay."

- Simon tried to steal a rubber dildo from a sex toy shop, but he was caught on tape by security cameras.

Simple Simon went a-fishing,
For to catch a whale;
All the water he had got
Was in his mother's pail.

- Simon committed incest with his overweight mother.

Simple Simon went a-hunting,
For to catch a hare;
He rode an ass about the streets,
But couldn't find one there.

- This part is self-explanatory.

He went for to eat honey,
Out of the mustard pot;
He bit his tongue until he cried,
That was all the good he got.

- Unsatisfied with the butt sex, Simon decided to acquire some poon. The expression "bit his tongue" is a euphemism for premature ejaculation.

He went to ride a spotted cow
That had a little calf;
She threw him down upon the ground,
Which made the people laugh.

- Simon had rough sex with a bovine in front of a bunch of Mexican farm hands.

Once Simon made a great snowball,
And brought it in to roast;
He laid it down before the fire,
And soon the ball was lost.

- Simon was castrated.

He went to slide upon the ice
Before the ice would bear;
Then he plunged in above his knees,
Which made poor Simon stare.

- Simon tried to make it with a frigid bitch, but she wouldn't put out.

He washed himself with blacking ball,
Because he had no soap;
Then said unto his mother,
"I'm a beauty now, I hope."

- Simon got a facial from a black dude and came out of the closet.

Simple Simon went to look
If plums grew on a thistle;
He pricked his fingers very much,
Which made poor Simon whistle.

- Simon pleasured himself while laying under a plum tree.

He went for water in a sieve,
But soon it all ran through.
And now poor Simple Simon
Bids you all adieu.

- Simon broke his last condom, so he went to rob a 7-Eleven. Peace out, homeys.

An Inconvenient Poop (Part 2)

In case you're tuning in late and missed the first installment of An Inconvenient Poop, I'll give you the Dyck's Notes version. Last Saturday after eating a nutritious lunch, I went for a walk and got a case of the shits. I searched for a suitable shitter substitute and ended up squatting in a storage room behind the neighborhood high school. In doing so, I released a steaming pile of crap and sullied my buttocks. And now, the exciting conclusion of.....An Inconvenient Poop!!!

WARNING:
The following post contains actual photos of Mighty Dyckerson's feces.
Parental discretion is advised.

As I squatted in the corner hovering above my fresh turd tart, my thoughts turned to my personal hygiene. I was nearly a mile from my house. How the hell was I going to wipe myself? I searched the area frantically for something that I could use as toilet paper. A lump of coal from the barbecue? (Nah, too awkward.) A handful of sawdust? (Nah, too messy.) The little pieces of black foam that fit over my DyckPod earbuds? (Nah, too expensive to replace.)

In the comments to part one, Danielle the Hor asked if I was going to sacrifice a sock. This was not an option, as the lining to my Nikes was already shot to hell, and my feet were sore and blistered from the walk. I needed my socks. So reluctantly, I pulled up my shorts, leaving them low enough so as to prevent any direct contact with my crack. Basically the way the kids wear their pants nowadays. I then wobbled my way outside and continued my search for a suitable asswipe.

Finally, there it was. Laying on the ground outside the door to the boys' locker room, a damp towel. It was like a miracle from Heaven. With great euphoria, I grabbed the towel and quickly returned to the scene of the grime. Two or three passes through my great divide and I was good to go. It was at this point that I got to see my handiwork for the first time. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you.....my feces:





I apologize for the lack of detail, but my camera phone isn't the greatest. This picture was actually taken several hours after the incident, by which time the poo had darkened considerably and lost much of its moisture.

I stood there for several minutes and marveled at the shape and contours of my scatalogical sculpture. Satisfied that my bowels were sufficiently emptied, I tossed the newly monogrammed towel on top of the barbecue and continued on my journey.

But the story doesn't end there. I was several hundred feet from the school on my way home when the unthinkable happened. The cramps returned, and they were just as bad as last time. That's right, it was time for round two, where the points are doubled and anything can happen. I immediately made a U-turn and headed right back to school to "drop off the kids" as it were.

To my surprise, I returned to find the storage room was now occupied...by a swarm of flies buzzing around my pie. "Fuck," I thought to myself. "Those little bastards didn't waste any time! I'm going to have to start a new pile." So I walked over to the opposite corner, wedged myself against the two adjoining walls, and left an another apple for the teacher. This one hit the floor with such force, I think it actually cracked the concrete. See for yourself:

The lighting was better in this photo, so you can see a little more of the texture and detail. Bon appetit, you nasty old flies! This time cleanup was a breeze since I already had my trusty towel standing by. I just found an unused section of terrycloth, ran it through customs, and draped it neatly across the barbecue to dry out in the sun.

At this point I was reluctant to leave. I had already downloaded two enormous piles...but could there be a third??? I decided I would take a precautionary lap around the building to make sure the urge to purge did not return. Thankfully it did not, for my ass was raw and my towel was out of clean spots. So I made the long walk home and did some final touch-up work in the bathroom.

What have we learned from all of this?

1. Never ignore those painful stomach cramps. They never just "go away" on their own.
2. If you're going to be outside for any length of time, carry a wad of toilet paper with you.
3. Camera phones take lousy pictures.
4. Flies take to shit like a duck to water.

HAPPY LABOR DAY, SUCKERS!!!!!

An Inconvenient Poop (Part 1)

Exercise is a very important part of my regimen. At least once a year, I like to get outside and take a brisk walk around the neighborhood. It boosts my energy and gets the old blood flowing. Well last Saturday, something else was flowing.

I had just consumed a luncheon consisting of Chef-Boyardee beef ravioli and three chocolate flavored SlimFast shakes. That's some good eatin' right there, but my tummy was not happy. Nevertheless, I felt the need to walk off my afternoon repast. So I changed into my jogging outfit, grabbed my DyckPod, and hit the trail.

The warning signs were all there. I should have turned around after the first stomach cramp. But no, I bravely trudged on, thinking I'd be safe and sound in my domicile well before the shit hit the fan. Indeed, the cramp subsided, and I continued my stroll with confidence.

Part of my route takes me right past a certain high school which shall remain nameless. Note this is a heavily populated suburban area with lots of houses and busy streets. This is also the halfway point of my journey - the point at which I am the farthest from home base. As I neared the school, the cramps returned and increased in intensity. Pressure began to build. Soon it became quite clear that I was not going to make it home. I needed to dump some fuel...and FAST. But where??

My first option was a thin patch of trees that served as a natural buffer between the school parking lot and the adjoining neighborhood. But with people's back yards in plain view, this area did not provide the privacy I would require. Then I eyed the empty school bus parked in the lot. Perhaps I could leave my deposit in the aisle and let the bus driver deal with it. A hell of a way to start the school year, but that would be their problem. Alas, the door was locked. Desperation was setting in.

I hobbled my way behind the school and looked for anything I could use for a makeshift bathroom. There was a trailer classroom - locked. There was a dumpster - no privacy. At last, I found my oasis. It was a generously sized equipment room attached to the back of the school - gated, but UNLOCKED!


I entered the area and inspected the situation. In one corner stood a dusty propane barbecue. In another corner, a well-worn snow shovel waited for Old Man Winter to make his return. And in the center, a giant funnel-shaped contraption with a trash can positioned under the business end. The can was filled with something that resembled sawdust. What the fuck was that thing??! Beats the hell out of me...besides, I had other fish to fry.


As you can see from the photos, this area was not entirely enclosed. I knew I had to work fast...and judging from the Vesuvius-like pressure building inside my colon, that would not be a problem. I found an empty corner, wedged myself against the two adjoining walls, and dropped my shorts...along with everything else. Within mere seconds, an enormous mud pie jettisoned itself out of my ass and hit the concrete slab with a loud SPLAT that reverberated off the brick walls and shook the barbecue.

As I squatted there and relieved myself, I began to think of the myriad of laws of was breaking: Trespassing, indecent exposure, littering, brandishing a deadly weapon, you name it. Soon, I realized I had another hurdle to overcome. And I'll tell you what that was.....in PART DEUCE of An Inconvenient Poop! Stay tuned!!!!!