Pardon My Oily Spotting

Ladies and germs, it's time yet again for another installment of...

As many of you know, I am always looking for new drugs to ridicule. Who could forget my scathing review of Requip, the prescription drug for morons with Restless Legs Syndrome (RLS)? Not only did I expose RLS as a bullshit disease, but I pointed out Requip's many side effects, which turn out to be worse than the disease itself!

Now one of my operatives has told me about a new drug for fat people. It's called Alli, and it's the first FDA approved over-the-counter diet pill. Despite its $60 price tag, this shit is apparently selling like hotcakes. In fact, most stores display it right next to the hotcakes, because anybody who eats hotcakes will most likely need Alli.

I can't begin to imagine how many government palms the GlaxoSmithKlinePfizerLever people must have greased in order to get this drug approved. I'm guessing they were able to slip it through because they include a booklet that promotes a healthy diet and exercise. Well FUCK THAT! If I wanted to eat RABBIT FOOD and do SQUAT THRUSTS, I wouldn't need your STUPID PILLS at all, now would I??!

But the real beauty of Alli is its side effects. Actually, their web site calls them "treatment effects." They can sugar coat it all they want, but suffice it to say if you take their pills, you'll be spending every waking hour wiping the "treatment effects" off your ass. According to their web site, effects MAY include:

  • Gas with oily spotting. I'm quite familiar with the concept of gas, but what the hell is "oily spotting"? Where will these "spots" be located, and how will I dispose of them? I can see myself now, donning a biohazard suit in the middle of the night and sneaking my oil saturated shorts to the dumpster behind Exxon to avoid getting slapped with a disposal fee.
  • Loose stools. Exactly how do you define loose?? Are we talking about a slow-moving lava flow or a full blown volcanic eruption? I'd like to know in case I need to have my plumbing system upgraded!
  • More frequent stools that may be hard to control. Delightful. In other words, I better pick up a package of adult diapers on the way home from work tomorrow. Either that or get myself fitted for a colostomy bag. Hell, I may as well check into a nursing home. I'll have a lot of fun explaining that one to Blue Cross.

The web site continues: The excess fat that passes out of your body is not harmful. In fact, you may recognize it as something that looks like the oil on top of a pizza. Gee, thanks a lot for the visual. Excuse me a moment while I THROW UP. Yep, I feel thinner already.

In addition, the good people at Alli offer this helpful hint: If you're getting ready to travel or attend a social event, hold off on starting with Alli until the event is over. I can see it now. "Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today.....Sweet Lord almighty, what the fuck is that SMELL??!"

Here's another piece of sage advice, taken directly from the Alli web site: Until you have a sense of any treatment effects, it's probably a smart idea to wear dark pants, and bring a change of clothes with you to work. By "dark," do they by any chance mean BROWN? I'm supposed to wear BROWN PANTS every day...and bring EXTRAS??! Is it just me, or does this "diet pill" sound more like an INDUSTRIAL STRENGTH LAXATIVE??!

Co-Worker: "Say Dyckerson, what's with the 17 pairs of brown Dockers hanging on your chair?"
Me: "Oh, those? Macy's was having a buy 16, get one free sale so I decided to stock up."

And my favorite part of all: You may not usually get gassy, but it's a possibility when you take Alli. The bathroom is really the best place to go when that happens. Really??! Because when I get gassy, I usually head immediately for the MUSEUM OF NATURAL HISTORY. Thanks for straightening me out.

So let me make sure I have everything. Here's my grocery list:

  • 30-Day Supply of Alli
  • Biohazard Suit
  • 200 Cases of Toilet Paper
  • 35 Tubes of Preparation H
  • 50 Cans of Febreeze
  • 2 Dozen Pairs of Levi's Pre-Stained Jeans
  • 800 Packs of Depends Undergarments
  • 40 Bottles of Liquid Plumber
  • 1 Domino's Shit Lovers' Pizza

Total investment: $3,850.00

Being held hostage by your own asshole for a month: Priceless


Bottled Bullshit

What is the deal with this idiotic bottled water craze?? I bring this up because of the recent news item about AquaFina. (You may have missed it because the entire world has been fixated on the fucking feline that's been terrorizing residents of that nursing home.) Basically, the story exposes Aquafina bottled water as being nothing more than ordinary tap water filtered through a pair of jockey shorts. In response, the makers Aquafina will now print a disclaimer on every bottle stating that their product comes from a "Public Water Source." The message will be clearly printed in a 4-pt. font on one of the inside grooves of the bottle cap.

What a racket. Selling bottled water is like having a license to print money. I swear to Christ almighty, people will truly buy ANYTHING. I am seriously considering bottling my own piss and selling it on eBay. I'll even disguise the coloration by using amber-tinted bottles. Hell, it's a scientific fact that urine is bacteria free. I can use that in the marketing campaign: "Mighty Dyckerson's Golden Springs...A trickle of sterile goodness in every bottle."

I GUARANTEE you some arrogant jackass would buy it. After all, what says arrogance more than throwing away GOOD MONEY for something you can get from the faucet for almost NOTHING?? The only people who need to be drinking bottled water are marathon runners and hurricane victims...and even THAT should be bottled TAP WATER. And don't sit there and tell me you can taste the fucking difference. If I gave you two glasses, one filled with Evian and the other with water from my toilet bowl, I bet you A THOUSAND DOLLARS you couldn't tell which was which. TEN THOUSAND if I flush the toilet first. Anybody up to the challenge?? I thought not.

Back during the Cold War, they used to sell water in PLAINLY MARKED one-gallon milk jugs. No fancy pictures of blue mountains or arctic lakes. People didn't buy it to make a statement; they bought it to keep in their bomb shelters in case we got NUKED BY THE COMMIES. Now they sell it in small, dildo-shaped bottles to YUPPIE COCKSUCKERS who litter our blue mountains and arctic lakes with their empties.

I hope that fucking cat crawls in bed next to every one of them and CLAWS THEIR GODDAMN EYES OUT.


Get This Pussy Out Of My Bed!!!*

What is the BIG FUCKING DEAL about this GODDAMN CAT??! I can't turn on a TV, read a blog, or even take a leak in the office shitter without hearing about Oscar the Wonder Pussy. You know the story. Cat lives in nursing home. Cat crawls on patient's bed. Patient dies.

Let me see if I got this straight. This is a NURSING HOME. It is filled with OLD PEOPLE. Now I don't know about you, but where I come from, old people have a tendency to DIE. Especially when they are in NURSING HOMES. I mean, WHY THE FUCK ELSE would they be there??! I mean it ain't exactly Club Med, is it??! So why is everybody so damn SURPRISED that these people are DROPPING LIKE FLIES? Let's face it, the odds are in the cat's favor here. I'd be more impressed if Oscar curled up next to a cancer patient, took a catnap, left...and then the patient LIVED ANOTHER TEN YEARS. But you never hear about that, do ya?? You know why??? Because IT NEVER HAPPENS! THEY ALWAYS DIE!!!!

Some people think Oscar is actually killing these people. The thought crossed my mind as well, but then I thought, WHY??? What does the cat have to gain? What is he going to do, steal their Metamucil??! On the other hand, maybe he's after the inheritance. Maybe he's in cahoots with the nursing staff. Oscar smothers the patients, the nursing staff collects the life insurance money, and Oscar gets all the cat nip he can eat. Or snort. Or whatever the hell it is cats do with that shit.

I used to have a pet hamster. I always suspected that he could sense when I was about to stuff him down my pants. He would get inside his little hamster wheel and spin around and around and around as fast as he could. But it was an exercise in futility because it was a STATIONARY WHEEL. The retarded little fucker NEVER WENT ANYWHERE. Except down my pants, of course. Eventually he died...because THAT'S WHAT HAMSTERS DO. It wasn't news. I didn't hold a press conference. I didn't sell my story to the A.P. I just tossed him down the garbage disposal and went on with my life.

Now could we PLEASE get off this stupid cat story and move on to something more NOTEWORTHY? For example, last night I passed a turd that looked exactly like Jim Nabors. Seriously, the resemblance was uncanny. This is the kind of shit the New England Journal of Medicine should be writing about if you ask me. Maybe then people would actually READ that magazine!!!

*Title changed due to popular demand.


Calling All Nerds!

It's the moment you've all been waiting for. It's the long anticipated final installment of my phenomenally successful series of books about that beloved young assclown. I'm talking, of course, about Mighty Dyckerson's Hairy Pooter.

For those of you who are unfamiliar with my Hairy Pooter, I'll give you the Dyck's Notes version. Hairy is a fictional character, a young boy from the town of Dingleberry who suffers from chronic flatulence and explosive diarrhea. Each book follows Hairy's misadventures as he roams the countryside in search of a cure for his uncontrollable colon. You never know where our poopy protagonist will strike next, but where ever he goes, our Hairy Pooter always manages to make a big splash.

The final saga, Hairy Pooter and the Buttocks of Fire, begins in Hairy's bedroom when his mother catches him playing with his magic wand. Mortified, the young Pooter accidentally releases a poisonous cloud of noxious gas into the air. He then sets out on a journey to save the residents of Dingleberry from death by asphyxiation. Along the way, he encounters scary monsters, bloated babblers, sedated gorillas, and evil half-&-halfs. He also meets and falls in love with the beautiful Princess Poon from the nearby town of Cunnilingula. Together, Pooter and Poon whisk away to the bowels of the Earth (a.k.a. Walmart) in hopes of finding poorly made gas masks at discount prices. But the store is too large for our young heros to navigate, so Hairy Pooter marks their path with a trail of steaming fresh turds. Sadly, a sassy blonde slips on a turd while shopping for birth control pills in the pharmacy, leading her to sue Walmart for emotional distress.

What will happen to Hairy Pooter and Princess Poon? Will they be able to save the people of Dingleberry in time? The only way to find out is to visit your nearest Barnes & Noble restroom and get in line with the other morons, because that's the only place you'll find my Hairy Pooter. Indeed, my Hairy Pooter is truly an amazing tale...and at over 400,000 pages, it's well worth the $599 price tag. Comes with a built-in web browser and 2 megapixel camera!


Virginia is for Suckers

I have had it with this goddamn state. I've lived in Virginia all my life - was born here, was reared here (several times), and until recently, I figured I'd die here. But thanks to the CROOKED JACKASS POLITICIANS and their new BULLSHIT TRAFFIC FINES, I'm ready to make a move. These PINHEADED COCKSUCKERS decided to enact new legislation which penalizes DECENT, HARD-WORKING CITIZENS like myself with ridiculous "civil fines" for such MINOR OFFENSES as reckless driving ($1,050) and DUI ($2,500). WTF??! These are VICTIMLESS CRIMES, people! Sure, you could argue that reckless and drunk drivers kill...I don't know, dozens of people every year. But you know what? Maybe those people WANTED to be killed. Think about it. Who in their right mind would let themselves be hit by a drunk driver??!

The thing that has the Commonwealth so pissed off is, these exorbitant new fines DON'T APPLY TO OUT-OF-STATERS. So if TFG from Baltimore decides to plow through a school zone doing 90mph in his Pinto on the way to a gay pride parade in Florida, he gets off with a $100 fine and a slap on his limp wrist. But if I fly through the same school zone in my stylish DyckMobile on the way to choir practice, I'd be facing an ASS RAPING that rivals any I ever experienced during my 20 years in the joint.

Lawmakers claim that they're just concerned about our safety. Yeah right, and Ms. Babble is a virgin. What they're REALLY concerned about is their BIG, FAT WALLETS. Get this: The legislator who came up with this brilliant idea just so happens to be a part-time ATTORNEY who specializes in TRAFFIC LAW. He's going to CLEAN UP defending the victims of his fucking handiwork. Get the picture???!!

So I give up. I'm looking to move, and I need you to tell me where to go. I'm looking for a nice, quiet area with ample poon and a low cost of living. I'd prefer a progressive state with few or no laws of any kind. Perhaps you know of a house for sale on your block - I could be your wacky next-door neighbor!! Actually, I don't even need a house. I'd be happy with a furnished studio apartment near the bus line. As long as it's not within 500 yards of a school or day care center (long story).

Or better yet, maybe one of you could adopt me! I know 35 is a little old for adoption, but I've been told I have the brain of a 4-year-old. I'm really big into breast feeding and I'm almost potty trained. (Dixie, I hope you have plenty of extra baby wipes.)

Now which one of you assholes wants to help me move my waterbed?


I've Been Saved!!!

I bet you never thought of Dyckerson as a religious man. Well you would be correct. Nevertheless, last Sunday I took it upon myself to visit one of those "church" things and see what all the hubbub is about. For those of you who don't know, a "church" is a building where hypocrites gather to sing crappy songs and listen to a child molester lecture them about sins and what not.

I don't know what on Earth possessed me to go. Maybe it was sheer boredom. Perhaps it was the desire to escape the cacophony of my goddamn neighbor's retarded kids playing in the back yard. But most likely it was the urge to acquire some delicious Christian poon. You gotta watch out for those religious chicks. They all play hard to get, like they're saving themselves for marriage or some shit. But in reality, they possess so much sexual frustration that you can make their twats explode if you know how to push their buttons. Just whisper something biblical-sounding into their ears while caressing their bosoms. Works every time.

This particular church was one of them nondemonational deals. You know, the kind that meets in high school gyms and everyone dresses casual. It's the casual part that sold me. I don't give a fuck what religion it is. They can worship Dom DeLuise for all I care, as long as I don't have to strap on a corporate noose or iron a clean shirt. I found out about the joint through their ad in Val-Pak. I don't know about you, but any church that advertises in the same place where I get my Jiffy Lube coupons can't be that bad.

The service was to begin at 10am, but I got there bright and early at 9:58am so I could mingle. The parking lot was full, so I pulled in to one of the handicrapped spaces and faked a limp all the way to the building. The lobby was chock full of white people chatting and shaking hands and so forth. One of them was a heavy-set fellow holding a donut and a cup of coffee. I decided to strike up a convo.

"Hey fatass, where did you score the eats?" I asked.

He pointed silently to the back of the hall, where I spotted a table filled with assorted beverages and baked goods. "HALLE-FUCKING-LUJAH," I screamed as I made a beeline for the buffet. Without missing a beat, I grabbed a Hefty bag from the janitor's closet and crammed it full of donuts and bagels. I was digging this church already.

I carried my stash to the gym - I mean sanctuary - and took a seat in one of the metal folding pews. Almost immediately, my ears were assaulted by the most Godawful music I have ever heard. This church had a band, and apparently they take their Christian rock very seriously. They had guitars, drums, mics, amps, and a soundboard nicer than at any radio or TV station I ever worked for in my previous career in broadcasting. They even had a giant screen projecting the song lyrics on PowerPoint slides. Jesus, this church was raking in some serious coin. I want in on that racket.

Ten minutes later, the pastor dude took the stage. Remember, this is a fucking high school gym, so there is no real stage. The pulpit was the snack cart from the cafeteria, and the cross was lit up on the scoreboard as a giant letter "T". The pastor was wearing a pair of baggy chinos and a bowling shirt. It was like he was going out of his way to be a slob. The first thing he made us do was turn to our neighbors and say hello. Fuck that. I said hello to the cinnamon and raisin bagel in my trash bag. Heavenly! It was like a miracle in my mouth!

Pastor dude then proceeded with several announcements, most of which involved his need for our money. Meanwhile, a couple of flunkies made their way up and down the aisle passing around a basket. To hell with that. If they need money that bad, they can pawn their fucking sound system. So I tossed in one of my expired Jiffy Lube coupons and a Chiclet.

There was some more shitty music, after which the pastor dude launched into his sermon. I love how contemporary pastors always try to make their message "relevant" by sprinkling it with pop culture references. This moron was doing some lameass bit based on the game Deal or No Deal...only instead of money, the numbered cases were filled with sins and the only prize was salvation. The idea was, if you went through life without picking the sins, you'd go to Heaven...or meet Howie Mandel...or something like that. I don't know for sure. About five minutes into it, I whipped out my DyckPod and started listening to Gwen Stefani. You know that "Woo-Hoo, Yee-Hoo" song she does? Gwen Stefani is the SHIT!!

Anyway, the sermon went on for nearly an HOUR before the guy finally shut his piehole. I thought we were done, but then the band came back on stage for an encore. I had no interest in hearing the white rap version of "The Unclouded Day," so I discreetly reached over to the state-of-the-art soundboard and yanked out the plug.

All in all, not a bad experience...though I was a bit disappointed by the lack of available poon. All the chicks I saw were wearing tightly fastened chastity belts. If I go again, I'll definitely get there earlier so I can choose from a better selection of bagels. I might even bring my cowbell and jam with the band. I figure they can't hassle me for money if I'm on stage entertaining the crowd.


Mighty Dyckerson's Week in Review

Whenever I don't have anything to write about, I do a little something I like to call Mighty Dyckerson's Week in Review. It's basically an assortment of random shit that may or may not have happened during the course of the week. Enjoy, you fuckers!

Gnats All Folks: The other night I decided to go for a brisk walk around the scum-filled lake near my domicile. It was around dusk. As I made my way halfway around the lake, I was attacked by a swarm of angry gnats. I was lucky to escape with my life. God, I hate those little bastards.

Pubic Affairs: After I'm attacked by a swarm of angry gnats, I like to trim my pubes. There's nothing like whacking away a few months of bush growth in order to make my wang look bigger. Not that it needs to look bigger. It's already quite sizable. Nevertheless, I pride myself in good grooming. Nothing much to report here, except at one point I got a little careless with the scissors and nearly castrated myself. Thankfully it turned out to be just a flesh wound. Let this serve as a warning to you gentlemen out there: Respect your nut sacks!

Heaven Gets The Bird: At some point last week, Lady Bird Johnson croaked. This poses several questions. First, how does one acquire a name like "Lady Bird"? The only "bird" she looked like is a buzzard. I'm sorry, but why are first ladies always so fugly?? If you're the PRESIDENT, you ought to be able to score some world-class poon. Barbara Bush looked like a horse. Hillary was nothing special. Hell, Bill Clinton couldn't even get a decent piece of ass when he was CHEATING!! What hope does that give the rest of us??! And tell me this: Don't you find it slightly ironic that such a homely woman would be known for her beautification projects? If she wanted to beautify something, why didn't she start with HERSELF?? There, that should give me a front row seat in Hell.

The Full Monty: The other day I watched an old rerun of "Let's Make a Deal" on the Game Show Network. You know, the game where Monty Hall offers you a chance to trade a bag of Skittles for what's behind door number two...and you take door number two...and you end up with a hamster...and it turns out there was $1,000 cash hidden inside the Skittles bag. I swear, if Monty tried that shit today, he'd end up with a cap in his ass. Anyway, they were giving away piles of orange shag carpet, tons of puke green appliances, and a shitload of plaid furniture. If you're planning to redo your house in a retro theme, you need to Tivo this shit.

As you can see, it has been an eventful week in the Dyckerson household. Today I'm going shopping for socks. Stay tuned for a full report upon my return.


How Hot IS It??!

It's SO hot...

RevRee is switching from half-black to half-ESKIMO!!!

It's SO hot...

TFG let the air out of his inflatable woman just for the BREEZE!!!

It's SO hot...

Willo is auditioning for a new reality show, Biggest Loser Goes To Siberia!!!

It's SO hot...

is masturbating with a POTHOLDER!!!

It's SO hot...

Maven's turds have been coming out WELL DONE!!!

It's SO hot...

Dixie has been FRYING BACON on the hood of her crappy Ford Taurus!!!

It's SO hot...

Beth's post about Kevin Bacon is actually SIZZLING!!!

It's SO hot...

Sir Francis Bacon is STILL DEAD!!!

It's SO hot...

Scary Monster got a "slurpee"...the kind that comes from 7-Eleven!!!

It's SO hot...

Sassy Blondie's ta-tas are giving out EVAPORATED MILK!!!

It's SO hot...

Cherry Ride is flaming...LITERALLY!!!

It's SO hot...

Jenny's hot kid sister is even MORE SMOKIN' than usual!!!

It's SO hot...

Stacy traded in her forklift for a ZAMBONI!!!

It's SO hot...

Midgets are standing under Ms. Babble's engorged belly just for the SHADE!!

It's SO hot...

Legal Eagle's briefs are packed with DRY ICE!!!

It's SO hot...

Webmiztris got a snowman tattoo on her ass...but it MELTED!!!

It's SO hot...

Ryan's jean shorts have spontaneously combusted (thank God)!!!

It's SO hot...

ADW is walking around with a popsicle in her twat - the world's first POONSICLE!!!

It's SO hot...

Puerileuwaite is giving HIMSELF golden showers!!!

It's SO hot...

Dr. Kenneth Noisewater had to change his name to Dr. Kenneth Noisesteam!!!

That's all I got.


Another Satisfied Customer!

Over half a year has passed since I published my controversial post on the absurdity that is Restless Legs Syndrome, yet the hate continues to pour in! In the original post, I accused drug companies of making up RLS to sell pills to idiots who are too lazy to get off their asses and exercise their "restless legs." Furthermore, I envisioned a support group in which all the participants sat in a semicircle with legs a-twitching, saying things like "Hi, my name is Larry, and I have restless legs." Well, it seems those RLS freaks are a sensitive bunch. Just read some of the comments I'm getting:

Anonymous said...

The only thing sensible to say to you is FUCK YOU! or KISS MY ASS! It's ignorant uneducated assholes like yourself that spout off about things they know absolutely nothing about.

1/08/2007 04:26:00 PM

Dyckerson responds...

FUCK YOU, you fucking farting robot! Here I am, suffering from the worst case of WKS (Wounded Knee Syndrome) I have ever seen, and you call me INGORANT??! Did I not visit the official RLS web site and cite it directly?? I'm sorry to upset you, but Dyckerson speaks only the truth...and sometimes the truth hurts. Now SUCK MY DEAD PIG!!!

Anonymous said...

Yeah, anything for a laugh on the Internet. The only place in the world you don't have to back up your ridiculous bullshit with actual facts.

2/15/2007 04:52:00 PM

Dyckerson responds...

I don't like letting facts get in the way of a perfectly good rant. But since you brought it up, what facts are you referring to? The fact that you're an asshat? Or the fact that RLS is bullshit disease that didn't even exist until some marketing moron thought it up two years ago?

Anonymous said...

Your an idiot, you gothic nigger bitch, you dont have a clue of what the fuck your talking about, the pills are for when you go to sleep at night, i suffer from this and your a total dumbass gives people a hard time to sleep since it seems like there foot is straining or twitching from the 'inside' of your foot, your a fucking idiot, next time read more about what ever the hell your talking about and actually feed us the right type of information you dumb faggot. All that you said was total bullshit.

7/06/2007 09:07:00 PM

Dyckerson responds...

Whoa, you're getting personal with all the name calling. Are you sure you have RLS? Sounds more like Tourette's to me. First off, I am not gothic...nor am I a nigger bitch. I am a caucasian, and this honky bitch is gonna FUCK YOU UP if you don't show me some fucking RESPECT. So tell me, why the hell are you coming HERE for medical information?? That would be like ME coming to YOU for advice on GRAMMAR. But since you asked, I think I can honestly help you and save you some money at the same time. Take two Nytols and a bottle of Jack before going to bed every night. It's cheaper than those designer drugs you're taking, and you don't even need a prescription. And if your precious feet are still bothering you, you may want to consider amputation. I know of a theme park that will do it for free.

In closing, I would like to say that you RLS people are no fun at all. Hell, I've known quadriplegics with AIDS and tit cancer who were more laughs. Maybe it's really your genitals that are restless - maybe you need to GET LAID. Why don't you go find a pill for that?!? In the meantime, keep the hate coming my way. Gives me good blog material when I haven't had any interesting bowel movements to talk about.


4th of July: Dyckerson Style

Get this. Yesterday I went to the store to stock up on supplies for my annual 4th of July weiner gobbling contest. (My personal record was set back in 2002 when I gobbled 32 weiners in one sitting. I'm sure I don't have to tell you, that's a lot of goddamn weiners.) Anyway, my injured knee was still acting up, so I asked the DyckMart greeter for one of them motorized scooter devices. Happy to oblige, he disappeared behind a display of pork rinds to search for my scooter. Several minutes went by, and finally the old coot returned...empty handed.

"Where's my fucking scooter, gramps??!" I screamed.

"We're all out," he replied. "They're all being used right now."

I was livid. No way in hell could there be anyone in that store who was more in need of a mobility scooter than myself. Most likely they were all being hogged by of lazy fuckers who didn't feel like walking. I knew immediately what had to be done. I climbed inside a shopping cart and made the greeter push me up and down the aisles in search of the scooter scoundrels. I was going to confront each and every one of them and give them a piece of my mind.

My first scooter sighting was in aisle two, near the paper products. It was being ridden by an old man wearing army fatigues. I called out to him to stop.

"Hey shithead! What the hell do you think you're doing on that motorized scooter??!" I yelled.

"I - I - I'm a veteran. I'm picking up some paper plates and napkins for a special July 4th dinner we're having at the VFW," he replied in a shaky voice.

"Veteran, eh?" I asked skeptically. "I don't buy it. You look just a little too much like a veteran. Let's see some proof, old timer!"

"Well, I think I have my I.D. here somewhere," he muttered as he struggled to reach for his wallet. As he did so, he threw the scooter's load out of balance. Sure enough, the scooter tipped over on its side and pinned the old man underneath it. I could hear his brittle bones snapping under the weight.

"CLEANUP ON AISLE TWO!" I screamed toward the front of the store as we fled the scene.

Our next stop was the bakery department, where I encountered the second scooter. This one was occupied by a kid with no legs. He was filling his basket with an assortment of Little Debbie snack cakes.

"Whoa there," I said, pointing to the empty space where his legs would be. "Don't tell me you're a veteran too."

"No sir. I'm taking these delicious snack cakes to the Independence Day picnic we're having at the children's hospital," he said humbly.

"Yeah, whatever. Tell me, is there anything wrong with your arms, boy??" I asked.

"Umm...No sir," he answered.

"Then why don't you GET OUT and CRAWL, you little punk!" I screamed as I reached for the steering wheel. Just then, I felt a tap on my shoulder. Turns out it was the kid's dad. Daddy was big...and daddy was mad.

I turned to my chauffeur: "Produce section, and STEP ON IT!!!"

It was there that I found the third and final scooter. Behind the wheel was a gorgeous redhead chick with big jugs. She was wearing a blue and white plaid blouse and a straw hat. I pulled up beside her, reached over, and squeezed her canteloupes.

"My, those are nice and firm," I said with a wink and a smile. "What's your name?"

"Why thank you," she replied. "My name is Debbie."

"Say Debbie, what's with the scooter?" I asked. "You don't look handicapped."

"Oh, I'm not," she admitted. "I'm just a lazy fucker who doesn't feel like walking."

I told her I admired her honesty, then asked her if she'd like to take the scooter out to the parking lot and do wheelies in it.

"I'd rather take you to the back alley, kiss your bad knee, and show you my poon," she said.

Without missing a beat, I jumped out of my cart, gave the DyckMart greeter a quarter for his time, and mounted the back of her scooter. I'll leave the rest to your imaginations, but let's just say we made our own fireworks that night.

And yes, she ate my weiner.


Sheer Ago-KNEE

Goddammit my knee hurts! Sunday night while out for an evening stroll, I tripped and fell flat on my ass. Well, not flat on my ass. My right knee broke my fall. Stop laughing, you motherfuckers! I scraped that fucker all the way to the bone, and it hurt like a sonofabitch! A weaker man probably would have been KILLED! But despite the agonizing pain, I dusted myself off, wiped my bloody knee with some nearby foliage, and stumbled my way back home. I'm guessing I lost AT LEAST ten gallons of blood in the interim.

It wasn't until I went in the bathroom and turned on the light that I fully realized the carnage that had besmirched me. A huge patch of skin was literally dangling beneath my exposed kneecap, hanging on by a thread. Blood was squirting out in all directions. I swear, it looked like O.J.'s house. And the pain - my God, the PAIN!!! My knee was throbbing like one of Ms. Babble's sex toys...only this one didn't require batteries. I won't lie to you, people. Thoughts of self-amputation crossed my mind. If only I had a clean butterknife at the time, my leg would now be rotting in a landfill while a flock of hungry buzzards pecked away at my flesh.

I searched the bathroom frantically for something to sterilize my wound. A bottle of rubbing alcohol, a tube of Kneeosporin, a bar of soap, tapwater...NOTHING could be found. Finally I limped to the kitchen and poured a can of Diet Coke over my gory stump. I figured the phosphoric acid in the Coke would eat away the germs and the bubbles would aerate the wound. Then I grabbed a dirty napkin from the waste receptacle and affixed it to my knee with several large strips of duck tape. Satisfied with my first aid techniques, I retired for the night.

When I awoke the next morning, my knee was on fire. Bolts of pain ran up my leg, through my groin, around my nut sack, and all the way up to my medulla oblongata. I tried to remove my bandage, but by this time the filthy napkin had fused with my knee. Fortunately I happened to have a pair of rusty kneedlenose pliers on my nightstand. I reached for the pliers, grabbed on to the one loose corner of the blood-soaked napkin, and YANKED IT OFF with all my might. I passed out for eight more hours.

By Monday night, me knee was literally pounding. The bleeding had subsided, but had now been replaced with a layer of clear liquidy glaze atop my ruptured knee. I had to constantly dab it with toilet paper to keep the puss from oozing down my leg and into my shoe. I began to contemplate suicide.

Here it is Tuesday, and my knee is still THROBBING and POUNDING and PULSATING. At this point I can no longer tend to myself. Please, I beg of you. If you give a damn about the future of The Mighty Blog, you need to GET THE FUCK OVER HERE and HELP ME!!! Jenny, I need you to come by every two hours and change the dressing on my stump. Make sure you wear the skimpy nurse's outfit I sent you. ADW, bring me a pot of chicken soup and pour it down my pants thrice daily. Webmiztris, stop by the liquor store, pick me up a bottle of Jack, and serve it to me with a flexible straw. Oh, and I'm definitely going to need some physical therapy to get back on my feet...so Blondie, I need you to come by every day and massage my bad leg. And while you're here, you can massage my third leg as well. McFatty, I'll need you to scrub my toilet. Finally, I need Willo to videotape the whole thing for my reality show. The rest of you can keep me in your thoughts and prayers.

That should cover it. Before I go, I want to share with you a picture of what used to be my knee. A word of caution: This is NOT for the squeamish. So if you are prone to squeaming, I suggest you stop here. You have been warned...


Horrible, isn't it?? As you can see, my knee was practically SEVERED IN HALF by the impact with the ground. And no, this isn't Photoshopped. That's my REAL KNEE, in all its gory detail. Now how about showing me a little fucking SYMPATHY here??!


Dyckerson for President - Issue 27: Education

As many of you recall, I recently announced my candidacy for President of the U. S. of A. I have already discussed in depth my plan to blow Iraq off the face of the Earth, as well my intention to improve health care by providing government funding for female breast enlargements. Tonight's subject shall be education reform.

We are raising a generation of FATASSES, RETARDS, and PUNKS. What's worse, they're all hopped up on RITALIN and COCOA PUFFS. Are the parents to blame? Or is it the media? Perhaps it's video games, like the Pac-Man with its evil ghosts and such. I say none of the above! The problem, my friends, lies in classrooms across America.

For one thing, public school teachers are severely UNDERWORKED and OVERPAID. That's right, you heard me. Teachers work what, seven hours a day and nine months a year? And for that they get paid 30 or 40 grand annually?? What kind of example are they setting with a cushy bullshit schedule like that??! These lazy bastards need to be working YEAR-ROUND, and so do their dumbass students. And when they're done with their lessons for the day, the fat little fuckers can burn off some calories doing menial labor - shit like landscaping and construction. That way we can send the illegals back to spic town where they belong, and we'll still have people to mow our lawns.

Next we need to get rid of the snack and soda machines in the cafeterias - nothing but sugar and empty calories. Instead, we'll install cigarette machines and condom dispensers in every school. Everybody knows cigarette smoking causes weight loss...and besides that, it's damn cool. And kids are going to fuck each other anyway, so we may as well make it safe for them.

Furthermore, the following subjects need to be completely done away with:

  • History - Who needs this shit? Ask me if I give a fuck what life was like in Europe a thousand years ago. It's ancient history...literally!!!
  • Algebra - What a goddamn waste of time. Kids don't need to know nothing about x's and y's and shit. Teach these idiots how to add, how to subtract, and how to give me correct change when I order a Triple Whopper with Cheese.
  • Science - What the hell?? Am I the only one who finds it strange that we allow these bastards to play with bunsen burners, cut up dead frogs with a scalpel, and experiment with dangerous chemicals??! Why don't we just pass out Glocks to each kid and be done with it??!
  • Physical Education - I don't know about you, but I don't think our children should be forced to change clothes in front of a gay pedophile coach and play stupid games like dodge ball. What the fuck does dodge ball teach about physical fitness? All it taught me was, getting hit in the face by a goddamn ball hurts like bloody hell.

Instead, we need to create a curriculum that teaches REAL LIFE SKILLS. Stuff like how to tune up a car. Or how to balance a checkbook. Or how to get cum stains out of a sock. Are you with me people???!

Finally, we need to put an end to all this bullshit about A.D.D. and kids with "special needs." Schools need to stop cottling these kids and bring back corporal punishment. Some kids are just plain stupid, OK?? They don't need prescription medications and special classes. The only thing they understand is a good ASS BEATING with a LEATHER STRAP. And if that doesn't work, chop off a finger and hand it back to them in a Zip-Loc bag. The school nurse can reattach it during study hall.

Oh, and before I go, I have some exciting news! The new "I Like Dyck" campaign buttons have arrived! Check 'em out:

As you can see, the printers made a little typo. Unfortunately I had already signed for the shipment before I realized it, so now I'm stuck with five thousand of them. Hopefully nobody will notice. Be sure to order your button today! Act now, and I'll throw in an iPhone for only $500 more!!!