Somebody Call Guinness!

This is Mighty Dyckerson coming to you LIVE from atop the toilet in my luxurious second floor lavatory. Why am I blogging from my shitter, you ask?? Well surely by now you've heard about the Little Old Lady Who Lived in a Loo. She made headlines last week when cops found her in a trailer where she had been welded to her toilet seat for two years. When I read about this, I was heartbroken. Grandpa Dyckerson had held the potty sitting record for decades...and now this bitch comes along and shatters it! So not to be outdone, I have set out to RECLAIM THE TITLE by sitting on my toilet nonstop for THREE YEARS!!! I know, it seems like an impossible task. But have no fear, for I have planned ahead.

First and foremost, I have made provisions for food and water. Actually, water is no issue - the bathroom sink is right there at arm's length. As for food, I have stocked the medicine cabinet with a wide assortment of delicious CHEF BOYARDEE CANNED PASTA MEALS. Mmm-mmm, that's good eatin'! In addition, I have my cell phone programmed with the numbers of all the pizza and chinese delivery joints within a 10-mile radius. Directions to my toilet are taped to the front door for the delivery guys. A spare house key is cleverly hidden under the door mat.

As for sleep, I should have no trouble catching 40 winks with the pillow and blanket I have in here. Hell, I even have an ottoman for propping up my feet. I'LL BE LIVING IN THE CRAP OF LUXURY!!

Now many of you are probably wondering if my ass skin will become fused to the toilet seat. Please, you're not exactly dealing with an amateur here. I have already anticipated this very possibility; therefore, I have coated my throne with a thick layer of TEFLON. Furthermore, I have sprayed my ass liberally with PAM NO-STICK COOKING SPRAY. So no way is my ass sticking to anything. Of course, I'll have my kitchen spatula standing by just in case.

But how will I stay connected to the outside world, you ask?? Well obviously I have my CRAPTOP COMPUTER with me, and this baby has a wireless card so I can steal Internets from the neighbors. I also moved my DVD PLAYER and BIG SCREEN TV to the bathtub, so I have ENDLESS HOURS OF ENTERTAINMENT just inches from my face. And finally, I have instructed my postal carrier to TOSS MY SACKS OF FAN MAIL through the bathroom window. So far, he has only missed once. (Too bad about the neighbor's cat.)

There, that should just about take care of everything. I'll keep you updated on my progress as the months roll by. Now if you'll excuse me, it's time for my dinner...

...FUCK! I dropped my can opener into the bowl!! Any plumbers out there???

The Spitzer Hit The Fan

What's the deal with this guy? I mean now stupid can he be? Has he totally lost his motherfucking mind?? Five thousand bucks for THIS??!!

OK, she's kinda good looking. All oiled up and what not. Nice rack. But friends, this is NOT four-digit poon. Not even close. For that kind of money, this chick better be shitting GOLD DOUBLOONS out of her ASS. And something tells me that ain't happening.

In fact, I can't think of ANY circumstances under which a non-celebrity prostitute could command that kind of price. I mean, obviously there's a big difference between a $20 whore and a $200 prostitute. Factors include looks, experience, skill, cleanliness, and level of service.

Look, I'm no financial wizard, but I took Econ 101 in college. At a certain point, the LAW OF DIMINISHING RETURNS must be considered here - i.e., what can a $5,000 lady of the evening do for you that a $200 call girl can't??! Can she fix my car? Will she give me stock tips??! Sorry, I just can't see much added value.

So do you want a man who blows FIVE GRAND on sex to be handling your state budget?? Before you know it, he'd be THROWING AWAY MONEY on USELESS SHIT like educatinn and public safety. And as your next president, I give you my SOLEMN VOW that that will NEVER HAPPEN under my administration!

Russian Hour Traffic

So there's this chick who works in my office. She's moderately attractive, she dresses like a whore, and she's built like a brick shithouse. However, several key factors prevent me from attempting to acquire this poon. I shall list them now in bullet form:

• She's married with kids. I know, it's not necessarily a deal breaker. I mean there's hardly a woman in this world who can resist the tempting seductions of one Mightonimous Q. Dyckerson. But judging from the photo on her desk, her husband is large and quite muscular.
• She's Russian. No way in Hades will I allow myself be seen in public cavorting with some commie. I have my presidential campaign to think of. Look what happened when that video surfaced of Yobama hopping around in the desert with nothing but a towel on his head. Major negative P.R. right there.
• She's a self-centered little bitch. She ought to be grateful to be in this country, but she acts like she's entitled to be here. She struts around the office, shaking her ass like she's walking the runway at the Miss Universe pageant. I am not kidding here. The way she walks, it's like she's expecting people to throw rose petals at her feet or something. Not only that, but she actually thinks her work is more important than anyone else's. On more than one occasion, she has asked me to stop loading my data so she could load hers first. I told her to go fuck herself with a hammer and sickle.

Now the other day I was on the interstate heading for work. I was running a trifle late, so I was slightly exceeding the posted speed limit. Normally I wouldn't give a damn about being late to my shitty job, but it was bagel day, and I wanted to get there before the fatasses in Accounting stole all the cinnamon & raisins. Fucking bean counters. They oughtta be counting calories! Am I right people??!

But back to my morning commute. So I'm on I-295, flying like a bat out of Hell and making good time. Now I get pissed pretty easily when it comes to bad drivers...and when I say bad drivers, I mean EVERY OTHER DRIVER ON THE ROAD besides myself. But the one thing that pisses me off MORE THAN ANYTHING is when slow moving assholes hog the left lane. You know the type. No matter how many vehicles are stacked up behind them trying to get by, the left lane hog just cruises along at or below the speed limit pretending like they can't see them. Usually I encounter at least four or five of these cocksuckers EVERY FUCKING MORNING. Passing on the right is the only option, and I do so quite often...usually while expressing my regards to the offending driver with an obscene gesture or two.

Well this particular morning was no exception. I passed a total of FOUR left lane hogs within a three-mile stretch, and the anger was building. Finally I thought the coast was clear...but not so fast. Up there in the distance, YET ANOTHER left lane hog. I'd had enough. I rolled right up to this cocksucker's bumper and jerked the DyckMobile into the center lane until our cars were side-by-side. Then I rolled up my sleeve, extended my middle finger, and banged it on the glass of my door whilst making an upward thrusting motion. I didn't even bother to look and see who it was. Then I sped forward and swerved the DyckMobile into the left lane, my rear bumper missing the other vehicle's front fender by mere inches. 'Twas a sight to behold.

Quite pleased with myself, I proceeded to work and perched myself in my chair, ready to face another day. Not two minutes later, Russian chick walks in the door, struts over to my cube, and puts her hands on her hips. Here is an excerpt of the conversation that followed.....

Russian Chick: That wasn't very nice, DYCKERSON!
Dyck: What the fuck are you talking about?
Russian Chick: You know what I'm talking about, DYCKERSON! Giving me the finger!!
Dyck: Oh...umm...was that you??
Russian Chick: You know it was me! Do you do that to everybody, DYCKERSON??
Dyck: No, only SELF-CENTERED COMMIE ASSHOLES who don't know how to drive. Now STEP OFF, you borscht-eating red menace!!!

That shut her up. She threw her hands up in the air and stormed off in a huff. With that ugliness behind me, I swiveled around in my chair, gave myself a high five, and got down to business.

Score one for the U.S.A.!

Taint Misbehavin'

No, not that kind of taint, you sick fucks. This is a respectable blog. I'm talking about tainted meat...and I think I got a hold of some. Allow me to excrete myself.

Yesterday afternoon while I was at the neighborhood shopping center conducting my weekend errands, I developed a strong desire to consume a submarine sandwich item. Normally when such a hankering occurs, I head for a Quiznos, a Jersey Mike's, or as a last resort, a Subway. However, this particular shopping center had none of the above, so I was forced to take my business here:




That's right, Stuffy's. Needless to say, I wasn't too thrilled with this alternative, but I needed a sandwich more than Ms. Babble needs birth control pills. So I decided to give them a chance.

The dining room was empty, except for one Stuffy's associate diligently vacuuming the crud-encrusted carpet. I figured I simply caught them between the lunch and dinner rush. Undeterred, I sashayed over to the counter and placed my order with the pimply faced sandwich artist. I selected "The Max" with its classic combination of roast beef, turkey, and some other meat product which escapes me at this time. I opted for mayo, lettuce, tomato, and onions. But I am no glutton, so I went with the regular size as opposed to the footlong.

My sandwich was made with great dispatch, and I paid the cashier flunkie and headed home to masticate. And boy did I ever! I shoved that meaty six inches in my mouth and sucked it down like there was no tomorrow. Mmmm, that was good eatin'!!!

Fast forward two hours, and I'm starting to feel a little queasy. Nothing major, just a little gastrointestinal discomfort. I'm doing some straightening up around the house, and I bend over to pick up a butt plug. (How did that get in here?? Must belong to Sassy.) As I retrieve the anal pleasure enhancement device, I suddenly feel dizzy and light headed. Fearing I may pass out, I stumble to the living room and stretch out on the sofa...and I remain there ill and immobilized for over TWO HOURS! My head is throbbing, my back is aching, and my stomach is gurgling the entire time.

I turn on the TV and dial up the CNN. Hillary's giving a speech to some people somewhere. Then it hits me out of nowhere. I need to get to a bathroom, and I need to get to a bathroom FAST. I drop the remote, spring to my feet, and hot foot it to the crapper, tripping over countless more butt plugs along the way. (Geez, Sassy! Pick up after yourself!!)

I perch myself atop my throne and let loose Within mere seconds, that bowl was literally filled to capacity. I stood and turned to admire my creation, and I was astounded. Somehow my six inch sub had managed to turn itself into a footlong - a footlong surrounded by a pool of dark brown sludge of such artistic beauty, I was tempted to alert the Smithsonian Instipoot. Unfortunately, they stopped taking my calls years ago. Their loss.

All of this brings me back to Stuffy's. I can't imagine an ordinary sub sandwich making me this sick. Something had to be terribly wrong with it. I'm not sure, but I suspect that I was given tainted meat. Something about the way that guy was looking at my while he prepared my six incher. Only problem is, I can't prove it...at least not yet.

I did have the foresight to save a sample of my stool. I'm planning to have it analyzed by a stool specialist ASAP. But what I need now is a good lawyer to represent me in court. It should be an open and shut case. Any attorneys out there?? If so, please contact me immediately! My stool is starting to harden!