In my current exploration of life I want nothing holding me down to a specific place. It’s why I don’t have a dog, girlfriend or car. But after globe-trotting for half of a year and settling back in South Florida, I’m being forced to take on one of them (thankfully the only one I don’t have to feed on a regular basis). I’ve delayed buying a car as much as possible, but bumming rides and biking to the gym has gotten old. There aren’t any subways in the Sunshine State so there’s more of a chance I’ll ride around on a horse than use the city buses. They’re pretty much a taxi for crackheads and ex-cons, and the closest stop is usually further than where I’m going. So here I am, looking at cars and still letting my mother know I do not want to buy hers. I’ve rounded down my prospective list of vehicles to four cars. I put them in two categories.

Category one is made up of an Audi A4 or BMW 3 Series. Fancy, I know. Both of them look sleek and sexy and scream out James Bond and beautiful girls. Every time I see one speed past me I think, “oh baby, how’d I’d like to wax your bumper and kiss your hood.” They symbolize young and professional, but still hip and baller. Like I’m a first year law associate, but still listen to Rick Ross and roll joints on my dashboard. The issue with Audi… their parts are insanely expensive and when something fails, which it will, I’ll have to sell my organs to be able to afford it. I enjoy my organs. The issue with BMW… they profited off of World War II by using prisoners from Jewish labor camps to build their cars. So might I think they’re sleek and sexy, but so did Hitler (a good friend of BMW). I try to remind myself of BMW’s real tag line… The Ultimate Dying Machine.

Category two consist of a Toyota Prius and a Honda Civic. I know, I just went from a young baller to a vegan Microsoft employee.But lets gets something out there right off the bat, the Prius gets fifty miles per a gallon. Fifty miles per a gallon! Do you know how much money I can waste on wool socks and trampolines when I only have to fill up my gas tank once a month? Answer: A lot of money. And though the Civic doesn’t get fifty miles per a gallon, it still does way better than either car in category one. And for the price, $5000 less than the Prius, it makes for a great deal. The downside to both of them being, the only people who drive them work for PETA and drink almond milk. The last person I saw in a Prius had a tattoo of Zooey Deschanel on their arm. Great gas mileage sounds awesome when you’re in the library… not in South Beach.

I’ve looked at cars all week and still haven’t made a choice. But in the end it probably won’t matter, as I’ll most likely sell it in a month to travel to another far away land… hopefully a place with a proper transit system.

Daniel Dickey

Update: I’m buying a smart car. If I go to the dealership between 4pm-8pm they’re buy one get one free.

Another Update: No, of course I’m not buying a smart car. I’ve seen shopping carts bigger than them.

I read this in the New York Times the other day and felt it was worth posting here. It doesn’t have the humor usually associated with my blog, but it does speak on something I feel strongly about (so there’s no misunderstanding, my opinion is with that of the author’s).

Two months before 9/11, Comedy Central aired an episode of “South Park” entitled “Super Best Friends,” in which the cartoon show’s foul-mouthed urchins sought assistance from an unusual team of superheroes. These particular superfriends were all religious figures: Jesus, Krishna, Buddha, Mormonism’s Joseph Smith, Taoism’s Lao-tse — and the Prophet Muhammad, depicted with a turban and a 5 o’clock shadow, and introduced as “the Muslim prophet with the powers of flame.”

That was a more permissive time. You can’t portray Muhammad on American television anymore, as South Park’s creators, Trey Parker and Matt Stone, discovered in 2006, when they tried to parody the Danish cartoon controversy — in which unflattering caricatures of the prophet prompted worldwide riots — by scripting another animated appearance for Muhammad. The episode aired, but the cameo itself was blacked out, replaced by an announcement that Comedy Central had refused to show an image of the prophet.

For Parker and Stone, the obvious next step was to make fun of the fact that you can’t broadcast an image of Muhammad. Two weeks ago, “South Park” brought back the “super best friends,” but this time Muhammad never showed his face. He “appeared” from inside a U-Haul trailer, and then from inside a mascot’s costume.

These gimmicks then prompted a writer for the New York-based Web site revolutionmuslim.com to predict that Parker and Stone would end up like Theo van Gogh, the Dutch filmmaker murdered in 2004 for his scathing critiques of Islam. The writer, an American convert to Islam named Abu Talhah Al-Amrikee, didn’t technically threaten to kill them himself. His post, and the accompanying photo of van Gogh’s corpse, was just “a warning … of what will likely happen to them.”

This passive-aggressive death threat provoked a swift response from Comedy Central. In last week’s follow-up episode, the prophet’s non-appearance appearances were censored, and every single reference to Muhammad was bleeped out. The historical record was quickly scrubbed as well: The original “Super Best Friends” episode is no longer available on the Internet.

In a way, the muzzling of “South Park” is no more disquieting than any other example of Western institutions’ cowering before the threat of Islamist violence. It’s no worse than the German opera house that temporarily suspended performances of Mozart’s opera “Idomeneo” because it included a scene featuring Muhammad’s severed head. Or Random House’s decision to cancel the publication of a novel about the prophet’s third wife. Or Yale University Press’s refusal to publish the controversial Danish cartoons … in a book about the Danish cartoon crisis. Or the fact that various Western journalists, intellectuals and politicians — the list includes Oriana Fallaci in Italy, Michel Houellebecq in France, Mark Steyn in Canada and Geert Wilders in the Netherlands — have been hauled before courts and “human rights” tribunals, in supposedly liberal societies, for daring to give offense to Islam.

But there’s still a sense in which the “South Park” case is particularly illuminating. Not because it tells us anything new about the lines that writers and entertainers suddenly aren’t allowed to cross. But because it’s a reminder that Islam is just about the only place where we draw any lines at all.

Across 14 on-air years, there’s no icon “South Park” hasn’t trampled, no vein of shock-comedy (sexual, scatalogical, blasphemous) it hasn’t mined. In a less jaded era, its creators would have been the rightful heirs of Oscar Wilde or Lenny Bruce — taking frequent risks to fillet the culture’s sacred cows.

In ours, though, even Parker’s and Stone’s wildest outrages often just blur into the scenery. In a country where the latest hit movie, “Kick-Ass,” features an 11-year-old girl spitting obscenities and gutting bad guys while dressed in pedophile-bait outfits, there isn’t much room for real transgression. Our culture has few taboos that can’t be violated, and our establishment has largely given up on setting standards in the first place.

Except where Islam is concerned. There, the standards are established under threat of violence, and accepted out of a mix of self-preservation and self-loathing.

This is what decadence looks like: a frantic coarseness that “bravely” trashes its own values and traditions, and then knuckles under swiftly to totalitarianism and brute force.

Happily, today’s would-be totalitarians are probably too marginal to take full advantage. This isn’t Weimar Germany, and Islam’s radical fringe is still a fringe, rather than an existential enemy.

For that, we should be grateful. Because if a violent fringe is capable of inspiring so much cowardice and self-censorship, it suggests that there’s enough rot in our institutions that a stronger foe might be able to bring them crashing down.

So I’m going to talk about my views on sex. You might agree, you might disagree, you might be a virgin looking for some smooth sex pointers (always bite a girls nipples as hard as you can… they love that).

I wholeheartedly believe there are two kinds of sex. Both of them involve my penis and your vagina in various positions, but my take from personal experiences is, what dictates what kind of sex it is, is based on whether or not there are feelings involved.

Sex without feelings (one night stands, the drunk hook up, friends with benefits) is a party. I have a great time… you have a great time. If I don’t have a great time I won’t invite you over anymore. If you don’t have a great time you probably didn’t have sex with me… but if I didn’t hit it right, I’ll at least tell you some funny jokes and make you an omelet in the morning… though I wouldn’t expect you to call me again.

I’ve had plenty of emotionless sex and it has been a ball! I don’t buy you anything. I don’t know when your birthday is. I could careless what you want to name your kids one day. You just text me when you’re drunk and thinking about wrestling on my Ikea mattress, and I text you when I’m drunk and thinking about doing what bunnies do (just with a little more dirty talk). There is no connection whatsoever (at least for me) with this kind of sex. I don’t even remember some of the names of girls I’ve had sex with. Other girls I can only recall the nicknames I gave them before, during, or after (big titty Bahama girl, club 99 girl, and horny couch girl… can you guess with piece of furniture we had sex on?) Please don’t misjudge me saying I don’t know some girls names as a lame attempt to make myself seem like one mean MacDaddy (I’m Jewish, it’s impossible for us to be too cool, let alone a ‘MacDaddy’), I don’t know their names because there was nothing emotional attaching me to them. There was no mental bond between us. It was purely a physical act and that’s why I have no idea what their names are (I do remember what each of them look like naked… if that counts for anything).

Then there is sex with someone you have feelings for. Once again, I’m still penetrating you, but everything else is completely different. Undoubtedly, the best sex you’ll have happens in this situation… though it can take a little longer to get the mean pipe of the one night stand, as being with someone you are emotionally attached to leads to extreme self-consciousness and prohibits you from completely opening up (pun intended, if you’re a girl). You’re still doing what bunnies do, but after you’re comfortable with the person this has the possibility of being bunny sex, while eating a plate full of carrots. Who doesn’t want to eat a carrot while wrestling with a handsome-ass naked person? I do. I love carrots.

Now if emotional ties are present before sex, there’s a good chance those ties will strengthen during and after… unless of course you come to realize you aren’t sexually compatible. They say sex complicates things… not true. Bad sex complicates things. And if you’re looking to be in a relationship with someone, sex is just as important as personality and oral hygiene. For example, let’s say you’re dating a girl because she’s really pretty to look at and she always smells good, which a great, but she sucks in the sack. Do you know what’s going to happen six months down the line, after you get used to that pretty face and her girlish smells, you’re going to wind up fingering a co-worker at your holiday party. Why? Because you’re tired of the lame truffle shuffle and you want a girl that will punch you square in the face right as you climax. The girl from work… she’ll punch you. The girl at home… she’ll rub your cheeks gently. Who did you finger at the holiday party?

• “Stay cautious of the flood, so I always lay the right pipe.” (Do you know what poet said that? It wasn’t Witman.)

I’m beginning to ramble and my interest in this topic is quickly fading, as the thought/act of making breakfast has begun to take precedence over all others activities. What I will try to sum up in conclusion is, sex can be a dance party or cool spinning classes. Dance parties are great and I suggest you get your ’stretch on’ before showing up, because you’re only there to dance… I don’t want to talk… just wanna tango. Cool spinning classes can be weekly/daily (depends on the girl) sessions where you get a good workout and after you get the hang of it, you can really enjoy the perks of riding ‘that fucking bike’ (pun intended whether you’re a guy or girl. Actually that was not a pun, just a dirty metaphor for sex and spinning).

Blah Blah Blah one night stand are tons of fun, I’ll give it to you good (or I’ll fall asleep), but I think that tantric budda sex happens once you’ve been with someone for sometime and know what makes their whistle blow.

I’ll blow your whistle real good (or I’ll fall asleep),

Daniel Dickey

During the last five and a half hours of my DJ shift I have written six different blogs. They all sucked. I have no idea what to write about.

The first blog was a opinionated rant about plumbers, the second was a poem about child molesters, and the last, a love scene between a beaver and Skully from the X Files. I’ve saved them all and maybe one day will release them to the world, but as of now they are not up to par.

I’ve been working 45+ hours a week and think it blows. In all reality, with the current money I’m making as a DJ at Planet Hollywood, I would have to work for 50 years before I had the kind of money I need in order to live the luxurious life I would like to have. Sooo I recently informed my lovely employer I will only be DJing three days a week and will still continue to MC private parties on Saturdays, as that’s where I make the most money. That will leave me with three full days a week to write, promote my site, and do jumping jacks. I’m sure I’ll spend most of the time doing jumping jacks, but am going to try to spend at least one day a week going around New York to promote my site and meet some friends. Who knows, maybe I’ll run into you. Maybe I’ll just get raped by a gang. Either way, it’s gravy.

Sharpening my promotional tools,

Daniel Dickey

After a year in the city I need to make a film. I feel if I don’t make one relatively soon I’m going to spend the rest of my life bald, poor, and fat(rich people buy poor peoples hair and therefore never go bald). I’ve done a lot in the past year, but at the same time I haven’t done shit. I’m very thankful I had a play produced, but the only thing that helped me do was remove ‘un’ from “unproduced playwright’. In other words agents aren’t calling…let alone picking up my calls.

I would love to film mine and my writing partners screen play, “Super Seniors”. Tooting our own horn, it is hilarious and would be a blast to make, but it is too big of a project for my first full length film. Therefore I’ve been leaning more towards making a documentary. It seems like a more feasible option both with budget and time…but as with anything in my life I am extremely ADD and very indecisive. Originally I wanted to do a documentary on subway artist. Then I wanted to document myself and a friend leaving all of our belongings behind and attempting to live homeless in New York for six weeks. Now I’m trying to channel all my new views on love and relationships into a documentary about, drum roll….love and relationships. Will this actually get made? I don’t know…but I figured if I wrote it here it would help me keep focused.

If you live in the New York area and would like to be in my documentary send me an email.

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

When I decided to leave the comforts of home I quickly realized many of the benefits of living with my parents would disappear as I stepped on a plane headed for New York City (Example: breakfast, lunch, and dinner). I didn’t take into account all the other everyday necessities that must be purchased when living on our own (Example: chairs, toaster, ice cube trays). Even though all of the furniture and hair brushes in my house have been found on the street, somewhat disinfected, and used like it was brand new…there still were many other importance purchases to be made.

Being an aspiring writer I knew buying a printer would be a top priority. Due to my strong hate for Dell caused by my Inspiron 6000, I would not defiantly not be buying one of their shithead printers (Read – http://danieldickey.com/?p=63). Seeing Mac’s are only compatible with Mac’s, I would not be buying a Mac…I also could and can not afford anything that is sold in a Apple store (Just the little white iPod headphones are like $700). So I decided to go with another reputable brand, HP. Hewlett Packard has been in the game for a while. They are trusted, they are respected, and they make great products…right? I assumed so as I read my credit card number to a Malaysian HP sales associate that tried to convince me he was based out of Texas.

I bought a HP Photosmart C4480. It’s an all in one printer, scanner, and copier. It had a sleek white design (Nice and tight in all the right places). With it’s three different functions I could print my plays, copy my resume, and scan my balls…everything I was looking for in a printer. We worked great together at first. Within weeks I had a thousand copy’s of my plays, a million copy’s of my resume, and had scanned enough pictures of my balls to cover the entire refrigerator. It was everything I dreamed it would be…until the ink ran out.

Normally when my printer ink runs out I order refill ink and fill it myself. It’s half the price of buying a new cartridge and has three times as much ink. Great thinking, I know. But this is where this wonderful printer turns into the child molesting scumbag it’s been all along. The photo’Smart’ knows when the ink is done in the cartridge and once that cartridge is empty it will no longer be read by the printer. This makes no sense. Why would they do this? Because the only way to get more ink is to buy a cartridge directly from HP. You cannot refill the cartridge, you can not buy a generic cartridge, you can only buy one directly from them. Let me tell you something Hewlett Packard, you are a little sissy bitch. If I ever catch you within punching distance I’m going to walk up to you and scratch you right in the face. Matter of fact I’m also going to pinch you. Yep. I’m going to pinch the shit out of you. If I ever see you I’m going to scratch you in your face and pinch the shit out of you.

Hewlett Packard…your loser name obviously reflects the years of torment you endured growing up because you smelt and couldn’t grow a mustache till you were 37. Judging by your spiteful printer designs I assume it’s your way off counteracting the torment and bullying you received as a preteen because of your lack of height and personal hygiene. If I saw you jump roping on the edge of a cliff and you happened to slip of, I would casually walk to the edge to see what you look like dead, AND if I happened see you using your jump rope to hang from a single tree limb, clinging to it in hopes of saving your shameful life, I would stand over you and spit in your eyes. Did you hear me Hewlett? As you gripped a pink jump rope, tangled around a small tree, hanging off a cliff, begging for my help, I would spit in your eyes. And I wouldn’t spit at you, I would let the spit slowly drip out of my mouth so it was obvious to you that I was letting spit fall out of my mouth to hit you in the face. Sometimes just as the spit looked like it would break it’s hold from my mouth and fall into your cold eyes, I would quickly suck it back up just to toy with you. I hate your photosmart printer and I will be putting a curse on your family as soon as I’m done blogging. If you were a piece of wood I would light you on fire and pee on you. If you we a very handsome statue, I would not buy you and put you in my garden. Speaking of gardens…is that sales office really in Texas? If so, I like 8% of the population, is unemployeed and was wondering if you were hiring? I’m great with kids and know how to close a deal.

Fuck you Hewlett Packard,

Daniel Dickey

If you’re reading this then you’re probably a pretty fucking awesome person. Though my reasoning for this post is not just to inform you of your apparent awesomeness…I’m sure you’re full aware of your amazing attributes.

If your reading this please do two things…

ONE look to the right and click on “Subscribe to my Blog”, put in your email address and your life will be filled with cheese and pancakes.

TWO look to the right again, but this time click on my Google ads. Why you ask? Because I get almost 9 cents everytime someone checks one out…and if 100 million people click it I’ll be rich by Tuesday.

Thank you for helping me out, but also thank me for helping you out. You scratch my back and I’ll scratch you as well.

I have had an overwhelming amount of people (One French kid with no feet) asking about my new website, The Gay Monster. For those curious, it is a wonderfully well thought out site, devoted to one of America’s most controversial topics, Gay Monsters.

Who are they? Where did they come from? Will they eat me or molest me…or both? These are all questions that will be answered, while also posting extremely flamboyant pictures of them.

So if you have always suspected someone of being a Gay Monster or even just a little Bi, feel free to contact me.

There’s a Monster in the Closet…But not for long.

Daniel Dickey