R.I.P., Dyckmobile (Part 1)

Ladies and gentlemen, I am in mourning. Last week, I lost a dear old friend in a tragic, horrific accident. Last week, I lost my beloved DyckMobile.

She came into my life almost three years ago to the day. My previous vehicle, a sporty 1995 Mazda MX-6, was in dire need of major transmission work...so rather than pay for the costly repairs myself, I posted an ad on DycksList and sold the worthless piece of shit to some retarded kid for a cool two grand. Subsequently I hitchhiked to the nearest used car stealership and instructed the sales weasel to find me a vehicle that matched my personality: rugged, tough, manly, powerful, well-built, and with a loud exhaust. The sales weasel immediately pointed me to a gently used 2002 Jeep Wrangler TJ Sport, Amber Fire in color, complete with 6-cylinder automatic 4WD transmission, soft top, full sized spare, full steel doors, fog lights, CD player, sound bar, tow hooks, and an unquenchable thirst for gasoline. It was love at first sight.

In the last three years, we've done everything together. We've leaked oil on the sandy white beaches of the Outer Banks, we've torn up the freshly sodded lawns of newly built homes, we've parked in dozens of handicapped spaces, and we've knocked countless idiots from their dumbass bicycles. But last Saturday, it all came to a screeching halt...literally.

It was a warm and sunny day. The DyckMobile was topless and I was heading north on Parham Road in Richmond's fashionable West End. Parham Road (pronounced Pair-um) is two lanes in each direction, with a delightful grassy median strip in the middle. It's a residential area with numerous side streets, all of which are regulated with red octagonal signs that say STOP. The speed limit on this stretch of Parham Road is 45 mph. I was sipping on a Hi-C juice box and listening to the dulcet tones of Mr. Don Henley blasting on the radio: Life in the fast lane, surely make you lose your mind. Indeed it will, Mr. Henley. Indeed it will.

So I was cruising along, minding my own beeswax, when out of the corner of my eye I take note of a blue late-model Ford Mustang approaching the next intersection from one of the side streets. I paid it no attention, figuring the driver must certainly know that I have the right-of-way. Hell, the DyckMobile ALWAYS has the right-of-way.

I glanced down for a fraction of a nanosecond so I could crank up D.H. on the radio. When I looked up, all I could see was the blue Mustang attempting to cross the road mere inches in front of me. Oh my goodness, I thought. This poor individual apparently did not notice that my vehicle is in his path. He apparently also did not notice that my vehicle is much larger than his, and made of steel instead of fiberglass and paper mache. I better apply my brakes before we...


It all happened in slow motion, only sped up a hundred times faster. The first thing I noticed was my windshield cracked into a million pieces. I know it was a million pieces because it happened so slowly, I was able to count each piece and rearrange them in order like a jigsaw puzzler. The next thing I noticed was my airbag deployed. Fuck, I thought. That's gonna be a bitch to stuff back in my steering wheel. The last thing I noticed was that the DyckMobile appeared to no longer be moving.

At this point, I was still conscious, but quite confused and disoriented. Now I'm no medical genius, but I've seen enough E.R. reruns to know I was in shock. I somehow managed to locate my keys and climb out of my vehicle, which had stopped in the left lane of northbound Parham Road. Oddly enough, the vehicle was facing west. Well, the front end was. The rear end was still facing north.

My rear end was about to pass out, so I stumbled over to the side of the road and leaned up against a three foot retaining wall. Almost immediately, a middle aged colored man approached me from behind. Shit, I thought. I've just been in an accident, and now I'm going to be mugged.

"Are you OK?" asked the stranger.

I took a moment to conduct a personal inventory. No body parts appeared to be missing or broken, but I could sense something was wrong with my right arm. I was holding on to it with my left hand, and my left hand refused to let go.

"Something's wrong with my right arm," I said.

Stranger dude looked down at my arm. "Hmm," he said. "I don't see nothin' wrong with it."

Then he walked around the other side and looked at it from behind. "Holy shit, mother of God! Somebody call a fucking ambulance!! We got a code blue here!!!"

What happened next was so horrible, so unbelievably awful, you will not believe your eyes. And you'll find out what that was..........on the next installment of The Mighty Blog!!!


Anonymous said...

He said, "Call the doctor. I think I'm gonna crash."
"The doctor say he's comin', but you gotta pay him cash."

Effortlessly Average said...

Lemme guess...

You were jerking off when the accident happened, and in the collision your unit was ripped off and impaled into your upper arm?

Anonymous said...

It's unfortunate that your Jeep is probably totaled, but it's probably for the best. You seem to have an unhealthy homoerotic relationship with the machine.

In 2004, I was in a bit of fender bender in which my bag deployed. The experience is pretty awful... it really disorients you.. and the smell is horrid.

On an insulting note, your prior car was 10 years old before you replaced it? I *never* drove a 10-year-old car. Jesus, you must be poor.

Get a (better) job.

Mighty Dyckerson said...

Don - Actually, I paid with my Visa card.

F.Ag. - Fuck. So much for part 2.

ECP - I don't want to hear about your smelly bag. Tell your boyfriend to give you a tongue bath down there.

Anonymous said...

You poor baby! What, did you have a compound fracture? Surely you did not venture out without applying a seat belt - do you not worry about the safety of your Hi-C nutritious boxed beverage?

I will worry about you until I get to read Part 2. In the meantime, stop by if you need the services of an ex-paramedic/trauma RN.

(I'm giggling over the guy calling you a "code blue" when you were talking to him, thus obviously still breathing. The rule for first aid is, if the victim complains about your tongue in their mouth and/or you feelin' up on their chesteses, they probably don't need CPR.)

karla said...

Can we just skip Installment 2? Installment 1 made me nod off at least twice before I was able to finally slog through it.

I was pleased, though, to hear that your Shitmobile met its demise to the warbled sounds of Don Henley screeching on your 8-track.

Mighty Dyckerson said...

Intoxicated Hare - Seat belts are for pussies. I was wearing a jock strap, so the important parts were protected.

Ms. Babble - I'm sorry my brush with Death is so boring to you. Next time I have a rendez-vous with the Grim Reaper, I'll try to juice it up with some pictures of your son's feces.

Anonymous said...

Accidents suck. I do hope you survived the ordeal. Are you still alive or did you die? Inquiring minds want know.

D-HOR said...

Aw dude that's lame. The accident thing, not your post of course. Babbles a tad bitchy yes? Perhaps she needs a good round from the dyck pole. Straighten her out. Well, unless you're one of those curved guys. Anyways.

So come on dude, what, did you get a scwatchy-poo? Or is your elbow joint gone or something cool like that? Loose some cartilage? That'd be neat I guess. Come on hor, I'm impatient, stop milking this and tell us what happened.

Ryan said...

I am guessing spiders laid eggs in it some time ago, and the impact caused them to finally hatch.

Anonymous said...

Well ... I expect you to apologize now. I seem to remember you calling my son a mama's boy when he broke his elbow.

See ... when you say/do evil things .. it comes back to you three fold!

{i'm glad it wasn't your funny bone hat got banged up!}

Anonymous said...

Oh shit.

Sassy Blondie said...

Thank God that ugly orange thing bit the dust!
BUT...I'm sorry you lost an arm, Dyckie! Mmmwah!


ok..it's official..
I fucking love you...