First, an apology in advance. The hour is late and I'm slapping this thing together, so forgive me if I let this whole post go by without a joke about feces or Ms. Babble's flat chest. Now on to the matter at hand.

Friday the 13th began early for me last week. I awoke at 3:30am, threw some shit in a bag, and headed for the airport. My flight didn't leave until 6:45am, but thanks to 9/11 and a group of asshole sand niggas, I had to get to the terminal two hours ahead of time and subject myself to a full cavity body search.

I parked the DyckMobile in the "economy" parking lot...so named because it's approximately 200 miles from the actual airport. But I am a tightwad, and it's four bucks per day cheaper than the much more convenient parking deck. Luckily, a shuttle bus stops at the economy lot every ten minutes to pick up the cheapskates and drive them to the main building. I was in such a hurry to catch the bus, I didn't take time to make a mental note as to exactly where I parked within the massive lot. This would prove to be very problematic later on.

On to the airport. The first thing I had to do was print my boarding pass. I walked up to the Delta counter and told the bitch I needed my ticket. She told me to fuck off and pointed at an ATM-looking device across the room. I should point out here that I haven't flown in a long fucking time. Apparently during that time, the geniuses at Delta have automated the flight check-in process. I walked over to the computer, punched in some numbers, and my boarding pass popped out of the slot like an unplanned baby out of Ms. Babble's hoo-ha.

I had a bag to check, so I went back to the Delta counter, threw my bag on the counter, and told the bitch I needed to check it. She told me to fuck off and pointed at the ATM thing again. What, are you fucking kidding me? How is a computer going to check my bag??! Unconvinced, I returned to R2-D2 and punched in my numbers again. Then it told me to place my bag on the scale and get lost. I complied.

Next came the security screening. As a survivor of 9/11,* I appreciate the importance of safety in our skies, so I cooperated fully with the TSA guys by stripping naked right there in the terminal. Then I cracked a joke about having a bomb hidden in my rectum. They didn't like that. They didn't like that at all. Christ, some people have NO sense of humor at all!

Finally, I proceeded to the gate and boarded the plane to Cincinnati. The flight attendant: a crabby black woman named Rema. She glossed over the safety instructions - emergency exits, floating seat cushions, blah blah blah. As she yammered on, I glanced out the window, and commented to my neighbor, "We must be really high up! Those people look like ants down there!" My neighbor informed me that those were ants - we hadn't left the ground yet. (Sorry, I couldn't resist.)

The flight to Cincinnati was fairly short. The layover at the Cincinnati airport was RIDICULOUSLY short. In order to make my connecting flight, I had to jump out the emergency exit while the plane was still taxiing...then squash several ants** on the runway to get to the other plane! This was a bigass Boeing 757, and I somehow ended up in a middle seat. I fucking HATE middle seats. I was stuck between a chink and a chick who looked like an even uglier version of Kennedy.

At this point, I was starving, so I was looking forward to the in-flight meal. Well that wasn't going to happen. Apparently Delta cut out the meals to help pay for the fucking computers at the airport. Instead, I got my choice of crackers, peanuts, or Biscotti cookies. I didn't know what the hell Biscotti cookies were, so I went with the crackers.

I opted out of the in-flight movie, Snakes On A Plane, in favor of reading this month's issue of Delta's free periodical, Sky Magazine. The articles were complete fluff, obviously meant solely to fill the space between the ads for luggage. Stuff like the mating habits of the barn owl. I couldn't help but think that writing for Sky Magazine has got to be the bottom of the barrel for any self-respecting journalist. Those people must go to sleep every night wishing a 757 would fly through their bedroom window and give them a lethal colonoscopy.

And of course, the answer to the question on everyone's mind: You're damn right I did...with a flight attendant named Heather...and we broke the mirror in the lavatory. Seven years bad luck, but worth every minute of it! You know what I'm talking about!! ;)

Five hours later, our plane landed at LAX with a smooth 83-point touchdown. (Evidently our pilot had been hitting the sauce.) And as I made my way through the concourse and toward the exit, something happened so shocking, so unbelievably stunning, you simply will not believe it. And I'll tell you what that was.....on the next installment of A DYCK IN HOLLYWOOD! Stay tuned!!!

* I was nowhere near an airplane on 9/11, so technically I was a survivor, OK??

** Actually, those weren't ants. They were midget baggage handlers.


Scary Monster said...

Can't wait to hear about the Dyck's adventures in Follywood.

For what's worth, and that can't be much, Me got tagged and ended up including you in a post.

Some shit about bloggers and toilet humor.


P.S. Me hope you laid an egg in Bob Barker's shit stool.

BUMBLE!!! said...

Aaahhh Kennedy... the 90's token conservative alternative music lover on MTV. Somehow we always knew she'd be doing half assed dating shows.

Though she does have a quirky appeal like a first season Dharma.

ADW said...

Neverrrr use the bathroom on a plane for the MHC. Take a chance, live a little. Bend her over the Biscotti/Orange Juice cart and have your way with her while her head is peeking out the partially closed curtains. It works, but whatever you do, DO NOT ask for a blanket while your pants are down....

Sornie said...

You lost me at Cincinatti. I have a deep loathing for that airport. It is just one of the many things (including American Idol) that have ruined my life.

Girl in a Guy's World said...

Please please please tell me your pilot said fuck and someone was offended!

tfg said...

That was a fascinating story, but did you manage to get those powder laden balloons through security for me?

Gucci Muse said...

Its a good thing all the stress of getting up early, parking the Dyckmobile, figuring out how to use R2D2, stripping for security,sitting in middle seats, not having an in-flight meal nor a movie you liked to go along with it (CRAP! this re-cap is stressing me out)

DID NOT damper you mo-jo baby!

Anonymous said...

Welcome back but lay off the comments to Randomness. YOU BROKE HER DAMN HEART.

She does nothing but cry. If you are going to lust and leave, just leave her alone...I mean really, not even a mention did she get. SHE'S BEEN HELL TO LIVE WITH SINCE YOU LEFT WITHOUT SO MUCH AS A NOTE.

Mighty Dyckerson said...

Randomness knows my love for her is true. I appreciate all she does for me, and I will make it up to her with my enormous schlong when we meet someday.

Maria de los Angeles said...

Dyck are you telling me they didn't make you pay extra luggage fee for your schlong?

Sandy said...


Glad to have you back, Mister Dyckerson!

Now on to Part 2...

karla said...

I can't decided if your blog is more boring when you're in town or out of town. I think it's a tie.