RLS in the News!!!

I'm now convinced that people at NBC are reading my blog.

Surely recall a few months back when I wrote about Restless Legs Syndrome being nothing more than a bullshit disease made up by drug companies to market their products. Well did you catch the Nightly News tonight? Those bastards did a whole piece on Requip and RLS! It was right there in the third act, between the Iraqi Death Count and The Flossing of America. In case you missed it, the video can be seen here. (Sorry, you'll have to sit through a fucking commercial.)

Considering that Requip is an advertiser on NBC, it comes as no surprise that they went easy on them. I mean, they're not going to come right out and call them crooks...even though they clearly are. But I was hoping for at least a soundbite or two from a skeptic. Instead, NBC News just did a free three-minute ad for GlaxoSmithKlineFunkAndWagnalls. Is nothing sacred anymore??!

I wish to point out there is no hidden advertising here on The Mighty Blog. You'll find nothing here except truth, wisdom, and weiner jokes. I will never allow myself to be influenced by outside forces, nor will I sell myself to Madison Avenue in order to make a buck. That's the Dyckerson promise.

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to relax, kick up my feet, and enjoy an ice-cold, refreshing bottle of Budweiser. Budweiser...the King of Beers. Available where ever beer is sold. And tell 'em Dyckie sentcha!


Taking Out The Trash

Becoming a Mighty Blog affiliate list is a daunting task. It takes hours - sometimes even days - of intense ass kissing to even be considered for inclusion in the prestigious list of blog links that adorn my sidebar. Even then, affiliate status cannot be awarded until I and my distinguished panel of reviewers have painstakingly examined the candidate blog in excrutiating detail. Our standards are the absolute highest, as we look for such criteria as:

1. Gratuitous use of profanity
2. Explicit descriptions or images of nudity and/or sex acts
3. Crude bathroom humor
4. A basic understanding of English
5. General filth, depravity, and offensiveness

And most importantly:


I'm happy to report that most (if not all) of the Mighty Blog affiliates contain at least one of the first five elements. (Of course, Bostick's blog contains all of them.) However, a few of my affiliates have been lacking in that most important of criteria. In other words, THEY HAVEN'T POSTED DIDDLY SHIT IN MONTHS!!!

Take Minwah, for example. Minwah hasn't updated her blog since October 11, 2006, when she proclaimed that she was "still alive." Well, that remains to be seen...because MINWAH HASN'T UPDATED HER BLOG SINCE OCTOBER 11, 2006. Fuck it, she's off the affilates list. It's a damn shame too. Bitch had talent.

Then there's Judi. Judi's blog hasn't been updated since her half-assed Thanksgiving post from November 23, 2006. You'd think that between Judi and her life partner Stench, they'd be able to crank out a half decent post at least once a week. But NOOOOOO. In fact, the only part of her blog that sees any action is the chat hole, and even that is on life support. So Judi is now officially on notice: Post something within 72 hours or you will lose your status as a Mighty Blog affiliate!!

Let that be a lesson to the rest of you. If I catch any of you rat bastards slacking off and neglecting your blogging duties, I will be opening up a can of Whoopi Goldberg.

What was that I heard you say? You're too busy?? BULLSHIT. I understand we all have busy times in our lives. Take me, for example. Last night when my wife and children were killed in a horrible car accident, I went nearly ONE HOUR without checking my blog. And I felt guilty about that the whole time I was digging their shallow graves in my back yard. But guess what. Here I am.

Wait a minute, what was that?? You say you don't have anything to write about?? DUH. I haven't had anything to write about in over a year. But that doesn't stop me from updating my blog at least two or three times a week. Anything is fair game, so use your imagination! Maybe you found a penny in the supermarket parking lot. Or perhaps you had an especially memorable bowel movement. Or maybe you ate a potato chip that looked like Eric Estrada. Tell us about it!!

And a final word: The Mighty Blog is always accepting applications for new affiliates. If you wish to join this exclusive group of disgusting, offensive blogs, tell me why I should add your link in 100 words or less.


Fuck XM Radio

Have I ever told you fuckers about my brother? His name is Martholomew ("Marty") Dyckerson, and he works at the corporate offices of one of those large-carton electronic stores. I think their logo is an electrical plug or something. Genius marketing right there. I guess if they were a supermarket, their logo would be a fork.

Anyway, last Christmas, Marty Dyckerson decided to take advantage of his employee discount and buy electronic gadgetry for everyone in the family. His wife got a DVD player, his daughter got a video game, Mother Dyckerson got a french tickler, and so on. And for yours truly, the gift that keeps on sucking: XM radio.

Now don't get me wrong. It was certainly a nice thought. And many people seem to enjoy the satellite radio. But not I. I don't want it in my house, I don't want it in my car, I don't want it in my life. Of all the shit Marty could've gotten me from an electronics store, XM Radio ranks DEAD LAST, below the laserdisc player and the VHS tape rewinder that looks like a toy car.

Why such hatred for XM Radio, you ask? I don't have fucking time for it. When I'm at home, I'm watching porn, surfing the net, and waxing my balls. When I'm driving to and from work, all I want is traffic, weather, and celebrity birthdays. If it's music I desire, I have a DyckPod. I also have a CD playing device that plays CDs when you put them inside it. And if I really, really wanted satellite radio, I'd get Sirius so I could listen to my idol Howard Stern.

But for some reason, Marty thought I'd go apeshit over the idea of having the XM Radio in my vehicle. And I didn't have the heart to shove the box up his ass and tell him to go to Hell.

The first thing you have to do when you get the XM Radio is install the shit. Or in my case, wait around for THREE FUCKING HOURS while a high school dropout flunkie with poor hygiene tears up my interior. The end result: a shiny plastic gray box glued to my dashboard with an LCD screen that says, "Hey thieves, I'm expensive and easy to steal! Come on, break a window and take me home! You know you want to!"

After having this stupid thing in the DyckMobile for two or three weeks, I finally decided to turn it on yesterday. Yep, they sure have lots of channels. All kinds of music. News. Talk. Sports. Comedy. You know what else they have?? COMMERCIALS! What in the fuck??! I don't know why, but I was under the impression that satellite radio was COMMERCIAL FREE!! Oh, and try finding a channel you like with the miniscule buttons while drunk and weaving through traffic at 90 miles per hour. IT CAN'T BE DONE!!!

So a message to thieves: If the shiny plastic gray box doesn't get your attention, I'll make it even easier for you. I will be leaving my orange Jeep Wrangler in the Wal-Mart parking lot on West Broad St. from 3pm til midnight tonight. Orange is a rare color for a Jeep, so it should be easy to spot. The doors will be unlocked and the XM owner's manual will be in the front seat. Don't forget the remote and the antenna. I will also leave a glass of milk and a plate of delicious chocolate chip cookies on the center console. Just promise me you won't touch my Jesus statue or my pine tree air freshener.


From The Mighty Blog Mailbag...

Dear Mr. Dyckerson,

My name is Gladys Clumpstein of Syracuse, NY. I am writing in regard to my son Stewart, who is an avid fan of your blog. Last night while reading your post about severed penises, my little Stewart died after suffering a grand mal seizure. We found his lifeless body this morning, his head pressed up against his computer screen. His eyes were still open, locked onto the flashing lights along the sidebar of your blog. We are convinced those flashing lights are what caused Stewart's fatal seizure.

Please, Mr. Dyckerson. I beg you to remove those flashing and blinking things from your otherwise outstanding blog so others don't meet the same fate as my little Stewart. Do it for the children.

Dear Gladys,

Fuck the children. It sounds to me like your son was a weak, lame, hopeless freak of nature anyway. If it hadn't been a seizure, he probably would have impaled himself while imitating a stunt he saw on Jackass. Best to weed out nature's little mistakes. It makes the gene pool a bit cleaner for the rest of us. But thanks for writing.


Dear Mr. Dyckerson,

I am H'sai Poon Tang, Assistant Audit Specialist for Blogger, Inc. A recent review of your blog found that you are in violation of Section II, Paragraph 4 of the Blogger Terms and Conditions: "...blog users shall not publish a template or image that defies the laws of common decency and good taste..." Our research shows your blog does both. Your flashing lights and blinking logo are a slap in the face to legimate graphic artists and web designers everywhere. You have thirty (30) days to remove the offending items or your blog will be removed.

Dear Mr. Tang,

Assistant Audit Specialist? Pshaw. I only answer to Sukk Maik Ock, the Chief Audit Specialist. And don't talk to me about web design and graphic artistry. I know three HTML tags and I am well versed with Microsoft Paint. So SHOW ME SOME FRIGGING RESPECT!


Dear Mr. Dyckerson,

My name is Alyssa Milano, and I am a wealthy television actress in Hollywood. I will pay you one million dollars to remove those goddamn blinkie things from your shitty blog. I will also perform oral sex on you every day for a year.

Dear Alyssa,

I hope you own a good pair of knee pads.


Here, Read This Shit.

A thousand and one pardons for not posting on the ol' blog lately. I've been literally swamped all week, and this is the first chance I've had to catch my breath. Here's an update:

Sunday: I drove out to L.A. and beat the living shit out of Rosie O'Donnell. I must admit, that dyke put up quite a fight...and I have the bumps and bruises to prove it. But let's just say I don't think we'll be hearing from her for quite some time. Afterwards, I flew to N.Y. and celebrated with Donald Trump. He even let me try on his hairpiece - super cool! I'm thinking about getting one for myself, even though I have a full head of hair.

Monday: I defecated. I'm sure this seems like a pretty trivial event to you. But if you're chronically constipated like I am, every bowel movement is like a gift from Heaven. I like to make a party out of it - hang some crepe paper, make finger sandwiches, invite over a few close friends. McFatty brought his karaoke machine and stopped the show with his haunting rendition of Desperado. I'm not afraid to tell you, I wept openly.

Tuesday: I had to take care of an unplanned pregnancy. It came as quite a surprise, as I always use protection. But last week, the stupid bitch went out and bought the generic store brand plastic wrap. Well, you get what you pay for. So I found a rusty wire coathanger in my closet and took matters into my own hands. A word to the wise: I'd avoid the alley behind the A & P on Route 5 for a few weeks.

Wednesday: I picked up season 6 of Gilmore Girls on DVD. 'Nuff said.

Thursday: I was abducted by illegal aliens. The incident took place in a 7-Eleven parking lot. I was walking out of the store with my Slim Jim and my 20 lottery tickets minding my own business when an unmarked van pulled up beside me. Before I had time to react, a herd of spics in landscaping attire piled out and grabbed me. Much of what followed is a blur, but to answer the question on everyone's mind...YES, I was. With the business end of a leaf blower. Three times. And it hurt like a sumbitch. I've been sitting on Ms. Babble's pillow all day. (Note to Ms. Babble: You might want to let the pillow air out for a while before sleeping on it tonight. I had Cabana tacos for lunch.)

Damn, I'm pooped. Goodnight all.


Tip Your Waitresses

And now, a few blog impressions...

RevRee: "Hi I'm RevRee and I'm a half-&-half! Last night I was at this bar, and I met this guy with gorgeous hands! I took a grainy picture of his hands with my cell phone and then I showed him my boobs and we made out! Now here's a list of different kinds of kisses! Oh did I mention I'm a half-&-half??!"

Bostick: "Hi my name is Bostick! I'm a 40-something year old white man but I talk like a 15 year old black boy! Fuck yeah to the bizitch! Did I tell you about the time I picked up a hooker at a bar and she shat on my chest? How about the time my cat sprayed shit in my face? Or the time I crapped in my own mouth?? Here's a recipe for Chicken Soup and a picture of my wife's ass yo!"

Willo: "Hi I'm Willo Keays a.k.a. Hush Willo a.k.a. HushHush! I'm so excited about the upcoming auditions for Surviving With The Biggest Loser! I want to have Jeff Probst's baby! You can read all about it in my password protected post! My blog got three hits from somebody in Timbuktu today! Stay tuned for another post in five minutes! Meanwhile the chat room is open!"

Ms. Babble
: "Hi I'm Karlababble and I caught syphilis in my hoo-hah from a truck stop toilet! Hoo-hah is a funny word that I like to say! Hoo-hah, hoo-hah, hoo-hah! Yesterday I waited 16 hours to see my gynecologist! While I was gone, my son got his head stuck in the microwave oven while my husband was watching Days Of Our Lives on Tivo! There's another funny word! Tivo, Tivo, Tivo! Wombat is insane and Dyckerson has a small penis!"

TFG: "Hi my name is TFG! I like to post pictures and videos of weird shit I find on Google! Here's a picture of a funny street sign! And here's a picture of a two-headed goldfish! And here's a video of a cartoon animal having sex with a little boy!"

Jmeped: "Hi my name is Jmeped! I work with a bunch of crazy loonies in a flower shop where I make pretties all day! My co-workers and relatives are all really strange! I'm sick of blogging so I'm going on hiatus! Okay, now I'm back! I like to bleach my clown's shorts while he shoots confetti at me!"

Stacy: "Hi I'm Stacy! Today my husband Bob wrote another passage in our never-to-be-published book! And here, I wrote a poem about it which will also never be published! I drive a forklift for a living! It's very tiring even though I only work one day a year! Tune in tomorrow for Tuesday Thirteen! Then it's Worthless Wednesday, followed by Fucked-Up Friday! Hi Dyckerson!!"

Mr. Fabulous: "Hi I'm Mr. Fabulous! Although nothing I write is particularly funny or interesting, I somehow manage to get a shitload of comments every time! Hell, I could post a list of stuff in my refrigerator and I'd get 184 comments in five minutes!"

Thank you, you've been a great audience.


The Legend of the 13 Thumbtacks

My cubicle walls at work are adorned with an unlucky number of thumbtacks. Some people call them push pins, but that's gay. I would like to take this opportunity to discuss at great length the story of my thumbtacks.

First, the colors. Two of my thumbtacks are blue. Two are red. Two are yellow. And the remaining seven thumbtacks are white in nature. Each one of my thumbtacks has its own distinct reason for being.

One of my white thumbtacks holds up a list of important phone numbers which I never use. For example, the guy who took over my old position as FTP Manager. Why the hell would I ever need to call him? If anything, he should be calling me...like to find out why yesterday I changed all his FTP passwords to "ILIKEBIGWEINERS."

Another one of my thumbtacks holds up a yellow Post-It brand note. I honestly don't remember what the note is for, nor can I even read it. I would throw it away, but you know Murphy's Law. The day I throw it away will be the very day all the Post-It notes in the world turn into priceless gold. (Aha!!! I got you, didn't I??! You thought I was going to say I might need that note someday, but I pulled the ole switcheroo on your ass!! Stupid motherfuckers!!!)

My third white thumbtack is used to hold up a three-column list of client names and source IDs. I'm quite proud of this list, as I created it myself using the popular Excel software by Microsoft. Took me three weeks to get the cell borders exactly the way I wanted them. I keep this document mounted right beside my monitor, so that I may admire its beauty and perfection.

We all could learn a lot from my two blue thumbtacks. Together they work in peace and harmony, equally sharing the burden of a large list of upcoming dates. For example, January 19th. And April 23rd. And July 9th. These dates have absolutely no significance in my personal or professional life. I just happen to like them. One time a jackass asked me about my list of upcoming dates. I told him to go fuck himself. That jackass doesn't bother me anymore. So I guess maybe those dates are significant after all.

Oh, did I mention I use one of my thumbtacks for personal grooming? I did not think so. I use one of my white thumbtacks to pick at my cuticles and clean the shit that accumulates under my fingernails. It hurts like hell when I do this, but yet I can't stop. My fingers are always red and swollen, and my nails are all split and cracked. But no pain, no gain, I always say.

The remaining seven thumbtacks are on standby. Awaiting their destiny, as it were. You may be wondering why I don't use the extra thumbtacks to help support the other documents. Well that is fucking bullshit. I'm not one of those thumbtack Nazis who wastes for thumbtacks to hold up a single sheet of paper. That's not how I roll. In my book, one document equals one thumbtack (except in rare circumstances, such as the case with my giant list of upcoming dates).

You may be interested to know I used to have more thumbtacks. But one of the thumbtack Nazis stole them. I never did find out who it was...and to this day, the thieving thug threatens me with his thirst for my thirteen thumbtacks. Now, at the end of every business day, I lock my surplus thumbtacks in a drawer for safekeeping. Then the next day, I retrieve the thumbtacks and display them with pride...as if to say to the thumbtack Nazi, "Look at all these thumbtacks! They're MINE and YOU CAN'T HAVE THEM!!!"

I need help.



Dumbass motherfucking cops, why can't they LEAVE ME THE HELL ALONE??!! Over TWO YEARS I've gone now without getting a fucking speeding ticket. TWO GODDAMN YEARS, you hear me??! Finally I had ZERO POINTS on my fucking driving record...now that's all SHOT TO HELL thanks to OFFICER LUGNUT and his magic radar gun.

So I'm on my way to work Friday morning, just minding my own business. I've been taking a different route lately because the old route took me on the interstate, and every damn day that fucker is clogged with MOUTH-BREATHING RETARDS who apparently obtained their licenses from CRACKER JACKS BOXES.

Now this new route takes me right past a fucking SCHOOL ZONE every fucking morning right when all the little SNOT NOSED BRATS are arriving. But they don't ride the bus, mind you. Nor do they walk...even if they live a whopping THREE YARDS from the school. These little angels are far too precious for that. Instead, their SNOBBY, ARROGANT, ELITIST PARENTS must DRIVE THEM ALL TO SCHOOL, thus forming a line of SUV'S and MINIVANS leading all the way out the parking lot and INTO THE TWO-LANE ROAD, where they SELFISHLY BLOCK THE PATH OF THRU TRAFFIC ( i.e. people who didn't SLEEP THROUGH the high school P.E. teacher's lecture on BIRTH CONTROL).

Did I mention that this is a PERFECTLY NICE NEIGHBORHOOD with a LOW CRIME RATE??* And did I mention that the school buses are all LATE MODEL units that are FULLY EQUIPPED with EVERY GODDAMN UNNECESSARY SAFETY FEATURE that the PARANOID SCHOOL BOARD could come up with???** Christ, when I was in school, I rode that stinking cheese wagon EACH AND EVERY FUCKING DAY, inhaling NOXIOUS DIESEL FUMES and BURNING OIL the entire time...and LOOK AT HOW I TURNED OUT!!!*** We're raising a whole generation of SELF-CENTERED, PUSSY-ASS FAIRIES with absolutely NO COMPREHENSION of HOW TO SURVIVE in today's world.

Anyway, what the hell was I talking about?? Oh yeah the speeding ticket.

So I'm stuck behind this CARAVAN OF COCKSUCKERS who are trying to make a left turn into the school parking lot. I sit and I wait. And I wait and I wait and I wait. Finally, I see an opportunity to pass via a small opening on the right. Sure, it requires me to JUMP A CURB, CRAWL THROUGH A DITCH, and PLOW THROUGH SOMEONE'S FRONT YARD...but fuck it, that's what Jeeps are made for! I proceed.

Now that I'm finally around this PARADE OF OVERPROTECTIVE PARENT PUSSIES, I realize I'm late for work. Fuck that shit, I'm not going to stain my otherwise PERFECT WORK RECORD because little Johnny Gameboy can't GROW A SACK and WALK HIS ASS to school. I jam my foot on the gas.

Keep in mind at this point I am PAST THE SCHOOL, but not quite out of the official "school zone," which apparently extends a good TEN MILES beyond the school in all directions. So the speed limit is still a mere 25 mph. WHY, I ask??? The kids certainly aren't walking by the road, they're in their parents' damn SUBARU OUTBACK SHITWAGONS. So I say fuck the posted speed limit - stupid laws are meant to be broken.

And that's just what I told Officer Dipstick when he pulled me over.....

Officer: You have any idea why I stopped you?
Dyck: Because you're a GOVERNMENT PUPPET trying to make money for CROOKED POLITICIANS by meeting some ARBITRARY TICKET QUOTA.
Officer: I clocked you going 38 in a 25mph zone.
Dyck: Oh how horrible. God forbid ANYONE actually GET WHERE THEY'RE GOING in a DECENT AMOUNT OF TIME.
Officer: How is your driving record?
Dyck: NONE of your FUCKING BUSINESS, Barney Fife. Now why don't you scurry back to your PIECE OF SHIT Crown Vic and shine your badge?
Officer: I'm going to have to write you a summons.
Dyck: You do that. I was getting low on toilet paper anyway. Congratulations on contributing ABSOLUTELY NOTHING to solving the underlying problem here - that being STUPID, INCONSIDERATE DRIVERS who have NO BUSINESS BEHIND A WHEEL.
(Officer Butthead takes 20 minutes to fill in five blanks on a form.)
Officer: Sign here.

Now one of you idiots needs to come down here with a thousand bucks and bail me out. And HURRY THE FUCK UP. I don't like the way my roommate is looking at me.....

* OK, so there was ONE LOUSY KIDNAPPING on the playground last year. Big fucking deal. Besides, the family had closure. They found the kid's body like a month later. What more do you want??!

** I love this school bus safety bullshit. Blinkers, flashers, strobe lights, padded everything...and yet they're all driven by 70-YEAR-OLD BATS with CATARACTS and an INADEQUATE HEARING AIDS.

*** Shut up.


Dope On A Rope

Time for another exclusive interview you'll see only here on The Mighty Blog! Eat your heart out, Larry King!! Yesterday, I sat down for a conversation with none other than Ralph Al-Yossef, the guy who executed Saddam Hussein. Here's what he had to say.....

Dyck: Welcome to The Mighty Blog. Thanks for joining us today.
Ralph: No problem, dude. How's it hanging? Hehe.

Dyck: So how did you get into hanging people?
Ralph: Well it all started when I was a kid in the Iraqi Boy Scouts. When I was 12, I earned a merit badge for tying knots. Then when I got older, a buddy of mine introduced me to Iraq's executioner. Turns out he was getting ready to retire, and he needed someone to take over the business. So I hung out with him after school and he showed me the ropes...so to speak.

Dyck: But I bet you never dreamed you'd someday execute one of the most evil dictators the world has ever known.
Ralph: You can say that again! When I heard the news, you could've knocked me over with a bag of pork rinds. It was a once in a lifetime opportunity - a great resume booster too.

Dyck: What was the deal with the black scarf around Saddam's neck? Was that to prevent rope burns?
Ralph: That's what everybody thinks, but no. Truth is, he was just trying to cover up a hickey.

Dyck: Some people are saying that wasn't the real Saddam - that he was an impostor.
Ralph: Dude, trust me. I was there, and I could still smell the Doritos on his breath.

Dyck: Have you seen the cell phone footage that has been circulating the Internets?
Ralph: Yes, and I find it appalling. Ray Charles could've shot better footage than that, and he's blind!

He's also dead.
Ralph: Are you kidding me?!! When did that shit happen??

Several years ago. Don't you read the papers?
Ralph: Nah. You know what they say in the execution biz.

What's that?
Ralph: No noose is good noose! Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!!!!!

Well at least the execution went smoothly.
Ralph: Actually, what you saw on the Internets was the third take. The first time we tried it, the rope was too long, so he just fell to the ground and sprained his ankle. Then the second time, the trap door jammed.

Wow, how embarrassing!
Ralph: True dat. The outtakes will be on the DVD coming out next month.

Dyck: We'll look forward to that. So what do you do when you're not stretching necks?
Ralph: I play a lot of Hangman.

Dyck: Any favorite TV shows?
Ralph: I love Hangin' with Mr. Cooper, Knots Landing, and anything by David Lynch. Oh, and what's the name of that Three's Company spinoff with Norman Fell?

Dyck: That would be The Ropers.
Ralph: Yeah, that's it!!!

Dyck: What about the guy who played Mr. Furley?
Ralph: You mean Don Knotts? Yeah, he's great!!!

Dyck: What's on your iPod right now?
Ralph: I listen to a lot of swing music.

Dyck: Of course. So what's next for you?
Ralph: Tomorrow I'm doing Regis & Kelly. And next week, I'll be hosting SNL. Then once all the media hype dies down, I'm thinking about taking a class on lethal injections. That's where all the money is these days.

Dyck: Sounds exciting! Good luck with that, and thanks again for stopping by.
Ralph: Anytime. Before I go, I'd like to give a shout out to my peeps back at the gallows - Stranglin' Steve Sa 'eed and Chuckie "The Choker" Benayahu. Peace out, homeys!!!

Stay tuned tomorrow for the first in my three-part interview with one of Gerald Ford's pallbearers!!!