I first met George Carlin in the early 70s. He was headlining at the Belch 'N Giggle in Trenton, and I was the opening act. I was backstage rehearsing my act when George came up to me in a panic.
"Dyckerson, you gotta help me," he pleaded as he took a hit on his bong.
"Wassup, dude?" I asked.
"I've got no material, and I'm on in five minutes," he said. "Can you lend me a few of your jokes?"
I was about to tell him to get lost, when all the sudden a stage light came crashing down and landed on my big toe.
"SHIT PISS FUCK CUNT COCKSUCKER MOTHERFUCKER!" I screamed.
Just that second, a well endowed waitress walked by. I turned and shouted, "TITS!!!!"
George's face lit up like a Kwanzaa bush. "That's perfect! Thanks!!"
The rest, as they say, is history. George went on to do quite well for himself, yet he never gave me any credit. But I'm not bitter. You see, a few years ago, we ran into each other at an orgy at Tim Russert's place. George pulled me aside and gave me a piece of advice that would change my life forever.
"Dyck," he said. "You need to give up the stand-up comedy. The real future is in blogging."
"Blogging?" I asked skeptically.
"You heard me, clown. Blogging."
"But if blogs are so great, how come you don't have one?" I asked.
George took a swig of his boilermaker and answered simply, "Can't type."
So here I am, the host and star of The Mighty Blog with Mighty Dyckerson. And now that Carlin's cranky old ass is gone, I'm a shoe-in for next year's Shania Twain Comedy Award. Take that, gramps!!!
R.I.P., old buddy.
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