De Plane, De Plane!

Ladies and gentlemen, I have done it again! No, I didn't take another dump behind an area high school. I just scored the interview that everybody has been wanting to get: Captain Chesley Q. Sullenberger, the U.S. Airways pilot who successfully landed an airplane on the Hudson River after both engines got goosed. So take that, CNN! Here's the official transcript:


Dyck: First of all, thank you for taking time to meet with me today.
Sully: No problemo, homes.
Dyck: I think the first question on everybody's mind is your first name. Chesley. What's the deal with that?
Sully: Look, I can't help it if my parents were fags. Why do you think I make people call me Sully?
Dyck: Fair enough. So tell us the events leaving up to that harrowing flight last Thursday.
Sully: Well, it was a day like any other day. I got up, fixed myself a scotch and soda, downed a couple of Pop Tarts, and headed out. The wife was bitching about how cold it was, so I stopped by Goodwill and got an awesome deal on a used Snuggie.
Dyck: Perhaps we could skip ahead to the flight itself...
Sully: Oh yeah. Well everything was fine at first. We took off from LaGuardia and started making our ascent. I remember seeing a flock of geese headed straight for us...and the next thing I know, KABLAM!! Two engines done blowed up!
Dyck: That must have been horrifying.
Sully: Not really at first. See, I thought Airbuses had like six or seven engines. Then my co-pilot reminded me there were only two. Boy, was my face red!
Dyck: Who is your co-pilot?
Sully: God. Ha, ha! Just kidding! That's an old pilot's joke. Actually his name is Striker. Ted Striker.
Dyck: So what happened next?
Sully: I knew we couldn't make it back to the airport. We were going to try to land in Central Park, but we couldn't because of all the fucking trees. We finally settled on the Hudson.
Dyck: Is that when you told the passengers to brace for impact?
Sully: Heh. Not exactly. What I actually said was, Put your heads between your legs and kiss your asses goodbye!!!
Dyck: That wasn't very encouraging.
Sully: Hey, have you ever tried landing a billion ton metal tube on a river filled with shit and cadavers??!
Dyck: OK, OK. I guess that's when your years of training really kicked in.
Sully: Umm, yeah. About the training thing. Seems the media kinda screwed that up. This is only my second week of flying. Before that I was a bartender. I think you got me confused with Captain Wesley Baconberger from Queens. Happens all the time. Now that guy's quite a pilot!
Dyck: Wow. So in spite of your lack of experience, you were able to pull off a water landing with no fatalities??
Sully: Well, I do have some experience. I've got Wings of War and Flight Academy on my XBox. The graphics are really amazing.
Dyck: I see. So the plane has stopped, and you're floating in the water. What next?
Sully: At that point, my survival instincts kicked in. I knew we only had a short time before the plane would sink, so I wanted to get rid of as much weight as possible. Rosie O'Donnell happened to be sitting in first class, so I tossed her overboard. The plane immediately rose several feet. Then there was a crippled kid in a wheelchair blocking the emergency exit, so I threw him overboard as well.
Dyck: How awful!!
Sully: Tell me about it. One of that kid's wheels rolled over my left foot. Very painful. Anyway, a boat showed up right after that, so I pushed the other passengers out of the way and climbed on board.
Dyck: You mean you didn't stay and help the passengers??
Sully: Well DUH! It was fucking freezing out there!! Besides, that's the stewardess' job. I think. Hell, I don't know.
Dyck: So what's next for you?
Sully: I'm doing two segments on Rachel Ray tomorrow. We're making Chesley Sullen Burgers. After that, I need to talk to my attorney about getting a divorce.
Dyck: A divorce? I didn't know your marriage was in trouble.
Sully: It's not...but now that I'm a hero, I can get all the poon I want! No sense in being tied down, if you know what I mean.
Dyck: Well good luck with that. And thanks for being here on The Mighty Blog.
Sully: Anytime. Peace out, bitches!!

Bail Me Out!

My friends, I don't need to tell you that America is in a financial crisis. Our economy is on the verge of total collapse...and no where is that more apparent than right here at Dyckerson Enterprises Worldwide, home of The Mighty Blog. That's because in addition to producing the fastest-growing blog on the innerwebs, Dyckerson Enterprises also happens to own Semen Brothers, the 47th largest sperm bank on the entire eastern seaboard.

The trouble began about a month ago when I, Mighty Dyckerson, lost function of my right hand in an horrific automobile accident. Because of this injury, my ability to produce splooge was greatly compromised, preventing me from making my daily deposits at the sperm bank. When news of this got out, investors on Wad Street panicked and released their loads of Semen. Stock prices immediately squirted downward.

As if things weren't bad enough, last night the giant freezer that contained all of the Semen deposits suddenly failed, causing hundreds of gallons of spunk to thaw. Experts estimate over 700 billion little swimmers were lost in the disaster.

Now there are people out there who claim to have predicted this. They said it was only a matter of time before the cum bubble would burst, and perhaps they were right. But now is not the time to point fingers (or anything else). The liquified jizm is leaking from the freezer and pouring out all over the floors. Semen Brothers needs to be bailed out - literally! So bring your mops, buckets, sponges, squeegees, and Shop-Vacs down to our headquarters and help clean up this Godawful mess. And hurry the fuck up - thousands of infertile Myrtles and lezbo couples are counting on you!!!

Gas Crisis Solved!

I'm all about conserving our natural resources, folks. Really I am. But if I get stuck behind any more of these BICYCLE or SCOOTER RIDING DIPSHITS on my way to work, they're going in a fucking ditch. Look, it's not my fault this city doesn't have any damn bike paths or scooter lanes. So if you insist on riding your stupid toys to work every day, GET ON THE FUCKING SIDEWALK WHERE YOU BELONG. You people don't impress me. The first hint of bad weather, and you'll be back in your LAND CRUSHERS and URBAN ASSAULT VEHICLES gabbing away on your cell phones and pretending to listen to NPR.

America needs a long lasting solution to the gas crisis, and America needs it NOW. I don't see Balack Osama or John IWalkWithaMcCane doing anything about it, so I have taken matters into my own hands. Here are just a few of my gas saving initiatives:

1. Eliminate the United States Postal Service. Get those gas guzzling delivery trucks and jeeps OFF THE ROADS and INTO THE SCRAP HEAP. Pay your fucking bills online, grandpa. You wanna order a blow-up doll or a dildo? Find out what Brown can do for you. Hell, the only mail I get anymore are BOGUS CREDIT CARD OFFERS, WORTHLESS COUPONS FOR CARPET CLEANING SERVICE, and DEATH THREATS FROM ANGRY READERS. And don't worry about lost jobs. They can find plenty of work for the next 20 years DIGGING UP UNSIGHTLY MAILBOXES and TEARING DOWN POST OFFICES.

2. Get rid of school buses. Here's another nuisance that slows my commute every day. Every fucking morning, I get stuck behind the same fucking cheese wagon that has to stop EVERY 50 FEET to pick up another SNOT NOSED BRAT. The school is only a couple of miles away - would it kill these little bastards to WALK their fat asses to school??! Yeah, I know it's a busy street. It's called Survival of the Fittest. Look into it.

3. Fuck NASCAR. It's not a sport anyway. How much fuel do these fucking rednecks waste DRIVING IN A CIRCLE for hours on end? Let them run or ride bicycles. I know, there's no fun in that. The fans want to see lots of es-plosions and such. No problem. Give each spectator a HAND GRENADE when they enter the gate. They can toss it on the track whenever they desire. Now THAT'S a sport I'd pay to see!

4. Outlaw churches. Yeah, you heard me. You don't need to get up early on Sunday mornings and drive to a special building to worship. Thanks to TV and the Internets, now it's just as easy to be a hypocrite in the COMFORT OF YOUR OWN HOME. Just tune in to that Benny Hinn guy for a half hour every week. I love it when he smacks people on the forehead until they fall to the ground. If that isn't religion, I don't know what is.

5. Eliminate red lights. How much time do you waste every week idling at intersections? Hell, half the time there isn't even any traffic coming in the other direction! Now I'm not saying we get rid of traffic lights altogether. I'm just saying make them PERMANENTLY GREEN in all directions. Yes, I suspect traffic fatalities will skyrocket in the beginning, but this will only be temporary. Eventually enough people will be killed that the roads will be pretty empty anyway.

This is just the beginning. I would also like to BOMB THE CHINESE BACK TO THE STONE AGE, seeing as their increased demand for gas is contributing to the higher prices around the globe. But I suppose that will have to wait til after the Summer Olympics...otherwise it could be a real P.R. blunder for the United States.

And the best part of all, none of these actions inconvenience me in any way. And in the end, that's all that really matters.

Lord, Why Couldn't It Have Been Carrot Top??!

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.

Heeerrreee's Foreclosure!!!

I think we all know the economy is in the shitter, but what does it say about the state of the world when our top celebrities are going homeless?? I'm talking, of course, about that beloved old bag of gas known as Ed McMahon. Yep, apparently the old bastard is so far behind on his mortgage payments that his Beverly Hills mansion is on the brink of foreclosure.

So how did the folks at Countrywide break the news to him, you ask? Well, it seems they sent old Clydesdale breath a brown envelope with his picture on the front. The envelope contained a letter stating that he MAY HAVE ALREADY LOST his five million dollar house! Sounds like that second banana's gonna have to SPLIT! Ain't that a SIDE KICK in the pants?? HEY-OOH!!!! I guess Ed will be living out his remaining days camped out on FUNK & WAGNALL'S PORCH!! Hey Ed, do you think I give a damn?? If you answered no, then YOU ARE CORRECT SIR! HO HO HO HO!!!

But seriously folks, how does a thing like this happen? Didn't the drunk old fool save any of the money he earned by SITTING ON A COUCH for 25 years??

Ed's defense: He hasn't been able to work the last two years because he broke his neck. Excuse me??! YOU'RE 85 FUCKING YEARS OLD!! Did you not think that you would someday be too old and feeble to work?? Or did you just plan on DROPPING DEAD on the set of Star Search??*

Perhaps I'm being a bit too harsh. Perhaps being a top celebrity is harder than it looks. Perhaps Ed's misfortune is really a thinly veiled cry for help.

That's why I am pleased to announce Mighty Dyckerson's Save the Stars Foundation. So long, Salvation Army! Fuck off, Unicef!! Save the Stars is the hot new charity that's sweeping the nation!!

Here's how it works: You send me a big fat check, and I'll send you a picture of a washed up celebrity for you to sponsor. For just pennies a day, your star will be fed, clothed, and sheltered in a high quality drug rehab facility. You will receive monthly progress reports as well as personalized letters from your star's agent. In time, your star will gradually re-enter show biz by doing commercials for boner pills and making guest appearances on third-rate reality shows. You will be overwhelmed with pride. And I will be overwhelmed by your big fat check. So please make a generous donation...and hurry the fuck up. My own mortgage payment is due next week.



* Yes, I know Star Search was canceled like 20 years ago. It's called comedic license, jackass.

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???

Ball Busters

I may have to move to another state. That was my initial reaction upon reading this article published yesterday in the Richmond Times-Disgrace. The General Assembly, Virginia's legislative body, is considering enacting several ludicrous laws. Read on.....


HJ76 -- A resolution recognizing the town of Independence in Grayson County as the "Official Home of the Grand Privy Race" in Virginia. The privies -- also known as toilets -- are placed on wheels and raced down the town's Main Street in October during the annual Mountain Foliage Festival.

This is the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard of. When people around these parts think of shitters, they automatically think of Dyckerson. Therefore if any town should serve as the "Official Home of the Grand Privy Race," it should be GOOD OLD DYCKERSONVILLE!


HB533 -- Makes it a traffic offense for a motorist to drive with a pet in his lap.

Excuse me??! Cell phones are OK, but pets are a no-no? As a taxpaying American, it is my GOD GIVEN RIGHT to cruise the streets with a pussy in my lap ANY DAMN TIME I PLEASE. Big Brother needs to STAY THE FUCK OUT OF MY CROTCH!!!


HB1452 -- Bans the display of trailer-hitch ornaments that resemble bull testicles.

This is really a slap in the face. Or maybe that should be a teabag in the face. Regardless, the First Amendment to the U.S. Constitution GUARANTEES my right to free speech. Our forefathers FOUGHT AND DIED so I could hang a SACK OF RUBBER NUTS from my vehicle without fear of retaliation, and now these assholes want to take that freedom away??


HB334 -- Makes stealing a cat a felony.

Now they've gone too far. Why should cat burglars be treated so harshly?? Let's face it, not everybody can afford a good pussy. Sometimes we have to resort to extreme measures to obtain one. It doesn't mean we're bad people. It just means we're DESPERATE FOR PUSSY. And gentlemen, haven't we all been there at one time or another??

Rest assured, if any of these laws are enacted in Virginia, I'm getting the hell out. And I'm taking my pussy and my balls with me!

Oops, I Did It Again

(AP) DYCKERSONVILLE - Mighty Dyckerson is back home today after being rushed to Cedar-Sinai hospital for a psychiatric evaluation last night. Police were called to Dyckerson's residence last night after neighbors reported an altercation between the famous internet blogger and his common-law wife Sassy Blondie.

When police arrived on the scene, they found Mighty Dyckerson laying on the kitchen floor covered in broken glass and curled up in the fetal position. Witnesses report hearing blood curdling screams emanating from the house around midnight.

"The screams were definitely coming from Dyckerson," said Danielle the HOR, longtime friend and neighbor.

"I'm sorry I wasn't home to enjoy it," said Ms. Karla J. Babble. "I was at the hospital giving birth to my ninth child."

"I am just a simple lymie from a faraway land," said Mr. Stan Bull of Turkey. "Nevertheless, I urge all Americans to vote for Dyckerson in November!"

Sassy Blondie released this statement to the press: "The bastard is psycho! We were engaging in sexual intercourse, and he pulled out this rusty metal thing and tried to violate me with it! He kept calling it his poon spoon! So I knocked him upside the head with a vase!"

Mighty Dyckerson was transported to Cedar-Sinai via whambulance, where paramedics reported more peculiar behavior from the celebrated monkey clown. Several female rescue workers stated that Dyckerson repeatedly ripped out his IV tube and attempted to fondle their ample bosoms.

"The man is an animal," said one EMT. "Can I get his number?"

Upon hearing the news, TV's Dr. Feel McGroin rushed to the hospital to be at Dyckerson's bedside.

"I am here not as a celebrity, but as a doctor. I have nothing but genuine concern for Dyckerson and his family," said Dr. Feel last night during his third press conference. "Now be sure to buy my new book - What The Hell Are You, An Idiot?? - available in fine bookstores everywhere."

Still in question is who will get custody of Mighty Dyckerson's son, Dyck Jr., whom he fathered during his third marriage to RevRee. Dyckerson is resting comfortably at home and is expected to return to blogging shortly.

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.

Fuck Candlelight Vigils

I have a few things to say about this Sean Taylor business. You know, the Redskins football player who got his ass capped by a supposed "burglar." Look, I'm sorry the dude died. That's gotta be a real bummer. I'm sure his family is really choked up about it, as they should be.

OK, now that we have the politically correct shit out of the way, tell me this. Why the fuck am I supposed to give a rat's ass about some JOCK STRAP FILLER who spent his free time HANGING OUT IN GANGS?? Take a look at this picture:


This guy was no saint. Grandpa Dyckerson had a saying for folks like him: "You sleep with dogs, you're gonna get fleas!" Grandpa Dyckerson also had another saying: "Fuck you, you fucking farting robots! Suck my dead pig!" Yeah, Grandpa Dyckerson wasn't right in the head. But that's another story.

My point is, I don't understand why everybody is bawling over Sean Taylor's death like he was the Pontiff. He didn't cure cancer. He didn't discover Uranus. Hell, he didn't even invent a longer lasting light bulb. All he did was get paid a RIDICULOUS AMOUNT OF MONEY to run around a FUCKING FIELD chasing after an ODDLY SHAPED BALL. I get that he and his team had fans. What I DON'T get is how anybody with even ONE OUNCE OF SANITY can fill up their SUVs with gasoline at three bucks a gallon, drop another fifty on flowers and shit, and drive all the way to fucking ASHBURN to hold a fucking CANDLELIGHT VIGIL for this numbnut. Don't these idiots have anything BETTER TO DO with their time and money??!

Now before you accuse me of being an insensitive prick, keep this in mind: PEOPLE DIE EVERY DAY. Good, decent, hard-working people like you and me. Well, me at least. I'm talking about DOCTORS and NURSES and TEACHERS and PORN STARS and LEGGY SUPERMODELS and POP SINGERS and MONKEY CLOWN BLOGGERS. These are people who deserve our RESPECT and ADMIRATION. You don't see anybody erecting statues for us when we croak!

So stop fawning and drooling all over these JACKASS JOCKS like they're gods and show some appreciation for our REAL HEROES...

Head in the Class

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

Don't Laugh At Her!

Lauren Caitlin Upton
Miss Teen South Carolina

I know what you're all thinking: "Oh, look at the dumb blonde making a fool of herself! Har de har har!" I, for one, happen to agree with young Lauren. And not just because I want to get inside her evening gown. Which I do.

You see, when I was a young Dyckerson growing up in da hood, we didn't have maps. If we wanted to see the United States of Africa, we had to get in a boat and fly there. Sure, we could have just gone to a library and such, but who can find anything in those places? All the books are numbered with these diddly decimal things that nobody understands. I mean, how am I supposed to know geometry if I can't find a map in the first place??! It's a conundrumstick!

Like the beautiful and talented Miss Upton, I personally believe that we as a nation need to use our maps to educate the people of Asia and Iraq so that we Americans can be smarter. Maps are very important and colorful, like blue for the water and brown for the dirt and such. I know there is a Google map on the computer webs, but some people out there can't afford to do so. We need to educate these people and get them jobs in the Iraq.

I think some people don't like maps because they don't know how to fold them. This can be very hard, especially if it is one of those round maps shaped like a ball. I don't like the ball maps because you have to walk around to the other side to see the countries in the back. I once saw a map that had bumps on it. It was funny because the bumps were exactly where the mountains would be. I wonder if they did that on purpose and such.

In conclusion, I would like to say that I personally believe the people of Africa should be taught geology in school so that we Americans know where to find them. Only then will be all be free to share our maps with the world.

Thank you.

"Extracurricular Activities"

Check out this shit from the local news:


A former area cheerleading coach has been charged with taking indecent liberties with a minor. Tammie Fleming, 37, was arrested last Wednesday. Powhatan authorities say she worked at Dominion Cheer and Tumble on Sommerville Court in Midlothian as a cheerleading coach when she had an intimate relationship with a 17-year old student. Authorities say the relationship between Fleming and the boy had been ongoing for several months. A parent told us the gym owners weren't ready to talk and wanted to first consult an attorney. Fleming is free on bond after an appearance in Powhatan Juvenile and Domestic Relations Court last week. She'll be back before a judge next month.


I love stories like this. A 17-year-old punk, scoring with a hot 37-year-old CHEERLEADING COACH! Sounds like there was some "cheering and tumbling" going on in the back room after class, if you know what I'm saying!! But really, what did poor Tammie do that was so wrong? Give some pimply faced dork the greatest sex of his adolescent - probably his ENTIRE - life??! What, you don't believe me?? Take a look at this MILF!!!



Are you fucking KIDDING ME?? That's the hottest mug shot I have ever seen in my life, and that's coming from a guy who has seen a lot of mug shots. Even posed for a few. If I were that kid, I'd give her something to cheer about! I'd shake her pompoms and make her do the splits!!

Seriously, who is the victim here? Do you honestly think that 17-year-old is traumatized by this? Do you think he's laying in bed curled up in the fetal position, sucking his thumb and crying his eyes out?? HELL NO! This guy is a goddamn HERO!!! And smart too...geez, he's a GENIUS!!! Do you honestly think he was interested in taking CHEERLEADING LESSONS??! BULLSHIT!!!!! This guy was a man with a plan...to score HOT, SWEATY SEX and perhaps learn a thing or two from a woman with some fucking EXPERIENCE IN THE SACK!!! He'll be telling his grandchildren stories about this. Hell, if it were me, I'd be telling EVERYBODY about it!!! Here, look at her picture again:




Where the fuck do these hot bitches come from??! When I was in school, all my teachers were FAT, UGLY, and OLD. And the only female gym teacher I had was a RAGING BULL DYKE. One more time:



Good God almighty, I would bang this chick until my dick fell off! Then I'd reattach it with some duct tape and bang her some more!!! What do you think they did exactly? I bet she likes it rough. I'm guessing she tied him up, then put on some dance music and performed for him in her old high school cheerleader outfit. Or maybe he put on a dog collar and ate whipped cream off her POON. The world may never know.

I don't know how she got busted, but I'd bet Ms. Babble's children the boy didn't turn her in. More likely he made copies of their sex tape for all of his new friends, and one of them uploaded it to YouSplooge. Regardless, if there is ANY JUSTICE IN THIS WORLD, this woman will get off. (Actually, "getting off" is what got her in trouble to begin with. HA HA.) If anyone should be charged, it should be the DUMBASS HUSBAND for not keeping his trophy wife sexually satisfied. Rest assured if Tammie was my wife, she'd never leave the bed!!!

Of course if she does end up doing time for this, I will be there to pay her conjugal visits...FIVE TIMES A DAY. And if she needs a place to stay, Mighty Dyckerson's Halfway Whorehouse will be open for business!! Now if you'll excuse me, I need to bake a cake with a file in it...

Merv Griffin's Final Jeopardy!

I was never a big fan of Merv. There, I said it. I know it's generally considered in bad taste to say something mean about someone right after they've croaked - even if they were a complete SHIT BISCUIT - but Dyckerson has never been known to follow the rules of good taste. For example, see May 2006 post entitled Screw the Handicrapped.

But let's get back to why I hate Merv Griffin. He always struck me as a BLOATED, NO-TALENT BAG OF GAS. In all the footage I have ever seen of him, he was always wearing something silk, with a martini in one hand and a butt in the other. Basically a fat Hugh Hefner, without all the whores. I don't think the man ever worked an honest day in his life. He certainly never broke a sweat. Although I have to hand it to him. He was incredibly average, yet he somehow managed to parlay that into millions of dollars. That is my dream, and I shall achieve it someday if I ever get my invention patented. It's a combination toilet and crepe maker - I call it "The Creper."

There I go getting sidetracked again. Back to Merv. Remember the talk show he used to have? Neither do I. It was syndicated, but I don't think it ever aired in my market. In fact, I don't know ANYBODY who lives in a city that carried the Merv Griffin Show. Sometimes I wonder if the fucking show actually aired at all. Maybe Merv just interviewed celebrities in his house, like that episode of "Seinfeld" where Kramer buys the old Merv Griffin set and starts calling everybody niggers. I can't imagine the torture it must have been to be interviewed by that SCHMOOZING OLD WINDBAG. I've had conversations with BAGS OF RICE that were more interesting.

Then there was Merv the game show creator. In case you didn't know, Merv was the genius behind "Wheel of Fortune" and "Jeopardy," two of the most UNORIGINAL half-hours of television ever conceived. "Wheel of Fortune" is fucking HANGMAN, people! And "Jeopardy" is only the FIVE THOUSANDTH game show to ever use the Q-&-A format. The whole "answer in the form of a question" thing was just a GODDAMN GIMMICK to set it apart from the rest. And that part wasn't even Merv's idea! IT WAS HIS WIFE'S!! Yet somehow Merv Griffin is lauded as a game show pioneer.

While Merv wasn't stealing game show ideas, he liked to play piano. Good for him. As much FREE TIME as that bastard had for the last 25 years, he should have been a virtuoso at EVERY MUSICAL INSTRUMENT EVER INVENTED. Did you know old Merv wrote the "Jeopardy" theme? What a masterpiece. Three notes repeated over and over and over again. In spite of his enormous wealth, the old skinflint couldn't shell out a few bucks for a professional songwriter. I was watching a clip today where he said he wrote the "Jeopardy" theme in 15 minutes. He says this with great pride, mind you. Not only could I write that piece of shit in 15 minutes, but I'd still have 14.5 minutes left to look at pictures of Ms. Babble's illegitimate children. Yet again, somehow Merv Griffin is considered to be a musical genius.

Then there was Merv the singer. It's the same deal with his lameass talk show. Can you name a single Merv Griffin album??! OF COURSE YOU CAN'T!!! His only hit was the horrendous novelty song, "I've Got a Lovely Bunch of Coconuts"...and HE DIDN'T EVEN WRITE IT!!! If an artist recorded a piece of shit like that today, they'd be laughed out of the music industry - and rightfully so.

Finally, there was Merv the real estate typhoon. Apparently he owned a bunch of hotels and shit...because you know, that's what rich people do. They buy property. It's an easy investment, and requires virtually no knowledge or talent. You pay agents to conduct the transaction, and you hire goons to manage the property. Then you wait for the checks to come in. Obviously not something working stiffs like us can do, but for someone who wipes his ass with portraits of Ben Franklin, it's all in a day's work.

In spite of all that, I'm sorry the old guy croaked. In honor of Merv, I'm going over to Jenny's house and having her examine my prostate. Time to break out the rubber glove, baby!! Daddy's coming home!!!

Troubled Bridge Over Water

So we had the big Minneapolis Bridge clusterfuck this week. Never a dull moment in the good ol' U S of A, am I right folks?? But seriously, my deepest condolences to the victims and their families. That has to suck major donkey balls. I mean, how unlucky do you have to be to have a bridge collapse from under you while you're driving across it??! You have better odds of winning the state lottery, getting struck by lightning, and winning a different state lottery...ALL AT THE SAME TIME!!

Having said all that, don't you think we're overreacting just a little bit? The bridge collapse was a horrible tragedy. But I think this falls under the category of SHIT HAPPENS. The world is a dangerous place, and we can only do so much to make it safer. Now I'm not saying we shouldn't investigate the accident and print up a nice report and put it in a fancy little three-ring binder and pass it around to the media so they can take pictures of the binder and then get 10-second soundbites from a dipshit P.R. goon and put it on the six o'clock news. But I don't think it's necessary to shut down and reinspect EVERY FUCKING BRIDGE IN THE COUNTRY just because one of them happened to be "structurally deficient." Hell, most of my readers are MENTALLY deficient, but you don't see me killing them off, do you? We're talking about BRIDGES, not cans of tainted pet food. Besides, I'm betting the investigators will probably trace the cause to a pea-sized hole in a hunk of metal that came that way from the factory. That's always the way these things turn out.

Then we have the morons on the news screaming "OUR INFRASTRUCTURE IS CRUMBLING!" Is it me, or does this sound eerily similar to "THE SKY IS FALLING"??? Reporters love to say "infrastructure" because it sounds like they know what they're talking about . Politicians are taking advantage of the incident to press for funding for roads and highways. Then they'll hire private contractors to do the work, who will in turn give the politicians big fat kickbacks. You can't win.

So what's the magic solution? There is no magic solution. Life is short. Don't waste it sitting in gridlock while construction crevs spend the next 50 years trying to rebuild our interstate system because we have a few potholes. Instead, TAKE A FUCKING CHANCE every once in a while, you damn pansies. We're all gonna die sometime. Except me. I'm having my scrotum cryogenically frozen.