My Life In Comedy

For anyone considering moving to New York my advice would be to move right before summer. I hate the heat and the lack of centralized air conditioning in New York, but there’s nothing like the city in summer. I’ve just started to really get out and experience everything that is The Big Apple. The city is jam packed with entertainment, people (Though many are not ones you’d like to know, they all come to together to make New York what it is) and the most breathtaking parks and views.

I think after months of being stuck inside, cold and bundled up, young vibrant New Yorkers thrive off the warmth and picturesque scenery. In the past month I’ve watched the city begin to bounce to a different beat and I’m eager to see what the coming months have to offer. I plan to spend more time picnicking in the parks and stimulating my love for this city with constant exploration of everything it offers.

Sweating in my kitchen,

Daniel Dickey

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A lot of people think I’m only interested in comedy when it comes to movies and entertainment. They couldn’t be more wrong. I love movies with purpose. I love movies that make you want to contribute to the greater good of mankind. Movies that inspire you to be a better person. That’s why I just watched one of my favorite inspirational movies ever…Blank Check. It’s the story of a genius bike riding preteen that gets hit by a rich douche bag’s car and in the douche bags attempts at avoiding any confrontation with the law he hands the kid a blank check. Right? I know. A fantastic plot line. Every time I finish watching this cinema classic I know I’m a better person. It has inspired me to do so much. Like today, I’ve walked in front of six cars, three tucks, and a school bus. Both of my arms are broken and I can’t feel anything below my thighs, but I’m not quiting because I know with persistence a rich douche bag will run me over and give me a blank check. And with that check I will be able to buy at least 100 cases of beer…and that right there equals a lot of fun for at least three days.

Under a Car,

Daniel Dickey

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Cleaning sucks. Cleaning while really really drunk…not so bad. My roommate Jt and I were both off today and decided it was about time we cleaned our apartment. In my attempts to make it a little more entertaining I decided we should do it completely hammered (Great idea by me). How did I think of this genius idea? Well it’s simple, everything is better when your drunk.

Example one: Hey lets go to a party, drink pepsi cola and think of names for our children….boring.

Example two: Hey lets drink a whole bottle of vodka, pee on someone and light a building on fire…awesome.

Will our apartment come out as clean as it would have if we were sober? Fuck no! But will we have a blast spraying soap in each others eyes, playing rock paper scissors to see who cleans the toilet, and seeing who can drink the most beer in 11 seconds? Fuck yeah! Currently we have both molested six beers and I’m not gonna lie, I’m feeling frisky. Sorta thinking about going about outside and picking up one of these sexy little Bedford hotties. Why not? Since the summer hit, their shorts have got way shorter and their nipples have been perkier than ever….and that’s just the guys…imagine the girls!

We’re going to watch our friends play….totally drunk. Hopefully we’ll like it. If not we will leave, show up at the end, and tell her how great we thought it was. Why? Because we’re gangsters.

Being a Housekeeper,

Daniel Dickey

UPDATE: We started cleaning at 3:45pm and fell asleep at 4:30pm. We woke up at 8:15pm. The show started at 8:00pm. Luckily, we made the second act. I fell asleep. Jt threw up. It’s 10:30pm now. We’re going out for Thai food and then letting the fun start all over again. Aw snap snap.

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He said he was a Pirate from India. I said he had very defined calf muscles for a bum. He said his name was Gilligan and if I followed him to his underground layer/cave in lower Manhattan he would share all of his gold and a treasure with me. I stopped and thought about his offer. Still thinking, I looked him up and down. He smiled at me. His rotting teeth were covered in a blackish tar and salted peanut chunks. His dirty Santa Claus beard wrapped around his face and connected to his sideburns and wrapped around his freckly bald head. Though one of his toes were hanging out, his blue converse shoes matched his European capri pants and his peeling sky blue nail polish. He was drinking sewer water out of a golden goblet that said Queen Bee in multi colored rhinestones (did he steal this from lil Kim or was this from his treasure…I could only wonder?) If you were every wondering what Shrek would look like if he was a homeless pirate man sitting by the entrance to the F train, now you know. He stood up wrapped a red cape (beach towel) around his neck and asked if I was coming? Not yet convinced I asked, “You sure it’s real pirate treasure?” “Of course you fool!” He dumped the rest of the sewer water over his head and headed down the stairs. I chugged the rest of my beer, shrugged my shoulders, and chased after him.

I caught up to him in front of the turnstile, he was peeing on a child as he spit sunflower seeds at a dog. Ignoring the pee soaked child I asked him if he needed a swipe? He looked at me confused, “who the fuck are you?” Before I could answer, he punched himself in the face and said, “I’m sorry, allow me”. He kicked in the emergency exit and gave me a thumbs up, “After you sir”, he said in a British/Spanish accent. I walked through the entrance and knew it was going to be a special night. He kept jumping down the stairs in hopes of making his red cape (beach towel) fly behind him. It didn’t work and he fell down at least twenty steps. He got up immediately after, grabbed someones pizza, licked it, and threw it against the wall. There was a good chance this pirate was high on methamphetamines…and that meant fun.

While starring at the pizza slide down the dirty subway wall Gilligan grabbed my hand and asked if I was ready to go inside his secret layer? Making sure this wasn’t him asking if I wanted to fuck him in his asshole I confirmed, “You mean where you keep your treasure, right?” “Duh, fuck you think?” He jumped into the subway tracks and told me to follow his lead. Even in my drunk state I realized that there would be a good chance I would be hit by a subway car or electrocuted by the third rail. I asked if there was another way to get to his pirate cave? He threw his shoe at me and said to hurry up before the witches and warlocks see me.  I didn’t know the witches and warlocks were watching so I quickly crawled down into the tracks. He told me if I wanted to turn back to do it now. I was drunk and looking for some fun…I was ready for an adventure.

The ground beneath us was wet and filled with garbage. It smelt like burnt hair and as I stepped into the subway mud I wondered how much further the bat cave was. We must have walked for twenty minutes when he started yelling at the top of his lungs, “Skeet Skeet Skeet, Shawtie Where You At? Skeet Skeet” He then started doing a bird call that resembled that of a scared pigeon or Birdman from cash money. Seconds later a 6′3 black woman with an adams apple crawled out of the darkness in leopard stilettos and football pads. She barked a couple times and asked where the money was? He replied, “I ate it. And I’ll eat you if you don’t finish building the boat before the trolls get here”. It was obvious this guy meant business, and even though he looked like Santa Claus with a heavy drug addition and painted finger nails, I respected him. The large football player/man/woman/alien scurried back into the darkness as I asked, “are we there yet?” “Almost”, he said in a Harry Potter type voice. We walked for a couple minutes when he said, “Fuck, I think I’m lost. Wait. No. Wait. Never mind. I found it”. He said I would have to splash my face with the murky subway water before I could enter…I didn’t come this far to puss out, but I also didn’t want to turn into Splinter from the ninja turtles. He said it’s the same water the rats drink, so it has to be clean. Of course I thought. I closed my eyes, covered my mouth, and pinched my nose as he playfully splashed the water at my face. I thought for a second I felt a slug crawl into my ear, he said it was for sure just a cockroach and not to worry. Why would I be worried? I was starting to get worried.

He knock on the wall three times, spat on both of his feet, and opened a door in the floor. In a very impressive pirates voice he said, “are you ready to see the very best pirates booty”. Again before answering I made sure he was still talking about treasure and not his bum. I said, “yes, I’m very interested in pirates treasure. But if you mean an actual pirates booty, then no, I want nothing to do with a pirates booty. I just would like treasure”. He said he would pierce my ear with a nail and let me into the cave. I walked in and couldn’t believe my eyes. I almost fainted. I was standing in a little 6 by 6 cement room filled with dead fish. “Argg. Feast your eyes on the finest gold in all thee land”. Was this mother fucker serious? I just walked around in the gross ass subway for half a hour to be brought to a room full of dead fish. “Dude, this room is filled with dead fucking fish”. “What me pirates ears didn’t hear you. Did you say there’s so much gold in here you would need 1000 camels to bring it back to your castle?” “No I didn’t say that. I didn’t say anything like that. I said you told me you were taking me to your underground castle filled with gold. This is an old storage room filled with dead fish and used mop heads”. “Have you never seen gold before? You foolish boy. Can you not see the jewels in this crown?” He was holding a umbrella. I sobered up pretty quick and realized this guy was no longer cool. He was fucking insane. I started walking away when he grabbed me by my neck. “Where are you going you little mouse?” I realized how big this guy actually was and if he wanted, he would be able to have his way with my slim little body. I tried to think of something quick, “I was going to find a bathroom. I really have to poop”. “Oh. Well you can just poop here in my hand”. He stuck out his huge hand as he started grabbing for my belt. He was going to eat me. I always get myself into some ridiculous situation with murders, pedophiles, and serial killers whenever I’m drunk. “Hurry up and poop. I’m hungry. ROAR ROAR”. My heart stopped and I started saying my goodbyes, when the huge football playing black man women ran up out of breath. “Master the trolls have come”. “Is the boat done”. She looked away as she said, “no”. “You fool! We will all die!” He kicked her in the stomach and started running down the subway as he yelled, “Quick to the spaceship!” She got up and ran after him. I just stood there for a minute or two thinking about what just happend. I then walked back to the subway, got on the train and went home. I don’t think I’m going to ride the F train ever again.

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So I’m drunk…surprise surprise. Last night I came home to boxes and bags packed to the brim with all of my ex girlfriend’s belongings. I laid in bed for hours. She didn’t come home. I left at 8 in the morning to MC a wedding (Let me tell you how happy I was for them). I got home around 7pm…everything was gone.

It’s funny, I remember how I used to complain that the full size Ikea mattress Stephanie and I would share was much to small for two people. Well I’ll tell you what, last night as I slept in it alone, staring at my half empty closet, I began to realize that without her laying next to me there was much to much room for me to be comfortable. I remember when we first talked about moving to New York together, I was so excited thinking that every night I came home she would be there. I couldn’t wait to wake up next to her everyday. I imagined making her waffles naked while she danced around the house singing Matt Costa songs. I wanted to smell her morning breath and gag at her farts. I wanted to pick out furniture and fight about the color of our sheets. I wanted to be there while she did her hair for our dates and I couldn’t wait till I took off whatever it was she was wearing after we got back. I know everything about her. I know what she dreams of, I know what her deepest secrets are, I know what makes her smile, I know how her heart beats….and she’s no longer in my life.

Five people live in my apartment…excuse me, Stephanie left. Four people live in my apartment and not one of them are here right now. It’s raining and the sky is as grey as could be. It’s completely silent and I’ve been back and forth between crying and laughing. I laugh because I’m thinking of all the great times we shared together. I cry because I never thought they would end. I remember telling one of my roommates that my goals and future was the most important things to me, and no matter what a relationship could only be just as important until I reached and fulfilled them. Well after sitting in a lonely apartment without experiencing the love you desire from another my goals could choke on a cow’s dick, cause all I want is Stephanie back in my life.

I’m going out. Not sure where. Like I am now, I’ll be listening to Brett Dennen in my iPod if you want to join me.

Finding myself,

Daniel Dickey

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So I bought a diary…well, not really. I took the black and white composition book that I used to write movie ideas and rap lyrics in and wrote diary on the front with a pink sharpie. I’ve been carry it around with me and have made a conscience effort to write in it. First I was just doing a lot of descriptive writing about the comatose bums on the L train…then I made the deep dive into my relationship.

I’ve noticed how everything and anything reminds me of my relationship and I’m completely convinced that any song John Mayer and Michael Buble’ have sang was written entirely about Stephanie and I’s relationship.  I was taking the Long Island Railroad to MC a party on Wednesday, while writing in my diary I noticed a big breasted woman lifting up her shirt, letting her firm breast flop out onto her stomach. What was going on? Was this train taking me to heaven? I was staring right at her healthy brown nipples when she grabbed her baby and began breast feeding. Even though her nipples were now covered by her babies bald head, I was ecstatic…I just saw a perfect set of tits. Everything was great…..until I remembered the time I told Stephanie I’d take her out to a really nice dinner if she let me try to suck her nipples for milk (Nothing came out, but the tip of her nipples turned blue and stayed like that for three weeks). BOOM I was crying.

Last night we had some people over the house. We all planned to drink wine and play Nintendo, and that’s just what I did until one of my friends threw a rubber chicken at me. How funny I thought! I smiled at the memory of me pushing some kid down the stairs at a Bar Mitzvah and stealing the chicken as he laid in his pool of blood. I was playing with it as I made awful attempts at chicken like noises. Everything was all good…..until I pressed the beak together and realized it looked just like Stephanie’s vagina. BOOM I was crying (Her vagina was like a second home to me and the only home to my penis…though he frequently visited our time share in her mouth).

After spending two and a half years with someone, they’re everywhere. Whether it’s in music, movies, or a rubber chicken beak, I can’t escape my relationship. Maybe it’s because I’m not yet ready to forget my relationship. Maybe it’s because I still deeply care for her and am holding out for any possible hope that we might have a chance at getting back together….maybe not. Until I figure it out I’ll stay away from rubber chickens and sharp objects.

Breast feeding a Ken doll,

Daniel Dickey

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Just hit the two and a half week mark. I haven’t thought about tying weights to my feet and jumping off the Brooklyn bridge in at least three days (Well I thought about it once this morning during breakfast, but that was because Stephanie and I used to share eggs. We now buy our own eggs. I liked sharing eggs). Being me I’m always trying to find the best in every situation, and I’m now strongly considering writing a book called, Breaking Up Sucks. At first it was going to be a children’s book called, Hey Kids Don’t Ever Get In A Relationship Because Girls Are Liars And Will Eat Your Heart, Fuck Your Best Friend, And Take Up The Whole Bed. I decided against that. I didn’t think young children would be able to grasp the concept that relationships make your stomach turn and dick limp. But they’ll learn one day.

Cooking my eggs,

Daniel Dickey

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(This is the last picture taken of my ex girlfriend and I. I am the kitten)

After rereading my most recent post I’ve come to realize my blog has went from a completely random, always absurd comedy forum, to a depressing, mangina filled, period packed, lifetime movie website. To all my readers that visit my site do to it’s constant absurdity and wild rants about midgets and foot fetishes, I want to apologize. Everyday of my life has been filled with insane thoughts and inappropriate ideas, but since my girlfriend peace outted me a couple weeks ago all I can think about is The Notebook, starting a diary, and drinking red wine while I listen to Norah Jones.

I’ve received much appreciated break up advice from readers, friends, my roommates, even my mother has been filling up my facebook wall with inspirational quotes and positive messages. I’ve taken all the advice and words of wisdom into consideration, but have decided on my own way to deal with this. I’ve decided going out and banging out some little Brooklyn hotties will not be beneficial. I’ve decided filling up every second of my time with something to do will not be beneficial. I’ve even decided that starting a new religion where we throw rocks at anyone that looks like my ex, will not be beneficial…well maybe.  BUT I HAVE decided I will listen to sad music about love, drink large amounts of beer, wines, and liquors, and I will think about my relationship all the time. Will I start crying like a little girl who got mud on her new shoes? Yes. I’m going to be a little flower smelling bitch. I’ll be sad everyday. I won’t eat, talk, sleep, and will only masturbate thinking about my ex. I’ll be depressed every second. But guess what? One day I won’t be. One day I won’t care. One day I’ll be over it completely and there won’t be anything left. And on that day I will pee all over every copy of True Life: Summer Romance. Until then I will watch it everyday, crying like a gay kitten hungry for man milk.

Thank you for your continued support and naked pictures (Those have been really helpful with this whole shituation. I’m hoping girls starts sending them as well).

Buying a diary,

Daniel Dickey

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At 22 years old I’ve found myself staring down two very different paths to my future.  One is exactly what I’ve imagined, it’s jam packed with naked Leprechauns and bath tubs filled with Cinnamon Toast Crunch. It has my plays being produced and my movies being made. I’m financially successful and have achieved my goals in business and entrepreneurship. I have a handsome wife with a very soft vagina and I can ejaculate on command. It’s the life I’ve work so diligently to achieve since a teenager.

The other road smells like a Parrot’s dick. It has me working as a decent job making average money. I have a happy life, but have not fulfilled any of my dreams. I work forty hours a week and save just enough to retire at sixty. My wife’s vagina is soft, but not as soft as I would have wanted (Also she doesn’t shave and/or bleach her asshole hair). I have kids, but they are sort of ugly…and my daughter is a little fat. This wasn’t what I saw when I picture my future.

Either path I take I know I’ll find the best in life and enjoy every second of it, but when you’re about to choose where you life is going, self doubt is a constant factor. I’ve never been so unsure in my life. I know exactly where my life is going, but also have no idea where my life is going. In seventh grade I was so sure I was going to be the first Jewish Michael Jordan. Ten years later I realize how far I was from being a professional Jewish basketball player. A decade from now will I look back at my current aspirations and find them as ridiculous as a Jewish kid convinced he would one day be able to slam dunk?

My confidence is under question. I’m unsure and in a very unfamiliar place.

Semi drunk and listening to depressing mellow music,

Daniel Dickey

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