I’m standing in a joke of a line at the Chinese consulate on 42nd and 12th, wondering how many more bumps in the back I’m willing to accept from old Asian women before I start smashing stuff. I understand that China is the most populated country in the world, but why does that make it acceptable to smack your yellow elbow into my lower back without a simple, “Excuse me” or “My bad for biting your arm as I tried to cut you in line?” I guess I better get used to it, as I’m going to be surrounded by a lot of China folk next week.

See I retired from working two months ago and I’ve since decided to travel sporadically. Hence a last minute decision to go to Beijing, China. Do I know anyone there? Nope. Can a speak Chinese? Of course not. But I’m going to fly there on Valentines Day (one week from now) with no preparation, a wheelie suitcase and a backpack filled with money (mostly monopoly money, as I don’t think the store owners will know the difference). It’s bound to be an adventure.

While there I hope to try A LOT of the local things… mainly the women. The way I’m looking at this is, the average height of a man in China is 4′7. I’m 5′11. Which pretty much makes me the middle eastern Shaq. What little Asian girl, that spends her day gluing together Nike Shocks for 6 cents a week, wouldn’t want a chance to marry Shaq? Exactly. It’s going to be quite the vac-Asian. Boom Boom Bop.

Update: After I upload the picture they took for my visa, it’ll be obvious that there’s no way I’m going to be allowed on a plane, let alone in another country. I look like an angry terrorist that might be suffering from down syndrome and/or recovering from a stroke.

Daniel Dickey

Earlier today I got to talk to an old friend from my fourth grade class. We haven’t spoken in years and quickly caught up, recalling memories from our suburban elementary school. We laughed it up as we shared our favorite stories from recess, the lunch line and drinking milk while playing, ‘The Oregon Trail’. After we hung up I couldn’t stop thinking about my early childhood. This next blog is an attempt to recapture my favorite moment in fourth grade.

I breathed heavily as I squinted and squeezed my eight year old eyes together, hoping to see through Jessica’s shirt. She was wearing a tie-dye top with a hippie looking smiley face on the front. I loved how it took to her nine year old frame, but the mutli-colored dye was making it very hard to see her nipples… if I could only see her nipples (Yes, she’s nine, but I was eight at the time and had a thing for older women). Obviously seeing her sweet little nips were the only way I could confirm she was the girl for me (At a young age I realized I would spend most of my life trying to see the opposite sex naked). It felt like eternity, but after five or six minutes I gave up trying to look through her shirt and began throwing pencils at some smelly kid with glasses. It was fun and I continued doing it until one of the pencils missed the smelly kid and hit a blind girl (To bad you can’t smell a pencil coming). I then stopped throwing pencils and went back to being bored and very frustrated at not having the power to see through Jessica’s clothes. I was madly in love with her.

The next day, while playing pogs in the car pool, I was told Jessica peed in her pants during lunch. Supposedly she was just muchin’ on her turkey sandwich and started pissing all over herself. It was a pretty big deal and word spread fast. She spent most that week crying in the back of the class, as students poured water on their pants, mimicking her weak bladder. Despite the urine, I still loved her, but honestly, I couldn’t see myself spending my life with someone who just starts peeing in the middle of a turkey sandwich. By recess that day I began trying to look through other girls shirts (The blind girl had no idea her top button was open. Score). I had moved on, but still wasn’t ready to see someone else with her and wanted to ensure no one else would even try… that’s when the lies started.

• Example One “Did you hear Jessica is the one that’s been pooping all over the bathroom floor?”
• Example Two “I heard that Jessica eats seven spiders every morning because she’s a witch.”
• Example Three “Jessica is an alien. The teacher told me not to tell anyone, but I know I can trust you. Did I mention she’s the type of alien that will eat your face when you’re sleeping if you even say one word to her?”

Ten days later Jessica stopped showing up to school. As they say, “There’s plenty of fish in the sea, so don’t get caught fingering a flounder”. She was old news and I soon realized fourth graders were much too immature for my liking. I need someone mature, someone I could have a conversation with, someone that could teach me a thing or two, someone… HOLY SHIT. I needed my teacher. It was so clear. It made so much sense. I was meant to be with my thirty nine year old, six foot one, African American teacher, Mrs. Laura King.

Of course there would be some small obstacles in my way… like her having a husband and two sons that were older than me (Her being a teacher and me being eight, didn’t seem like all that big of a deal). But I had found Mrs. Right, as I would start referring to her, and we couldn’t let the minor details get in the way. Especially since I already had a small inclination that she liked me. It showed in all the  things she did.

Example: She moved my desk so it was right next to hers (Though at the parent teacher meeting she said it was because I was constantly distracting other students and throwing pencils at the smelly kid with glasses (She didn’t know his name either), I knew it was because she wanted to be closer to a tan skinned stud like myself). I decided I had to start somewhere, and in the middle of her reading off words for our Friday spelling bee I raised my hand. She called upon me.

• Mrs. King: Yes Danny. What is it this time?
• Me: Hey Mrs. King, I was wondering if you could help me spell something?
• Mrs. King: Danny this is a spelling test.
• Me: No, it’s not one of the words on the test.
• Mrs. King: Fine, but please make this quick. You are taking away from all the other students.
• Me: I was wondering if you could help me spell I.
• Mrs. King: As in I the letter?
• Me: As in, I am thinking Mrs. King is looking so fine right now and want to take her out to see a movie. What you think about Toy Story?

Phase one was done. The ball was rolling and all I had to do was leave little hints. I spent most of my time in class trying to woo her. I would draw pictures of us drinking milkshakes and holding hands and leave them on her desk. Her eyes always seemed to pop open as she saw them and immediately hid them where no one else would think to look… the garbage. During lunch I’d often tell her I wasn’t feeling well and asked if I could stay in the classroom with her. She would say, “Why don’t you go to the nurses office, I’m sure they can make you feel better.” Acting, I would timidly respond, “The only thing that makes me feel better is looking into your beautiful eyes.” To that she would always stare at me blankly and tell me to get out of the room. But thanks to and episode of Full House, I knew in order to get a girl to love you you had to convince her friends you were a good guy.

The next day at recess while all the kids were playing red rover, I walked over to where all the teachers were sitting. Most of them knew me, as I had been sent into there classes many times before. I smiled at Mrs. King while I smoothly said, “Hey Laura, so I was thinking about what you told me yesterday, you know, about you wanting to kiss me, and well, I’d kiss your sweet lips whenever. But preferably before lunch, because my mom keeps packing me tuna sandwiches. Wouldn’t want to be smelling like fish for our first kiss.” That definitely caused a stir between the teachers, but by the way they all quickly got up and walked away I knew it was their way of saying they approved of me and just wanted to give us some alone time. Mrs. King pulled me behind the monkey bars. Was she going to kiss me? Were we going to make a baby? How do you make a baby? We’d probably just kiss and make a baby tomorrow. Good thing I switched my tuna sandwich with the blind girl’s Lunchables.

• Mrs. King: Danny, what are you trying to do to me?
• Me: Baby–
• Mrs. King: Is this your way of trying to get me fired? Because it’s not funny.
• Me: Listen, you need to calm down. Take a deep breath. Want me to get you a Hi-C?
• Mrs. King: NO I DON’T WANT A HI-C!
• Me: You sure? I’m buying. Baby, let me get you a grape Hi-C.
• Mrs. King: You’re eight years old.
• Me: Eight and a half. I’m getting pegs on my bike next year. You know, in case you want to take a ride to the beach and I don’t know, drink some milkshakes (I loved milkshakes) or maybe kiss.
• Mrs. King: I’m going to call your mother.
• Me: No need. I already told her to let me stay late today, so we could get to know each other better. How’s that sound cutie?

The next morning I was forced to comb my Jewey hair and wear a teal colored clip-on tie, as my principle, parents, school psychologist and Mrs. King were having a very serious conference. Turns out it’s not appropriate nor acceptable for an eight year old to date his teacher. I tried to explain that the feelings were mutual, but Mrs. King just kept looking at the school psychologist and saying, “See I told you, he’s fucking nuts. Fucking nuts.” My mother was embarrassed and keep apologizing while referencing that I hadn’t been taking my Ritalin. I just looked around and shrugged my shoulders a lot. When they had Mrs. King leave and the psychologist asked me if she’d ever touched me, I replied with, “Only my heart. She touched my heart.” At that point even my mother said I was fucking nuts. I thought she was going to hit me, but instead held me down and stuck half a bottle of ADHD medication in my mouth.

Unfortunately I was never allowed back in Mrs. King’s class and had to finish the rest of fourth grade in the special ed classroom, because it was on the other side of the school. The mentally challenged kids ending up being really cool, accepted me as their own, and would let me draw bugs on them during snack time. But things got really good when in the back of the class I spotted Jessica, in a tie-dyed straight jacket, tied to a chair. Turns out she was full blown retarded, and me, I was, once again, full blown in love.

Daniel Dickey

Side Note: Mrs. King if you ever somehow, someway, end up reading this… send me an email… I’m 24 now.

Side Note: I just realized you’d be 55. Nevermind on that email.

Several minutes ago I woke up on my couch, drunk, fully clothed and had a pair of my roommate’s socks on my hands. I’m not sure how or why I was there. As I write this I’m attempting to piece together back my day.

I recall waking up at 10:15am to get ready for my restaurant’s 12pm softball game at Central Park. I then remember thinking, “fuck this stupid game” and went back to sleep. I was up and out of my house at 12:05pm with the same baseball glove I worn during my coveted baseball career (When I was 8, I played three full games on a suburban travel team sponsored my McAurther Dairy, before I told my parents baseball sucked and I wanted to play soccer instead. My father shook his head and called me a faggot under his breath, to which my mother laughed and threw something at me.) Before getting on the train I made a pit stop to the ghetto bodega next store to purchase the finest malt liquor three dollars could buy… Olde English, and on my way out I watched the owner of the store, a seventy year old Puerto Rican man, flirt with a 13 year old retarded girl. I think what he said exactly was, “that’s a nice razor scooter you have. Have you ever showed someone your ‘tetas’ for some free ice cream?” She shook her head no as he pulled out a good humor bar and patted his lap for her to sit. She might be dead.

I strolled onto the field around 12:45pm ready to get drunk and meet some girls without morals. Unfortunately most of  the girls seemed claimed by the guys showing off their big muscles on the softball field. But I wasn’t going to let that hold me back so I did what I do best, I started lying to make myself look better. I went for the gold by walking up to some cute Asian girl and informing her that my dick was as big as a dinosaur. She blinked a couple times before informing me she was one of my corporate bosses. I thought about that before I replied with, “ohhhh in that case, my dick is bigger than a dinosaur.” Maybe I’ll get a raise? I then went after some girl who walked by with legs like Michael Phelps. On a serious note, her tight ass looked like two cantaloupes duct taped together, and I informed her of this when I said,

• Me: Hey you’re ass looks like two cantaloupes duct taped together.
• Her: How is it appropriate to say that to a girl you just met?
• Me: How is it appropriate that you still have your shorts on?
• Her: Excuse me?
• Me: No, excuse me… for not getting you pregnant already. You like cereal?
• Her: What?
• Me: I’m saying, when you wake up at my place in the morning I’m thinking about making you some Honey Bunches of Oats. You down?

She added me on Facebook 30 minutes later.

After that I partially remember walking to a bar on 81st and Amsterdam to play beer pong. I had had nine beers at this point and decided if I didn’t eat a turkey sub I was going to die. So I got up and told everyone I’d be right back, “I was just going outside to pet a dog.” Why I said this, I have no clue, but it made perfect sense at the time. I walked to 77th street before realizing Subway was on 86th. Twenty minutes later I got there, drunk, hungry, and lethargic, and ordered two 12 inch subs. This where everything gets blurry. I know I got on the train at 86th and Broadway, but the next thing I remember I was at 14th street and 6th ave sleeping next to a bum on a bench. When I woke up he had his head on my shoulder and I was attempting to braid his beard hair. At some point we bought and shared an ice cream, licking the same vanilla scoop from the cone, until I told him, “I’d be right back, I was just going outside to pet a dog.”

At some point after that I know I walked onto the l train and pushed a pregnant women to the floor in order to get the last seat. Looking back I obviously regret this, but what the F, I just shared an ice cream with a bum I met on the two train, I clearly wasn’t all there. I was grumpy and desperately needed to get home. Just before I fell asleep in the corner seat I managed to look at the time… it was 6:36pm. I was woken up at my stop by someone I went to college with at 8:53pm.

• Guy I Went To College With: Danny. What are you doing? Why are you holding hands with a bum with braids in his beard (I’m still so drunk. I scratch my head, push him out of my way and don’t remember anything else).

So that’s what I last remember. It’s 1:05am now and I’m wide awake eating a box of Runts while I finish braiding the rest of my new boyfriend’s beard. Holler.

Going Outside To Pet A Dog,

Daniel Dickey

Ladies and gentlemen,

I will try to explain my current situation.

It’s 12:34am on a Sunday night. I am piss drunk, in the bathtub, attempting to keep my laptop from falling in the water. I have played kickball for the past 10 hours in McCarren Park in Williamsburg, Brooklyn and have pulled every muscle in my body. I need to make it clear… I was made to tell jokes and finger girls… not to catch rubber balls and run bases. Despite my skin’s pigmentation I do not have the athletic ability of a Spanish man. I have blisters on my feet the size of small tomatoes and my right ass cheek feels like it was just kicked by David Beckham (I just peed in the tub… I would say it was just a little, but that would be a lie). My body aches so much, and I’m certain I will not be leaving bed for the rest of the week. Buttttttttttt it was all worth it! Why? Because my team (straight up gangsters) have been molesting our opponents. Not joking… we have molested the other teams (one player was actually raped by our third baseman, but it was during the 7th inning stretch, so it didn’t count as unsportsmanlike conduct). I’m so competitive and love nothing more to beat someone and then throw the loss in their face.

Possible things I might say to someone after my team kicks their ass

• Hey you played a great game… (coughing) for a bunch of pussies.
• You’re team tried really hard, unfortunately you’re all fucking losers… just kidding hehe… oh wait, never mind, you suck.
• Hey maybe next time you can… oh snap, there isn’t a next time… bitches.
• Hey, other guys nice… loss. Ha.
• (What I say as everyone is slapping hands and saying, “good game”) You smell like cow shit. You smell like cow shit. You smell like cow shit. You look like a woman. You smell like cow shit.

We have been the best team for the last two weeks. Next Sunday is the championship… I plan to murder mofos.

Daniel Dickey

Ok this is what’s happening,

My parents are out with family friends, they’ll be back any minute and I need your help. See I volunteer on my sister’s softball team (I’m 25 the girls are 15) and whatever, I met this girl, her name is Alison, and were going out for a while. We have a lot in common, and sometimes I help her with homework (I helped her with her English essay and she still got a D. It’s because her teacher is a prick). Anyways…

She came over like an hour ago, and I really wanted to lose my virginity, so I asked her to have sex. She said,”no no I cant, its not right”, but I told her, “don’t worry, I know what I’m doing, I’ll be done in like 10 seconds…plus I’ll give you two n64 games if you say yes.”

So then I gave her Diddy Kong Racing and Ken Griffy Jr. Baseball and we went up to my room. She was a bit confused and scared. I start to think to myself, “yo I need lube, right?” Because I heard other people saying you need to lube up her vag otherwise it wont fit in properly.

I had no lube, but I really wanted to lose my virginity. So I grabbed some butter from the fridge, but it was cold and it wouldn’t melt, so I microwaved it for 8 minutes, put it in a glass and poured it on her cooter…well now shes saying I BURNED IT.

I don’t know what to do. My parents are going to be back any minute and shes crying in the bathroom. PLEASE HELP! You guys are really smart. Any idea how to shut her up? Should I give her another n64 game?

Freaking out!

Submitted by the always clever, Jatinder Channa.

I am the lord of the flies.

That’s right, I’m not talking about the book you had to read in 10th grade…I’m talking about me straight killing some flies. See last week I left my front door open when I went to the corner store to by some string cheese…no big deal right? WRONG! I live in Bushwick and the Latin cooking the lesbians across the hall do attracts flies from all over Brooklyn into my hallway. So I come home chewing my cheese and see a little fly chilling on the wall…whatever I’ll let him live, I don’t like killing things. Well guess what? He was a she, and she gave birth to 32094332 flies in my living room. They are everywhere. I haven’t slept through the night in over a week. I wake up at all hours to flies in my ears, nose, and I’m pretty sure two were fooling around in my button last night…which is gross…they are bother and sister.

I tried yelling really loud, I’ve trying saying sarcastic, degrading things to the flies, I’ve even tried posting naked pictures of Samuel L Jackson around the house…nothing worked and I have been forced to start killing them. Thing is, they are producing faster than I’m killing. I have since decided to take a new plan of action…

Now I’ll Deal With The Spider Infestation In My Closet,

Daniel Dickey

Worst investment…ant farm. Those ants didn’t plant shit!

As I sat on my throne(ugly wooden chair I found on 14th street) yesterday, I starting thinking about all the toys and treasures I collected in my youth. Thankfully I had a mother who understood how important action figures, hot wheels, and Dr Seuss books were, because I had a lot. I also had a bunch of ‘other toys’. They were the toys that my mother refused to buy me…mostly guns, dildos, and ’silly shit’, as she would call it. Two of the things she categorized as ’silly shit’ was, sea monkeys and an ant farm. Truthfully, I thought she was fucking nuts. At 8 years old I was sure they were God’s gift to children…well, at least children with mothers who really loved them(my mom occasionally reads my blog. Now she’ll know the pain she put me through as a child).These were the only things I ever wanted growing up(I also wanted the book, White Fang, and after three years of bitching and swearing to God that I would read it if she bought it, she bought it for me. To this day I’ve never read that book, and don’t plan to because the wolf on the cover looks like a douche bag). Back to my story.

Well my shitball sister went to our dad’s house one weekend, without me, and secretly convinced him to order her a sea monkey kit from the weekly elementary school paper…you might remember it as, Highlights or Scholastics(and that sneaky little bitch wonders why I made her sleep in the basement when she came to visit me in New York). Yeah, you should of seen my face when I walked into her room and saw little sea monkeys swimming all around. She saw me and smiled, as if saying, “oh look at this little bitch, wishing he had some sea monkeys”. I was livid. I tried spitting on her, but her fan was on high and it just flew back into my eyes. I punched her wall, walked out, and ran right into my mom room crying like the little dick sniffer I was. “GOD DAMN IT!!!!!! WHY DOES ARIELLE HAVE SEA MONKEYS?!?!?!” My mother was taking a nap. She woke up, threw a pillow at me and said if I didn’t shut up the fuck up she was going to put me up for adoption. I left the room and decided I was going to light the house on fire…I later decided this would be stupid, because I would end up killing the sea monkeys. So I did the second best thing, I stole the sea monkeys and peed all over my sisters bed. This too didn’t work out so well, because when my sister walked into her room and saw someone peed on her bed and stole the sea monkeys, she got a butchers knife and told me she was going to stab me. I screamed bloody fucking murder and climbed out my window onto the roof. She locked me out and slept in my bed. My mother’s nap went all through the night and around 3-4am I feel off the roof and broke my legs.

The next day my family felt so bad that I feel off the roof ‘while trying to install a American flag’, as my mom told them, that my grandmother bought me an ant farm. And at that moment in time, it was all worth it…I had won, I had broke legs, but I had an ant farm. I sat in my bed for days just starring at my little ants dig tunnels, and do other ant things. I was the happiest boy in the world. Even when I woke up and saw my sister drew two giant purple dicks on my casts, I was still in a good mood. I loved life….until I realized this ant farm sucked. Why did they call it an ant farm? They didn’t farm. They didn’t plant shit. They just walked around and ate sand. I decided if I had to fall off a roof to get this, I better get my monies worth. I started playing games like, flood the farm and put the farm in the microwave. Both the ants and I started having way more fun. Next I took my little ants out to the park to meet friends. I thought they might like to meet Mr. Dragon Fly…and I was right, they thought he was delicious. Then I found another ant pile and got ready for a gang fight. I spent the next ten minutes catching ants and sticking them in the farm. It was worth it, as watching them kill each other was a lot more fun than watching them build tunnels. Sadly, even this got boring after a while, and when my sister walked up and asked, “what’s it like having Barnie’s dick on your legs?” I knew how I’d solve my ant farm problem.

As my sister slept in her piss bed that night I dumped that stupid ant farm all over her. After I felt the ants had evenly dispersed all over her body I took that stupid sea monkeys jar and poured that shit all over her head. I said a prayer to myself, crawled back to my room, opened up one of the Dr. Seuss books my mom had bought for me, and laughed the night away.

Trying to return my White Fang book,

Daniel Dickey

Question: How many weeds brownies/cupcakes did I eat last night?

Answer: 600 and/or 2.

Hopefully with that knowledge you’ll understand my current mental/physical state.

I had never eaten weed brownies or cupcakes up until last night, and 18 hours after consumption, I’ve only spoken six words and eaten sixty meals. Since one of my roommates is moving back to Florida tomorrow morning and I’m always looking for an excuse to get drunk and do bad things, I decided to have a little shindig at my place. It just so happened everyone we invited were extreme potheads and obviously happened to have a lot of marijuana on them. What did that mean? It meant while I downed my fruit punch and vodka, I was smoking a mega-fat blunt, again, and again, and again. And with that, it began as a great night, just like the other 364 I experienced in New York (yesterday was my one year anniversary of living in New York), but when a friend of mine walked into my kitchen at 2:00am with a zip-lock bag of fresh baked chocolate weed cupcakes it started to become a night worth blogging about.

See I’ve come to realize any pastry filled with weed is not only a wonderful way to maintain a 24 hour high, but they’re also a super satisfying meal. While consuming them, not only am I able to fulfill my craving for marijuana, but I’m also able to attend to my urge to splurge on a redic amount of junk food. The problem arose when I forgot the cupcakes and brownies were jam packed with hash and I had already eaten pounds of them (I might be exaggerating slightly). This is what was going on in my head during the rest of my night.

• 2:12am – Wow these cupcakes taste amazing. I could eat 600 of these.
• 2:23am – I think I’m going to get in the bath, fill it with milk and just sleep in it.
• 3:02am – Am I the only one that can’t feel my feet? It looks like they’re still attached, but I’m not convinced… I think I might be paralyzed.
• 3:03am – Ok, I feel my feet again, but can no longer feel my elbows. Both of them have gone numb. I should prank call people and pretend to be Hulk Hogan.
• 3:17am – The guy that brought these is a little crazy. What the fuck was I thinking eating these? What if there’s poison in them? I need to make sure everyone else eats them too… that way we ALL die.
• 3:43am – I’m having sex? I’m having sex! Am I wearing a condom? I’m wearing a condom! Look, there’s another brownie on the window sill!
• 4:23am – How am I still having sex? Usually I’m asleep after a couple minutes. Who’s making all that noise? Oh snap, there’s a ant on the ceiling. I wonder if he gets dizzy up there? I’d get dizzy up there. Wow, I’m sort of dizzy right now.
• 4:30am – Do I hear more people in the kitchen? Yes, they just lit another joint. I don’t know if I should smoke — I’m so high right now. I wonder if there is a God?
• 5:01am – Why are these people still in my house? When that girl turns her head I’m going to steal her bagel.
• 5:03am – I don’t give a shit if she knows I took the bagel. This is my house and I’ll eat whomever’s bagel. I took the bagel, so fuck you.
• 5:15am – I’m freaking out right now. I think I’m dying. Maybe I should go back to college. Does my breath smell? Does this girl think she’s sleeping in my bed? Oh, another cupcake.
• 5:22am – I think there was cream cheese and turkey in that bagel. I would have never thought to mix those two things on my own. If I cut my thumb off would I get disability checks from the government? Whatever happened to Boys II Men? I should buy a chocolate factory. I wish I was a lion.
• 5:37am – I can’t sleep with this girl in my bed. She’s like 120 degrees. I’m going to start sweating. I should draw a dick on her face. I shouldn’t of eaten that girl’s bagel. I wonder if Jurassic Park is a real place?
• 9:00am – Hey girl! You’re alarm is ringing loud as hell. Get out of — bahahahah I drew a dick on her face!
• 2:22pm – I’m still high. I forgot to take my contacts out. I didn’t die? I’m going back to sleep.

It’s 10pm and I’ve been at work since 4pm. I thought it would feel like an insanely long shift, as I’m still feeling the influences of last night, but surprisingly it’s going by really quick. Maybe I’ll do this more often. I’m submitting my application tomorrow for a place in Mid Town West. Might end up being a Manhattan man after all.

Preheating my oven,

Daniel Dickey

Update: To those of you that stumbled across this blog because you recently ingested or are considering eating pot brownies, my only advice would be to not eat that much off the bat. You get really high. Like really high. So eat half of one and wait an hour or so before consuming more. Or eat a bunch and enjoy the trip you’re going to experience for the next day. Let me know how it goes.

There is a certain scent produced when a sweaty asshole has been trapped in skin tight spandex while enduring a strenuous hour long cardio workout. If you are not familiar with the anal stench produced by this, then I personally invite you to come to my city sponsored Brooklyn gym, where you can enjoy the inner hairs of your nostrils being burnt off, while basking in the fumes of an overweight Polish girl that chooses to do her calisthenics in the middle of the weight room.

Who is she? Who cares. Every Monday, Wednesdays, and Friday this monster of a women squeezes into spandex made for a six year old boy and drags her flaccid body to the gym. Not to be misconstrued, I’m very happy to support anyone who is proactive about controlling their weight and shape, BUT under no circumstances do I support the anal acid cloud that causes my corneas to burn and arms to twitch. To help you understand the scent she produces, I would suggest imagining what Shrek’s shit smells like after drinking a bottle of patron and eating a Dinosaur.

Most days there is a 15 foot clearance between her and any other human (Though a lot of bugs seem to be attracted to her, they all usually die before her workout is over). Last week I saw a new member to the gym unknowingly attempt to use a machine eleven feet from the beast. I wanted to save him, but knew it was to late. Several seconds into his workout he had already thrown up on himself six times and would later have to have both of his arms amputated. She was so busy doing sloppy jumping jacks, she didn’t even notice the man she almost killed.

Sometimes in between my sets, I stare at her and wonder if a horse gave birth to her. Today she decided to stay later than usual and we all paid for it. Most of the steel bars began to bend and part of the roof collapsed. The radio stop working and just kept making coughing noises. One man, while maxing out on the bench, fainted and the weight fell onto his chest. Another man so frustrated at the fumes threw a twenty pound weight into the mirror. He then took pieces of it and tried stuffing them in his nose. Speaking to no one in particular, he said, “I’ll smell my blood before I smell her rotting asshole any longer.” I tried to keep away with my gym towel wrapped around my face. Thankfully after short set of lunges she headed for the door. Her scent stayed with us for forty minutes after, but at least she was gone. I finished my workout and then met her by the locker rooms. She was hungry and being my girlfriend, she wanted to go get a bite to eat after the gym.

Holding My Breath,

Daniel Dickey