New MBN Affiliates!

I am proud to announce the addition of three exciting new blogs to the Mighty Blog Network!

First up is Puerilewaite, author of Why Oh Why Must My Blog Title Be So Long? If you judge this blog based solely on its plain black & white template, you might conclude that it's a boring-ass piece of shit. However, if you dig a little deeper and read some of the posts, you'll realize that it is indeed a boring-ass piece of shit. But it's a nice effort, and the dude seems to be pretty good at posting random images he finds on Google.

Next we have Pud, author of Pudwhipped. Pud's blog is witty, inciteful, refreshing, and entertaining. Oh yeah. And, SHE HAS A PICTURE OF HER CROTCH!!! Ladies, this is how you write a blog.

Finally, there's Thoughts From A Dykes Dog. I don't know why I added this blog. I think it was a mistake. But I'm too lazy to delete it, so there you go.

As a side note, I have deleted Assume The Position because Traffic Goddess hasn't updated the damn thing in over two months. Plus, she hates me. (She's jealous, actually.) It's always tough to lose a member of The Mighty Blog Network, but that's the way the boobs bounce.

So enjoy these fine new blogs...and tell 'em Dyckie sentcha!!!


Make Up Your Own Damn Post

I'll give you the first sentence. Then each of you morons can add a sentence in the comments section. Saves me from doing any work.

Here's the sentence:

Dyckerson was on his way home from a hard day at work, when all of the sudden something amazing happened.


Marriages I Am Riding Out

According to recent data that I made up, roughly 96% of all marriages end in divorce. In addition, 3% are annulled. The remaining 1% are sham marriages...

...With these factoids in mind, I am currently waiting for not one...not two...but FOUR marriages to end. After all, as any investor will tell you, you never put all your eggs in one basket. Diversification is key!!! These four marriages involve chicks from my checkered past that I've had the hots for, but lost to other guys through no fault of my own...

Marriage #1 involves my high school sweetheart. I'll call her Ms. X. She had long brown hair and a smile that would light up a room...that is, if she held a flashlight in her teeth while she was smiling. We went out on approximately one date, after which she told me she wanted to see other people and I told her to go fuck herself. Unfortunately she went on to marry some asshole cop. Last I heard, the lucky couple had spawned at least once, but that still doesn't change the statistics. The way I see it, when the inevitable divorce eventually does occur, Ms. X will be a single, middle-aged mommy. In other words, she'll be desperate. And ole Dyckie will be there, ready to take advantage of your lowered standards and your need for a male role model for you bastard kid.

Divorce probability: VERY HIGH. Marriages involving cops are statistically twice as likely to end in divorce. Add to that the fact that he could die in the line of duty, and I'd say my chances here are excellent!


Marriage #2 involves my college roommate and our lovely blonde next door neighbor. I'll call her Ms. Y. Roomie was the first to meet Ms. Y. He actually stumbled over her drunken body in the hallway on the way back from a late class. Soon she started hanging out in our dorm room, and we all became good friends. We both secretly wanted her, but since he met her first, I allowed roomie to take the first shot at her. Bad idea. Who would've thought the assholes would actually fall in love and get married?!

Divorce probability: FAIRLY HIGH. Guess what! Roomie pissed his college degree down the shitter and joined the military. In fact, my sources tell me he is serving in Kuwait even as I type. Because of his career, they haven't bought a home, and they haven't spawned. They've been married almost 10 years now, but Ms. Y is 35 years old - biological clock a-ticking away - so I figure she's aching to hear the pitter-patter of tiny feet before her eggs dry up. Well guess what, Ms. Y! Dyckie's swimmers are ready and waiting!!!


Marriage #3 involves a former co-worker. I'll call her Ms. Z. She and I were hot and heavy for quite some time, but sadly, she was already engaged to an out-of-town fiance, so the odds were stacked against me. However, I had the advantage of not only being close by...but also being her supervisor. Yes, friends, this relationship was wrong on many levels. But alas, she finally married her absentee boyfriend and moved far, far away to be with the little prick.

Divorce probability: MEDIUM. Once married, they wasted no time spawning. In fact, she was already preggers when she walked down the aisle. (Thank God a paternity test was never ordered.) Anyway, I think they're up to kid number three now, so chances are they're stuck with each other, like it or not. But every year I send her a Christmas card along with a picture of my wang, so I haven't quite given up yet.


Marriage #4 involves a former client at a company I used to work for. I'll call her.....well, I'll have to call her Ms. Z again because I ran out of letters. Should've started with W. Anyway, this chick was cute as hell, but flat as a pancake and a little young. She was like 21, and I was 32. But she was a very mature 21, and I was a very immature 32, so I figured it all evened out. Not that I wouldn't have nailed her anyway. As an added bonus, her daddy was a stinking rich local real estate developer, so I'd have been set for life. The only catch: Ms. Z and her family were religious fanatics. By religious fanatics, I mean they actually went to church more than twice a year! Wow!! So I started doing all this bullshit charity work to try to impress her, but it turned out to be a total waste of time, because she ended up marrying some loser she knew from college. After I found out about the marriage, I tried to bill the charity for the hours I worked, but they never paid. Fucking bastards.

Divorce probability: LOW. No guy in his right mind is going to divorce a good-looking chick with rich parents...I don't care how flat chested she is. It just ain't gonna happen.

So that's my list. Surely at least one of these four marriages will end sooner or later. The only question is, which one will be first???


Pluto Responds

Today I sat down with former planet Pluto for an exclusive interview. Here's how it went down...

MD: So how does it feel to be demoted to a dwarf planet?
Pluto: It sucks ass. I'm just as much a planet as those other eight bastards.

Well, the scientists say you're too small to be a planet.
Pluto: Fuck them. They wouldn't know a planet if it came up behind them and bit 'em on the ass.

You seem bitter.
Pluto: You'd be bitter too if you had spent a few billion years freezing your nuts off and spinning around the Sun, only to be tossed out like last night's meat loaf!

What about the argument that your orbit is too eccentric?
Pluto: Eccentric?? Look, so I get lost every once in a while. You would too if you had to float around in the darkness of space with not so much as a frigging compass! I mean it's not like I've got a UPS* installed in my car!

You have a car? What do you drive???
Pluto: A Saturn.

Speaking of which, have you heard any feedback from the other planets?
Pluto: I got a text message from Neptune the other day. He offered to let me orbit him again for a while. But fuck that, I'm not going to be someone else's moon-bitch anymore.

How about Uranus?
Pluto: My anus is fine, thank you! HA HA HA HA HA!!! I never get tired of that!!

So what are your plans for the future?
Pluto: I'm going to bum around the Milky Way for a year. Then I plan to write a book about my experiences.

Any final thoughts?
Pluto: Yeah. Hey Earth, I just saw a giant asteroid whiz by me, and it's headed right for you. Have a nice day.

So there you have it. Pluto...live and uncensored. Coming tomorrow: More reaction from the Oort Cloud.

* UPS = Universal Positioning System



We have a top-notch shitter at my new job. Much nicer than the shitter at the old place.

That thing reeked like a mofo on a hot summer morn. Which is surprising because the rest of the office was pretty nice. And the guys who worked there were white collar professionals. Not the kind of guys who you'd think would piss all over the floor or leave pubes on the rims of the urinals. But they surely did, and with great frequency. And don't get me started about the semen deposits on the ceiling. That's right, the ceiling. Apparently someone was going in there and pleasuring himself, but instead of wiping the jizz on his socks like a normal guy, he preferred to fling his wad into the air, where they hung from the acoustical ceiling tiles like stalagmites. (Or is it stalactites? I always get the two confused.) Anyway, they made me feel like a goddamn spelunker every time I went to take a whiz. I mean, what kind of sicko would do such a thing??!

OK, it was me. But that's beside the point. I mean, you'd think the cleaning crew would scrape that stuff off every once in a while, but apparently they were too busy wiring their meager paychecks back to Mexico.

But that's all in the past. Nowadays, I'm relieving myself in luxury. The new shitter has granite countertops, gorgeous ceramic tile, sparkling-clean porcelain fixtures. There's even a full-length mirrored wall. And no matter the time of day, it always smells like potpourri. Indeed, it is the kind of shitter where a man can drop a deuce with pride. Why, I don't even have the heart to flog the dolphin in there. It would be like vandalizing a church.

Which brings me to the point of this post. Yesterday afternoon on my way home, I decided to visit the company crapetorium to take a wicked piss. Better safe than sorry, I always say. So I'm at the left-hand urinal whizzing away, when in walks one of my co-workers. He saddles up to the right-hand urinal and starts doing his thing. Fine, no problem, thanks to this lovely 4-foot metal divider. But then he did something I absolutely hate in a public restroom. He spoke.

"So how are you liking the new job?" he asked. Well, I liked it a lot better about three seconds ago, jackass.

People, even if you only know one thing about me, you know it's that I hate talking to people. And if there's anything I hate more than talking to people, it is talking to people while I am urinating. I mean, is nothing sacred anymore???

I suppose I should be grateful he didn't say something cute, like "How's it hanging?"...or "Do you need a hand with that?"...Or that it wasn't Salsa Boy offering me a taste of his latest concoction. But don't get me wrong. If you want to make noise in a shitter, that's fine. You can cough, sneeze, blow your nose, even let one rip if you must. Hell, I don't care if you whistle the theme to "Love Boat," just DON'T TALK TO ME WHILE I'M PISSING!!!

Now thanks to this douchebag, the sanctity of the company toilet is forever tarnished. From now on, I will have to live in fear of having my privacy violated by an effeminate chatterbox with infantile genitalia.

Thanks a lot.


I Killed Jon Benet

There, I said it. I am the real killer, and I was with little Jon Benet when she died. What, you don't believe me?? You think I'm just looking for attention??! Then perhaps you'd like to extract a DNA sample from my stained underwear! (Jmeped can assist you with this task.) Just, um, do me a favor and wait two weeks before you do the testing, OK? I've got a book coming out next week, and I'm doing Regis. And Letterman. And Oprah. And I'll be guest judging on the new reality show, "So You Think You've Got Cancer."

And by the way, you'll have to extradite me, as I am currently in Thailand teaching sex education to kindergartners. I'd like a first-class window seat on a snake-free 747, and no early morning flights - I tend to stay up nights working on my album.

Whew. I'm glad I got that off my chest. Oh, and while I'm at it...I also killed Nicole Simpson. And John Lennon. And it was my idea to kill off Col. Henry Blake on M*A*S*H.

Call my agent to arrange an interview.


An Ap-PEEL-ing Post

Get this. I stopped by the grocery store last night after work. For those of you who don't know, a grocery store is a place where you go to buy a large variety of foodstuffs. The foodstuffs are placed on unattractive shelving by equally unattractive high school students, and you, the customer, place the foodstuffs in a filthy wire basket on crooked wheels. Next, you pay the cashier, who places each item in its own separate plastic bag. Then you take your foodstuffs home and consume them at your leisure.

Anyway, I like to hang out in the produce section and flirt with the yentas. I usually say something like, "Hey baby! Nice melons!" and then we both enjoy a good laugh. So while in the produce section last night, I decided to acquire some bananas. Bananas are, of course, nature's perfect food. They're tasty, they're full of potassium, they come in their own wrappers. Plus, it's fun to watch women eating them because they look like penises. So I picked out a set of bananas, and as I was bagging them, I noticed each banana had a special sticker on them. On each sticker was the word ORGANIC. Being the curious type, I turned and looked at the other bananas. Some of them were labelled ORGANIC and some were not...yet they all looked the same. Now I don't know about you, but I thought all bananas were organic. Hell, if used properly, some of them can even be orgasmic! Am I right ladies??!

I inquired about this with the produce boy.

Dyckerson: "Hey Chiquita, why are some of these bananas labelled organic?"
Produce Boy: "Go fuck yourself."

I could see I wasn't going to get anywhere, so I bought my bananas and split.

Today I consumed one of my organic bananas. As far as I could tell, it tasted like a normal banana. Same texture and everything. So what is the big fucking difference? Is this some sort of marketing ploy put on by the International Banana Consortium? I want answers, and I want them NOW.


New Planets???

The world is continuing to lower its standards. Back in the good old days, in order to be a planet, you had to weigh 900 trillion tons. You had to rotate around the sun. You had to be filled with heavy solids and/or hot, deadly gasses. Basically, you had to be Rosie O'Donnell. But nowadays, seems any piece of crap floating around in space qualifies as a planet.

Case in point: Scientists claim to have discovered not one...not two...but THREE NEW PLANETS!!! Now, I'm no Albert Newton, but it seems to me these celestial bodies didn't just materialize out of nowhere. And telescopes have been around for what, at least 20 years. Surely these overpaid stargazers would've found them by now. So apparently they're lowering the requirements needed for an object to be considered a planet.

Am I the only one who is appalled by this planetary population explosion? Come on, people! Where is the outrage? Where are the protests?? A week ago, our solar system had 9 planets. Today it's 12. Tomorrow it'll be a million! Think of what this will do to the world's supply of styrofoam balls and wire coathangers!

Look, I can throw a rock a good three feet if I try really hard...I guess that would be considered a moon. And the ice cubes in my scotch glass...Those would be comets. And hey, watch out for that bright light bulb! That's a supernova!! And Star Jones' ass?? You guessed it...a black hole!!!

Or perhaps there is another explanation. Perhaps the government already knew about these three rogue planets! Maybe they were conducting top-secret experiments and didn't want us to know about them!! Don't laugh, it's possible. Although I can't prove it, I'm quite certain I was abducted and rectally penetrated by aliens back in 1991. I suspect they were trying to learn about my game show prop building techniques. I'll bet you anything that right now, they're playing "Extraterrestrial Family Feud" on Charon, and they're using MY SET DESIGN!!!

Man, this is going to be huge! Time for me to contact my friends at the National Enquirer...the only publication that dares to publish the truth anymore. I'm sure they'll be very interested in talking to me about my theories. Nobody is going to make a fool out of Mightonimous Q. Dyckerson!!!


Fun With A Scanner!!!

I was sifting through some old photos the other day, and just for the hell of it, I decided to crank up my computer scanner and scan in a few selections. These are actual photos from Dyckerson's personal archives...and if I hear so much as a chuckle out of any one of you losers, I'm coming to your house and taking a dump on your front lawn!

We start out with my first car. As you can see, she was quite a beauty! She looked even better before I wrapped her around a tree back in 1994. In case you can't tell, this was a 1984 Ford Escort...

Next, we have a photo of my two bitches from 1997. Actually, they're my dad's bitches, but we're very close. The bottom left bitch is currently dead, but the black bitch is still alive and well. She's named Blizzard ("Bliz") for obvious reasons...

Here's a shot of the master control room at one of the first stations I worked at. This was in the early 90s. As you can see, it was quite a piece of shit. But it was MY piece of shit and I loved it. Ah, simpler times...

Now here's the part where I embarrass myself for your personal amusement. When I was a younger Dyckerson, while other kids were out doing fun stuff like dating, I was barricaded in my room constructing replicas of game show sets. These were taken in the late 80's. See if you can guess which one this is...

Yes, it's the $100,000 Pyramid! (It was cool, so shut the fuck up!!) The light bulbs are fake, but those trilons really turn, baby! Check it out from behind!!!

This is the game board to Super Password, which ran on NBC from '84 to '89. It's the only one of my creations that still survives. The little doors slide open to reveal the words...

And last but not least, my most ambitious creation...

This thing was fucking humongous, and it was never fully completed. But like the others, it featured a fully functioning gameboard...

So that's it. I hope you enjoyed this little stroll down memory lane. By the way, that reminds me. Time to set an appointment with my therapist.


Coming this fall: Everybody Loves Dyck!

I am so excited, I could urinate on myself.

Last night, as I am finishing up my third box of Little Debbie Oatmeal Creme Pies, I get a phone call. It's Warren Zuckerfield, the new head of programming for NBC, calling from Tinseltown! He tells me he was eating at Jack-in-the-Hole earlier that day and got my number off the bathroom wall. Turns out he's a long-time fan of The Mighty Blog, and get this.....he wants to produce a sitcom based on my life! Folks, I kid you not!!!*

Now as you can imagine, a man like Warren Zuckerfield doesn't fuck around. We get straight down to business. Mr. Zuckerfield asks me what it would take for me to sell the television rights to my blog. I tell him to take Howie Mandel's salary and DOUBLE IT. He readily agrees, so needless to say I stand to earn well into the three-figure range! Then I tell him I want full creative control of the show. Everything from casting to writing to editing. This part took a little convincing (and promises of sexual favors from Jmeped), but I finally got him to go along with it.

So today I started working on casting and character development, and here's what I have so far:

Mighty Dyckerson - A single father with a potty mouth trying to raise two precocious twin daughters (Mary Kate & Ashley Olsen) while managing a successful whorehouse. Played by Mel Gibson.

RevRee - The half-&-half, live-in housekeeper with an attitude. She keeps Dyckerson and the girls in line. Played by Halle Berry.

HushHush - The wealthy widow who lives next door to the whorehouse. She's always complaining about the noise and the used prophylactics on her front lawn. Played by Rosie O'Donnell.

Moderator - Dyckerson's best friend and business partner. A washed-up scientist, he shakes down the whores for tip money and keeps the cops at bay. Played by Gary Busey.

Judi & Smelly - The whores. Played by Lindsay Lohan and Paris Hilton.

Jmeped - Dyckerson's current love interest. She used to be a lesbian until Dyckerson converted her. Played by Alyssa Milano.

In the premiere episode, things get wacky when Mighty Dyckerson accidentally gets handcuffed to Judi and Smelly. Meanwhile, Moderator buys a chemistry set and blows his right arm off in an experiment that goes wrong. Meanwhile, Jmeped bleaches Dyckerson's shorts while naked. Meanwhile, HushHush auditions for the new reality show, So You Think America's Got Big Losers. Meanwhile, RevRee files a paternity suit against Dyckerson. Guest star Maury Povich.

So that's what I have so far. I talked to my agent, and he thinks he can get me a guest spot on Hollywood Squares. I'm hoping to get a square next to that Hoopi Goldstein. She's such a riot! Anyway, wish me luck. I'll keep you posted on any further developments!!

* Yes, I do.


Job Update

First of all, I am happy to report that I have figured out how to operate my chair. I got me one of them high-tech office chairs where everything on it is adjustable. For the first three weeks, every time I would lean back, the back of the chair would lean back with me, giving me no fucking lumbar support. Those of you who know me, know I am a staunch advocate of lumbar support. In fact, I even belong to a lumbar support group that meets once a week. We get together at a coffeehouse and make fun of alcoholics. But seriously folks, I finally figured out how to set the back of the chair to stay in one fucking position regardless of my bodily movements.

In other news, I now have a waste receptacle at my workstation. This comes after several repeated pleas to Pam, the sassy black administrative assistant. What's the big deal about a waste receptacle, you ask? Try going without one for a few weeks. Every time I generate a piece of waste, I have to find a receptacle in a common area to place it in. I mean, I can't just go to some stranger's workstation and throw my waste products in their personal waste receptacle. How would you like it if somebody walked into your workstation and threw a rotting fish in your waste receptacle? I suspect you wouldn't like it at all. So as you can see, having your own waste receptacle is a big deal.

Furthermore, I have repositioned my computer monitor in such a way that my co-workers cannot see what I'm doing when they pass by my workstation. Am I transferring a file? Am I responding to an email? Or am I playing Texas Hold 'Em? They'll never know!!!

And finally, Scott the salsa king is on vacation this week! He's the one with the overwhelming need for everyone to approve of his condiments. Let me tell you, this guy has turned out to be quite an annoying little prick. Everytime he gets up and walks by my workstation (which is every five minutes), he makes a fist with his left hand flicks the fingers of his right hand against it. It's hard to describe, but the sound is unmistakable, and it's already driving me nuts. It's an obvious cry for attention, just like it is with the crappy salsa he shoves down our throats. Oh, and the other day he stands up and yells across the room, "Hey Dyckerson, I just shot you an email! I've got a file that's got to go out first thing in the morning!" Gee thanks for that announcement, asshole. I guess just sending the email wasn't enough. You have to tell the whole office how important your goddamn file is. (I ended up deleting it.) So the fact that he is on vacation this week is nothing short of a miracle.

That is all.


Deep Thoughts...with Mighty Dyckerson

Here is a list of ten thoughts I pulled out of my ass today while I was at work. Some of them are profound; some are complete bullshit - you be the judge. But I want each of you to choose three of these items and use them as conversation starters for the next 24 hours. Then report back with your results...

What happens if you email yourself, and then report it as spam?

I say we keep the penny, but do away with the nickel.

A refrigerator box has to be a little bit larger than the refrigerator.

There are no atheists in foxholes, but there are lots of Presbyterians in bunkers.

It is impossible to ask someone for unsolicited advice. If you have to ask, it's too late.

To a retarded person, everybody is a genius.

What are we doing with the extra space where phone booths used to be?

People who laugh at stupid jokes out of politeness are enablers. Don't be an enabler.

In my desk at home, I have a box of pencils. That box will probably last me the rest of my life.

At the end of the day, it is dark.



Dyckerson OmniMedia is taking measures to streamline our operations, improve efficiency, and cut costs. Listen up, people. This affects all of you.

First, DYCK'D is dead. That's right, you heard me. I am sick and tired of reviewing your pathetic, rotten, stinking, inferior blogs...only to have no one read them. Besides, trying to maintain one blog is more than enough to keep me busy. And now that I am reinstated on Medialine, I can see I have my work cut out for me there. That place has clearly deteriorated in my absence, and the people are counting on me to come to the rescue. So the DYCK'D blog will remain on the Internets for the time being, but there will be no new reviews.

Second, I have removed the word filters from the Dyckersonville message board. People, I never wanted my own message board. I didn't ask for my own message board. But one of my diehard fans set me up with this freebie board about a year ago, and I didn't have the heart to tell him I didn't want the fucking thing...especially since the hosting company doesn't allow profanity or nudity. I mean, what good is a message board if you can't say "cocksucking asshole rat bastard" or post a picture of two lesbians performing oral sex on a monkey? Fuck that shit. From now on, the gloves are off. In fact, I challenge each of you to visit Dyckersonville and post the rudest, most offensive thing you can possibly think of...and we'll see how long it takes the PHPBB goons to kill the board. Come on, Dyck fans! Make me proud!!

Third, the Mighty Blog affiliates listing has shrunk a bit. Blogs are expected to meet the highest of standards in order to earn The Mighty Blog Affiliate Seal of Adequacy...one of those standards being that you actually post once in a while. So I removed a few inactive blogs that had cobwebs* growing on them. There are several more of you whose names I won't mention (cough Minwah cough) who are on the endangered list, so get off your lazy asses and get blogging!

And finally, RevRee, Stacy, and Jmeped are moving to India. I hear the cost of living is much lower over there, so I'll save a bundle on the payroll. Pack your shit, ladies! A cargo plane is waiting for you at the airport.

That is all.

*What the fuck is a cob, anyway??!




Back on Medialine, that is! That's right, sportsfans, the ban has been lifted! Let us give thanks and rejoice!

"I'm happier than a Jew in a room full of matza balls!!!"
-Mel Gibson

So stop on by today and join in the festivities! It's the dawn of a new era!!!


(The Jews Stole the Title of this Post)

I'm a little concerned about my old pal Mel Gibson. Last weekend I was having drinks down at the local Gulp 'n Puke. I'm having my usual; he's having gin & vodka tonic with a beer chaser. He gets to his 5th serving, when he starts making small talk about the weather.

"You know, Dyckerson, them Jews are to blame for this heat wave," he said. The Jews control Hollywood...the Jews control the wars...and now the Jews are controlling the goddamn weather. Fucking menora-loving bastards!"

I could tell Mel was a bit distraught, so I tried to calm him down. "Relax, Mad Max. Have another drink on me." I gestured to the bartender, who happened to be of African American persuasion.

"Get that filthy coon away from me!" Mel screamed. "You darkies with your watermelon and fried chickens...you're almost as bad as them chinks and their fucking laundromats!"

"Whoa buddy, watch that nomenclature," I told him. "There's a Chinese cop sitting right over there."

"No problem - I'm a celebrity," he said, as he finished drink #7. "Besides, I did a lameass PSA for the police department last year. They won't be bothering me for a while."

I saw Braveheart reach for his car keys and suggested he call a cab. "No way," he said. "Last cab I was in was driven by one of them illegal aliens! I thought that spick was gonna stab me and take my wallet. I swear, I'd really hate those guys if they weren't such good landscapers."

As he got up to leave, he stumbled over to an attractive woman in the corner and made a rude motion with his crotch. "Hey lady, I got a lethal weapon for ya right here," he said. Not having any luck, he finally went out to his car and sped away.

Anyway, that was last Saturday. I haven't heard a word from him since, and I'm getting kinda worried. If anybody out there hears from him, please let me know.