The Legend of the Haunted Poon

In celebration of All Hallow's Eve, I shall present to you a tale so creepy, so eerie, so unspeakably terrifying, it's guaranteed to send chills up and down your sphinctor. And the spookiest part of all: It's loosely based on a true story. I strongly urge those of you with heart conditions to skip this post for your own protection.

Our story begins in the late 20th century in the heart of Texas, where lived a fair maiden named Sassilla Blondowski who was coming of age. Young Sassilla was horny and eager to be deflowered. She searched far and wide for a suitable mate with no success. Then fate stepped in and along came a strapping, well endowed lad named Dwight E. Mickerson. Sassilla was in love. A brief courtship ensued, and on a bright and sunny October day, Sassilla decided to take Dwight E. into her daddy's barn and show him her pumpkins. Dwight E. became instantly engorged, and soon the two of them were rolling around in the hayloft. Twenty seconds later, Mickerson was on the verge of climaxing when in walked Sassilla's father. In a fit of rage, the elder Blondowski grabbed a machette from a nearby hook and sliced off Mickerson's member at the base, leaving the remainder of his ample shaft lodged deep inside Sassilla's nether regions. Sassilla screamed in horror as the mortally wounded Mickerson bled to death before her very eyes.

Now here's where the really frightening part comes in. According to the legend, every month on the anniversary of Mickerson's death, Sassilla gets really cranky and bleeds uncontrollably from her poon for several days. Some say it's just PMS, and perhaps they're right. But maybe, just maybe, it's the ghost of Mickerson returning from the grave to haunt his one true love...forever staining her underpants with the memory of unfulfilled love.

Whatever the case may be, it's wise to avoid Ms. Blondowski and her poon this time of the month.

The Dyckerson Family Christmas Newsletter '07

Can you believe another year has come and gone??! Seems like only yesterday that we were writing our 2005 newsletter and telling you about Dyck Jr. saying his first word, "motherfucker." And it's been a whole year since our 2006 newsletter when I wrote to you about little Megan's first unplanned pregnancy. Our kids never cease to amaze us, and 2007 was no exception!

Megan has been continuing to make us proud with her singing career. Her first album, Glitter and Bubble Gum, is due out early next year. She had a little setback last spring when an unflattering video of her appeared on TMZ, but we are confident her career will rise as fast as the cock on that boy she was servicing!

Little D.J. started nursery school last fall. Unfortunately, he had a rough time adjusting to the pressure. His teacher gave him a "time out" on his first day, and he called her a fucking bitch. We had a conference with the teacher, and she suggested we put him on Ritalin. I told her my son was right, she WAS a fucking bitch. Then I smacked her upside the head. What is it with these schools today, wanting to prescribe drugs for everything??! We're thinking of home schooling him next year.

Grandpa Dyckerson got in some trouble this year for gambling on dog fights. Then he got in more trouble for betting on the outcome of his trial. Luckily, all the judges in Dyckersonville are crooked, so we were able to bribe him with some of Mrs. D's cookies. He just had to wear one of them ankle bracelets for a few months. Easiest time he ever did.

Finally, there's good ol' Mrs. D herself. After losing her job at Harry's House of Whores last year, she was down in the dumps for a while. But last March, she decided to go into business for herself and open her very own whore house!! We figure she has the knowledge and experience, so why not?? It's called Sassy Blondie's Pleasure Palace, and so far it is doing quite well. If business continues to grow, we're thinking about starting a nationwide chain!!!

Last summer we went on a family vacation to the Grand Canyon. Folks, let me tell you, it was spectacular! I haven't seen a hole that big since Ms. Babble's childbirth photos. We rode mules all the way to the bottom, and then Mrs. D rode my mule behind a bunch of bushes. It was amazing how her screams of delight echoed off the canyon walls.

Also last summer, we decided to put a swimming pool in the back yard. I don't like to brag, but I'm a bit of a handyman...so I decided to do the install myself. It was a little tricky at first, but I was finally able to find the plastic pools in Walmart. I had been looking in sporting goods, but they were in the toy section. Sneaky bastards!!

Shortly after installing the pool, Mrs. D came down with a bad case of West Nile virus. Apparently the standing water in the pool was attracting a lot of mosquitos. She survived, but we ended up having to drain the pool. Now we're using it as a planter in the front yard - tres, tres classy!!

Well that's about it for 2007. Here's wishing you the best for 2008! See you next year, you bastards!!

Coming Soon:
MIGHTY DYCKERSON'S
TOP TEN POSTS OF 2007!!!

Joy to the World

I fucking HATE the holidays. The endless traffic, the crowded stores, the bickering relatives, the shameless commercialism - you name it, it all SUCKS. But when a story like this comes along, it truly warms the cockles of my heart. And Lord knows my cockles could use some warming.

According to the story, some DIPSHIT REDNECK SUBURBANITE COCKSUCKER had a thousand dollars burning a hole in his pocket. He could've given it to the Christmas Motherfucker, Boys for Tits, or even the Salvation Smarmy and their BELL-RINGING ASS GOBLINS. But NOOO!!! This JACKHOLE decides to blow it all on tacky decorations for the front lawn of his shitty house. Yep, nothing says Christmas like a MATERIALISTIC ATTENTION WHORE going into debt to purchase a BREAK DANCING SANTA and a HOMERSEXUAL ELF who sings "Jingle Bells."

That's why I took great delight in reading that this douchebag's nativity obscene was vandalized not once...but TWICE!!! BWAHA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!! YES, VAGINA, THERE IS A SANTA CLAUS!!!!!

Of course, everybody on the news was acting all sympathetic and shit: "Awww, poor guy! He was just trying to get into the holiday spirit!" BULLSHIT. He was really just trying to illuminate THE ENTIRE EASTERN SEABOARD with his 5,000 strands of ENERGY SUCKING INCANDESCENT LIGHT BULBS he got on sale last January at K-Mart. I bet his fugly eyesore of a house was visible from outer space. THIS IS WHY THE TERRORISTS HATE US!!!


Then there was this story about another wacko nutjob. Seems some treacherous thug trashed his tacky trinkets too...so now all his whorenaments are rigged with TRIP WIRES, MOTION SENSORS, ALARMS, and CLOSED CIRCUIT VIDEO CAMERAS. In addition, he has a wide assortment of cheerful holiday signs like "SEASONS GREETINGS" and "HAPPY HOLIDAYS" and "KEEP OUT" and "HIGH VOLTAGE" and "TRESPASSERS WILL BE SHOT ON SIGHT." Now there's a man who understands the TRUE MEANING of Christmas!!!

Included is footage of Rambo hunkered down in his holiday command center (a.k.a. TOOL SHED), surrounded by extension cords and TV monitors and armed with a HIGH CALIBER ASSAULT RIFLE. God help any unsuspecting squirrel who wanders into his yard. The plastic Rudolph is packed with enough nitroglycerine to blow that squirrel AND his nuts to kingdom come. I can almost hear G.I. Joe shouting, "MERRY FUCKING CHRISTMAS, YOU LITTLE COMMIE BASTARD!!!"


Finally, there's my personal favorite, the LIVE NATIVITY SCENE. You don't see those much anymore. People are always amazed at how the actors can stand perfectly still in the freezing cold for so long. Well let me tell you something. When those bastards see the high beams on my four wheel drive coming at them at FULL SPEED, they get out of the way PRETTY DAMN QUICK. Last time I did it, the three wise men were trampling all over the baby Jesus to get out of the way. And the Virgin Mary?? That dame can CURSE LIKE A SAILOR!!!


Somebody pass me some figgy pudding! It's gonna be a great Christmas!!!

Stuff THIS!

Every year around Thanksgiving, bloggers around the world take time to write lameass posts listing all the shit they're thankful for. Some try to be profound; others try to be clever and witty. Well here's a news flash for you: NOBODY GIVES A FUCK. I don't think any of you turkey pluckers understand the true meaning of this holiday. Well lucky for you, Dyckerson is here. So sit back, grab your giblets, and prepare to be schooled.....


The first official Thanksgiving occurred in 1619 when a ship full of drunken homersexuals returning from a gay cruise crash landed somewhere upon the shores of Massachusetts. Just then, a group of Indian tech support guys drove by in a beat-up Plymouth Voyager and threw rocks at them. But the queers shielded themselves with their brightly colored turtleneck sweaters, causing the rocks to bounce back and hit the Indians, leaving red marks on their foreheads. Fortunately for the Indians, their telephone headsets prevented them from sustaining any major injuries. The fight was declared a draw, the buttonheads declared peace with the flamers, and the group decided to celebrate by gorging themselves with a shitload of grub.



They all agreed to meet at Mujibar Gupta's wigwam since he had a big screen TV. Everybody had to bring one covered dish. Sir Harry "Butterball" Cox cooked a turkey. Woody "Sweet Potato" Johnson baked a pie. Khadar Patel brought some disgusting curry dish that everybody hated. And Captain Richard Swanson brought some of his frozen TV dinners...but then they remembered the microwave oven hadn't been invented yet, so they ditched them at a homeless shelter.




Things got a little crazy during the feast. Harry dipped his "drumstick" in a vat of gravy and Woody licked it clean in front of everybody. The Indians just ignored it and continued to provide their callers with excellent customer service. But then Habib spilled cranberry sauce on one of Srujana's scripts, causing him to lose his place. Srujana then slammed down his phone and began pelting Habib with scalding hot biscuits, insulting his mother in a foreign language.

Following dinner, the macacas retired to the living room, smoked some tobacco, and watched a televised broadcast of men throwing large spherical objects at one another. Meanwhile, the homersexuals stayed in the kitchen and browsed at the sale ads in the newspaper.




The next morning, the whole gang played hooky from work and headed to the marketplace to take advantage of their doorbuster deals. Sadly, Butterball was trampled to death by a pack of crazed colonists desperate to purchase iPhonographs for their snotty little kids. After filling up the Plymouth with all sorts of cheap American crap, the swamis and the queers parted company and went their separate ways.




And so ends the story of the first Thanksgiving. Now pass the stuffing, dipshit.