Brace Yourselves...For Poon!

I've been making fun of the cripples my whole life. I remember once a long time ago , Mother Dyckerson took me to the mall to go shopping. I pointed to an old man in a wheelchair and said, "Look mommy, there's a cripple!"

"That's not polite, Dyckie," my mother said. "See the uniform he's wearing? That man is a veteran. He was a soldier."

"Oh. Sorry," I replied sheepishly.

"That's OK. He obviously wasn't a very good one!" she said. We both laughed hysterically and gave each other a high five.

Those were good times. But who would have thought that nearly two years later, I myself would be severely handicapped?? While it is true that I didn't technically fight in any wars, I do live in Virginia...and if you've been watching any of the nonstop election coverage, you would know that Virginia is a battleground state. And if you've been reading my award-winning Mighty Blog recently, you would know that I literally SHATTERED my right arm* in an HORRENDOUS AUTOMOBILE ACCIDENT while en route to the children's hospital to read to the blind.**

So here I am, on week 4 of wearing this ridiculous brace contraption on my limb. It's bulky, it's cumbersome, and it itches like a sumbitch. But by far the worst thing is the smell - my God, the SMELL!!! I haven't thoroughly cleansed my right arm in over a month. That's nearly TWICE AS LONG as I normally go between arm cleansings. And if you think that's bad, you should take a good whiff of my armpits! Because of my DEBILITATING INJURY, my right arm stays close to my side at all times, allowing LITTLE TO NO VENTILATION to reach my right pit. And because I cannot fully raise and extend my right arm, I have no way to cleanse my left pit. The result: both of my pits smell like ASS!!!

However, being crippled is not without its advantages. Everywhere I go, people offer to help me: "Here, let me get the door for you," or "Here, let me carry that package for you," or "Here, let me stroke your genitals for you." Now many cripples would be offended by these offers of goodwill. They want to be seen as normal, independent adults capable of taking care of themselves. Well FUCK THAT. If people want to do stuff for me, I let 'em!! I haven't had to open a door or make my own coffee at work since the accident!

And then there's the poon!!! Holy shit, this arm brace is a POON MAGNET!! Gorgeous women naturally flock to me anyway...but now that I'm wearing this orthopedic appliance, I practically have to beat 'em off with a stick!! They run up to me in bars all the time and ask, "You poor baby, what happened to you??" Of course, I look them straight in the eye and tell them the truth: I was injured while rescuing a precious kitten from a burning house. Needless to say, I'm getting more tail than Scott Baio.

But this can't last forever, right? WRONG!!! I'm keeping this stinking brace FOREVER!! I'm thinking of getting a leg brace for added effect. They come with Vel-cro straps, so they're a snap to put on. Every Friday night I'll attach the brace, head down to the local watering hole, and work my magic! Maybe I'll even get me one of them uniforms like the vet in the wheelchair I told you about earlier.

Wait a minute...I betcha that old bastard was faking it too!



* OK, I dislocated my elbow and tore a couple of tendons.
** OK, I was cruising for hookers.

Pain At The Rump

I have a bit of a personal problem, and that problem is thus: Recently my employer purchased new leather office chairs to replace our old cloth chairs. Much like Ms. Babble, the old chairs were worn, unsightly, and riddled with a variety of unidentified stains. Here is a reasonable facsimile of my old chair:


And here is a hot-linked stock photo of my new chair:


Right now you're probably thinking, "So Dyckerson, what's the problem?? I would kill for an office chair like that!"

Well it's kind of a long story. I'll give you the long version. You see, thanks to a certain Sassy Blonde who shall remain nameless, I have acquired an addiction to fiber. A few months ago while seducing Her Sassiness online, we somehow got on the topic of bowel movements. It seems that the lovely Sassy shits at least seven or eight times per day, whereas at the time I was only shitting about once a month.

"DYCKIEPOO!!!" she exclaimed. "You're going to kill yourself! You must have more fiber!!! Fiber is key!!!!!!"

I immediately put down my laptop, pulled up my pants, and ran to the store. I stocked up on every kind of fiber product you could imagine. Fiber cereal, fiber breakfast bars, fiber powder, chewable fiber tablets, fiber brownies, fiber ice cream, fiber Doritos, fiber Coke, and fiber aspirin. Needless to say, my fecal output has skyrocketed. I am now shitting three or four times per hour. PER HOUR, people!!!

I have also become far more flatulent.

To say that my farts stink would be an understatement. My farts are vile, offensive, and downright unsavory. Imagine the aroma of fresh turds...combined with the odor of boiling cabbage...combined with the stench of a rotting skunk carcass in the middle of a country road on a hot summer morn. My farts have been known to make grown men weep. My farts could wilt the flowers on wallpaper. My farts could knock a buzzard off a shitwagon. My farts could strip the chrome off a '57 Chevy. My farts could knock a grown buzzard off a '57 shitwagon covered in chrome wallpaper.

Therein lies the problem: My gas attacks often strike me on the job. The pressure usually starts building up after my mid-morning fiber boost. I usually try to hold it in for a while, but by early afternoon, the force becomes unstoppable. I have no choice but to unleash my noxious fumes into the office via my anal orifice.

Being made of a somewhat porous fabric, my old chair was significantly more...how shall I put this?...more absorbent. In the old days, I could release a fart, and my chair would dutifully soak up a good 50 or 60% of the sound and the odor. By the time my old chair was retired, I estimate that it contained at least 75 pounds of foul flatulent funk.

Contrast that with my new chair. Nowadays when I let loose, the leather upholstery forms an inpenetrable shield, thereby rejecting my gaseous emissions and deflecting them back into the atmosphere where they can be experienced by all. And when the vibrations from my ass cheeks ricochet off the chair, the sound level is amplified greatly. What used to be silent but deadly is now deafening and fatal.

I have already tried a number of strategies to deal with this unfortunate circumstance. I have tried various Renuzit and Febreeze-like products...but they only add to the nasal assault. I have tried creating a diversion to mask the sound, such as slamming a desk drawer or clearing my throat...but these tactics fail to address the stank issue. I have tried walking around the building and cropdusting...but the stench always seems to follow me back to my desk.

People, I need solutions, and I need them NOW. It is only a matter of time before I am caught and outed by an offended co-worker. So tell me, how do you hide your farts???

At Your Cervix!

I don't normally do this, but I have gone and made myself a New Year's resolution. In 2008, I resolve to transform The Mighty Blog from a site filled with profanity and penis jokes into a center for education, enlightenment, and vagina jokes. That's why I was elated to learn that January is both National Mentoring Month AND National Cervical Health Awareness Month.

Now some of you may argue that I am already a mentor. While it is true that I routinely use The Mighty Blog as a tool to communicate my teachings to the civilized world, I feel this just isn't enough. So in observance of National Mentoring Month (NMM), I would like to volunteer my time to mentor one of you, my loyal readers. Perhaps you are at a crossroads in your life, and you need a little direction. Or maybe you're looking for a life coach to help you achieve your goals. Whatever the case may be, Mighty Dyckerson is here to help. So I urge each of you to write a short essay (50 words or less) explaining why I should choose you as my mentee. Please do so now. I will announce the winner in an upcoming post.

Speaking of mentoring, I would like to take this opportunity to mentor each of you on the importance of cervical health awareness. I'm willing to bet many of you don't even know what a cervix is. Per Wikipedia, the world's foremost authority on female reproduction, the cervix is the lower, narrow portion of the uterus where it joins with the top end of the vagina. In other words, it's where the poon meets the womb.

The cervix is a magical place. During menstruation, it stretches open slightly to allow the endometrium to be shed. Nobody really knows what the endometrium is, but most experts agree that it is important that it be shed at least once per month. This process often causes cramping in members of the female sex, which in turn causes members of the male sex to clean out their garages.

During orgasm, the cervix convulses in order to suck jizz from the poon to the womb and increase the likelihood of pregnancy. To help explain this concept, picture a vacuum cleaner:


Study this diagram and imagine you are having heterosexual intercourse. Upon ejaculation, the floor (or penis) releases dust (or semen), which in turn gets collected by the intake port (or vagina). From there, the dust (or semen) gets drawn upward by the motor and fan (or cervix) and into the dust bag (or uterus). This is where life begins. Now I'm not exactly sure what the exhaust port is for. Maybe one of you ladies can clue me in.

So now that we know what the cervix is, why is cervical health important?? Simple. Nearly 7 out of every 10 women will die of cervical cancer this year alone.* That's why it is critical for women to get their paps smeared at least once a week. During this procedure, a doctor pries open the twat using a crowbar and jams a poon spoon inside to collect a sample of pap. A doctor then smears the pap on his tongue to see if it tastes bitter or acrid. If it does, bitch got cancer.

Of course even with insurance, weekly exams can be quite costly. But because I believe so strongly in the importance of weekly pap smearing, I routinely volunteer my pap smearing services to members of the fairer sex. Although I am not a licensed physician, I perform almost the exact same procedure as you would get in a doctor's office. Only instead of collecting a sample with a poon spoon, I use my penis. So if you are an attractive female between the ages of 18 and 25 (or a sassy blonde of any age), please contact me today for a free consultation. You'll be glad you did. I sure as hell know I will.


* Just a wild guess.

Pardon My Oily Spotting

Ladies and germs, it's time yet again for another installment of...





As many of you know, I am always looking for new drugs to ridicule. Who could forget my scathing review of Requip, the prercription drug for morons with Restless Legs Syndrome (RLS)? Not only did I expose RLS as a bullshit disease, but I pointed out Requip's many side effects, which turn out to be worse than the disease itself!

Now one of my operatives has told me about a new drug for fat people. It's called Alli, and it's the first FDA approved over-the-counter diet pill. Despite its $60 price tag, this shit is apparently selling like hotcakes. In fact, most stores display it right next to the hotcakes, because anybody who eats hotcakes will most likely need Alli.

I can't begin to imagine how many government palms the GlaxoSmithKlinePfizerLever people must have greased in order to get this drug approved. I'm guessing they were able to slip it through because they include a booklet that promotes a healthy diet and exercise. Well FUCK THAT! If I wanted to eat RABBIT FOOD and do SQUAT THRUSTS, I wouldn't need your STUPID PILLS at all, now would I??!

But the real beauty of Alli is its side effects. Actually, their web site calls them "treatment effects." They can sugar coat it all they want, but suffice it to say if you take their pills, you'll be spending every waking hour wiping the "treatment effects" off your ass. According to their web site, effects MAY include:

• Gas with oily spotting. I'm quite familiar with the concept of gas, but what the hell is "oily spotting"? Where will these "spots" be located, and how will I dispose of them? I can see myself now, donning a biohazard suit in the middle of the night and sneaking my oil saturated shorts to the dumpster behind Exxon to avoid getting slapped with a disposal fee.

• Loose stools. Exactly how do you defind loose?? Are we talking about a slow-moving lava flow or a full blown volcanic eruption? I'd like to know in case I need to have my plumbing system upgraded!
  

• More frequent stools that may be hard to control. Delightful. In other words, I better pick up a package of adult diapers on the way home from work tomorrow. Either that or get myself fitted for a colostomy bag. Hell, I may as well check into a nursing home. I'll have a lot of fun explaining that one to Blue Cross.
  

The web site continues: The excess fat that passes out of your body is not harmful. In fact, you may recognize it as something that looks like the oil on top of a pizza. Gee, thanks a lot for the visual. Excuse me a moment while I THROW UP. Yep, I feel thinner already.

In addition, the good people at Alli offer this helpful hint: If you're getting ready to travel or attend a social event, hold off on starting with Alli until the event is over. I can see it now. "Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today.....Sweet Lord almighty, what the fuck is that SMELL??!"

Here's another piece of sage advice, taken directly from the Alli web site: Until you have a sense of any treatment effects, it's probably a smart idea to wear dark pants, and bring a change of clothes with you to work. By "dark," do they by any chance mean BROWN? I'm supposed to wear BROWN PANTS every day...and bring EXTRAS??! Is it just me, or does this "diet pill" sound more like an INDUSTRIAL STRENGTH LAXATIVE??!

Co-Worker: "Say Dyckerson, what's with the 17 pairs of brown Dockers hanging on your chair?"
Me: "Oh, those? Macy's was having a buy 16, get one free sale so I decided to stock up."

And my favorite part of all: You may not usually get gassy, but it's a possibility when you take Alli. The bathroom is really the best place to go when that happens. Really??! Because when I get gassy, I usually head immediately for the MUSEUM OF NATURAL HISTORY. Thanks for straightening me out.

So let me make sure I have everything. Here's my grocery list:

• 30-Day Supply of Alli
• Biohazard Suit
• 200 Cases of Toilet Paper
• 35 Tubes of Preparation H
• 50 Cans of Febreeze
• 2 Dozen Pairs of Levi's Pre-Stained Jeans
• 800 Packs of Depends Undergarments
• 40 Bottles of Liquid Plumber
• 1 Domino's Shit Lovers' Pizza

Total investment: $3,850.00

Being held hostage by your own asshole for a month: Priceless