So I’m toying with some new possible themes for the look and feel of my website. The bad news is this will not make my site any funnier or more interesting to read. The good news is it will be nicer to look at…and it’s that what we’re all really searching for, something nice to look at?

Also thought I would make mention that I have married a man on Facebook. I have no idea why I am mentioning this, but just felt I should, as it will probably be questioned by friends, family and the gay men that work with me (This was and is not a signal of a new sexual preference, but just a single act of devotion to my man lover).

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 wouldn’t say I’m fascinated by Werewolves, it’s more of a sexual obsession, a silly itch that needs to be playfully scratched by their Wolfie claws. My girlish obsession began many moons ago, while Goat herding in the southern most tip of an Ogor’s dick. Our lead Goat, Pancake, had fallen ill the night before. He had a wicked case of mono (Pancake didn’t mind dipping his batter in the dirtiest of Sheep’s. He also had a huge uncircumcised dick, which made it hard for him to walk, as it would always bang against rocks and sharp pieces of gravel). We decided to have our next best leader, Kendall, lead the pack that night. She was faster than all the Goats and we hardly had to feed her (My partners now see why I decided to kidnap that little girl to live a life of Goat herding). The midnight moon guided us through the chilly night, as we sang, danced, and peed all over Kendall. Whenever any of the Goat’s became tired and started to slow down we would kick it in the face with our boots…but even that didn’t stop the spreading sluggishness. After Goat herding for 300 years you learn a thing or two about Goat’s…and something was defiantly wrong with my Goat’s…something weird, very weird.

Many people are misinformed on how a person is turned into a Werewolf. Common myths are, “If you rub too much butter on your genitals when you masturbate”, “If you own any of the ten seasons of Friends on DVD”, or the biggest myth “If you are French”. Though French people smell like soggy, wet Wolves, they are not Werewolves…but they are soggy and wet…very soggy, very wet, very dumb and French. The truth is there is only one way you can be transformed in a Werewolf. A Werewolf must lick the bottoms of both of your feet and then suck your dick for at least six minutes. I know…it’s fucking crazy! Why do you think no one wants to see a Werewolf? I get scared when a fat girl tries sucking my dick, let alone a big gay Wolf! Imagine just chillen at the movies watching The Stepford Wives and all of a sudden a Werewolf is sitting there eating popcorn, trying to fit in. You know he’s just sitting there thinking, “I’m going to lick this niggas feet and then I’ma suck his dick”. You now realize the deep sense of panic on that dark dark night.

The first howl came a couple minutes after twelve. Its deep roar ripped up my spine, and soon I smelt the escaping flatulent that howled its way out of my Horse’s asshole. Bowser was a smelly Horse. Many times after climbing into his flea infested saddle I would throw up all over him, just to deafen the smell of rotting Horse shit that infested most of his fat figure. But soon after the egg odored anal bomb caught the brisk night’s breeze things began to change for the worse.

In the green hills of an Ogor’s dick the shadows are always chasing after you. They watch over you. They comfort you. When those shadows silently turned to figures…deep, black, mysterious figures, I knew the peace was soon to plummet. I had the herd move double time. I was pushing Kendall to her limit, but I didn’t care. If she died she died, I didn’t have time to worry about a kidnapped orphan, we had a Werewolf on our tail.

He first made his presence know as he howled away on a mountain cliff about twenty clicks north of us. Minutes later I realize he wasn’t alone. There were two approaching quickly from the south as the three gained speed from the north. By this time my two partners in the Goat herding business had turned back. They said, “Were not even Goat herders…these dumb Goat’s just keep following us”. I was a die hard Goat herder though. If I was going to die, then so were all of my Goat’s.

I could see that the Wolf would reach us within the minute. My brain was carefully calculating all the possible options. I could kill Kendall as a sign of respect to the Wolves. I could kill all the Goats and then kill Kendall. I could even kill Bowser, the Goat’s, and Kendall…as long as they stayed away from my dick. My time was up, the wild Wolves were there and they had a heavy appetite for feet and dicks. We pushed on stampeding as fast as we could. One by one I watched my Goat’s being ripped from the herd, thrown on their backs, and licked on their feet. I turned my head before those savage wolves laid those Goat dicks on their salivating tongues. Though I looked away, I can still hear the giggling of the Goat’s as those Wolves slobbed on their hairy Goat wieners.

We were loosing numbers quick, and Bowser was starting to slow down. His old fat body couldn’t handle the chase by the young lean Wolves. It was either I died by horse back or I let that pig of a Horse run free as I stayed back to fight. I decided to jump off, but first made sure to break all of Bowser’s legs to insure I had more time to run away. As they pounced on Bowser’s flaccid horse wiener I ran, I ran so fast. There weren’t anymore Goat’s, as they all were already sucked off. I did see a figure next to me though. It was Kendall! She didn’t have a penis and would not be harmed by the Wolves…that lucky little bitch, I could have killed her right there. Then I heard it…Bowser howled as his heavy Horse ejaculate flew out. It was now time for me. I knew I was special, as only the lead Wolf came for me. Would now be my time to stand my ground and fight like a man? No! I pushed Kendall face first in the dirt, hoping it would distract the Wolf. He obviously didn’t have a sense of humor; because he helped her up and apologize for my cruel actions (I should tell you it was funny as hell though! So much dirt got stuck in Kendall’s eyes…it was great they way here eyes were bleeding). Seconds later he caught up to me. I took a swift swing at him with my dagger (Yep, I had a dagger), he laughed and started spitting in his hand to help with the Wolfie blowjob. I tried running again, but he pinned me down on my back. I was helpless. For the first time in my life I was scared. I was so scared. He said he was going to take his time with me. He said he was going to suck the shit out of my dick. I took him as an honest wolf.

His tongue was thick, warm and saturated in Wolfie juices. He teased me, licking my toes as he held my feet together. I gagged at the thought of letting this hairy beast anywhere close to my man parts. I couldn’t let him turn me into a hairy monster destined for a life of feet licking and dick sucking. As he licked the soles of my feet I knew my only choice. I reached for my dagger. Its sharp blade glimmered in the moon light as I held it up. He was done licking my feet and was now moving his way up my manly legs. I closed my eyes, braced my hands tightly against my dagger, and cut my dick off (Looking back I wonder why I didn’t just stab the Werewolf in the head…very stupid on my part). The Wolfs eyes pop as he saw my bleeding penis fall to the ground. I laughed. I had won. I had cut my penis off though.

I tried sowing my penis back on. I tried duck taping it on. I even tried hot gun gluing it back on. It wouldn’t stay and I was now forced to pee through my ass. It also has had a negative affect on my dating life. When I tell women they can only have sex with me in their minds they tend to laugh and call me a “fucking loser”(Though women don’t like this, stuff animals are very open to trying this).

I was adjusting to my new “penisless” life. It was ruff, but I made it work. Then came the first full moon since the night of the Werewolves. I began acting strange. My body was changing. My voice was deeper. My toes were longer. My nipples were wetter. It was then I realized, though the Wolf had not sucked my dick, the licking of my feet had caused half of the process to take place. I was not a full Werewolf, but I was no longer a man. I was similar to a large Cat or small Elk. I was alone. I had not a man to hold me, nor a Wolf to lick my wounds.

The next day I started my journey to find a Werewolf. I would scourer the mountains, search the forest, swim the sea…anything to find a Werewolf and have him suck my dick. I might not want to be a Werewolf, but I defiantly don’t want to be a hairy man freak, forced to mate with house Cats and small Deer. My life has forever changed since that night, but you ask would I change it if I could? No! The look on Kendall’s face as I pushed that little bitch into the dirt was worth every second. I’d fuck a million Deer, happily knowing I was solely responsible for tripping that little orphan Goat herder.

PS: I might not be a Werewolf now, but the day I do become one, beware. HOWL HOWL HOWL (I don’t know how to write out howl phonetically so I wrote Howl instead).

Leave a comment with possible names for this!

Daniel Dickey Dot Com

After eight years of ridiculously embarrassing antics from our C average President I can finally find a penny sized sense of support for him. I’ll briefly explain.

Yesterday while talking some nonsense to the Prime Minister of Iraq, a journalist, Muntadhar al-Zeidi (His friends call him Baby Goat), threw a shoe at our President. Was this an attack of courage? Was this his way of protesting the extreme lack of quality shoes in Iraq? Or did he just think after listening to President Dub-Ya for eight years, that someone needed to hit that fool with a shoe? I’ll let you decide.

You’re still probably wondering where my new found pride for President Dub-Ya came from. It came the second that little Iraq threw his sheep skin shoe at my President for the next 35 days and George Bush ducked that shit like Rocky in the ring. Did you see those reflexes? He was like a cat…one quick pusssy! It even made me question…could Obama ducka shoe like that? Once again I’ll let you decided.

There were paradas in the streets after the incident and Muntadhar al-Zeidi has been hailed as a hero. Showing the sole of your shoe to someone in the Arab world is a sign of extreme disrespect, and throwing your shoes is even worse. Good news is, Muntadhar al-Zeidi was also being tested for alcohol and drugs, and his shoes were being held as evidence (Good thing…we wouldn’t want that shoe to be throw at anyone else).

Overall I hope Muntadhar al-Zeidiius is currently being raped and tortured in a dark isolated American holding cell. Because no matter what an idiot our President is and was, nobody can throw a shoe at him unless their American.

Your Future President,

Daniel Dickey

Check the video.

It’s 1:14 Monday morning (It’s really 1:13, but my OCD made me say 1:14…even though it let me say it in the paraentecies) and I got a big week ahead of me. I wanted to make a To Do List and hang it on my fridge, but I’m way to lazy for that shit. So I figured if I put it here, since this is my homepage (You should make it yours) it will remind me to do it.

My To Do List

• Buy new pair of hiking boots for hiking.
• Pee on roommates pillow.
• Hide squirt guns all around the house…just in case.
• Cook the Camel meat I bought in Queens.
• Feed roommates Camel meat after I convince them it’s Salmon.
• Finish building hot air balloon made off socks.
• Learn new dance moves for dancing.
• Try to get pregnant…again.
• Eat all the food in the house and tell my roommates someone robbed our fridge and pantry.
• Finish drawing the Tupac tattoo I’m going to get tattooed on my forehead.

I hope I have time for everything.

Check out the newest video from Dick n Gil Productions. It’s a real happening piece of work…don’t be surprised if your booty starts to bounce.

ANGOLAN WOMAN’S HANDBALL is an Olympic sport and I’m LOVING IT! The way these Angolan women womp that ball with their bare bruisers is incredible. “A racquet, HA that’s for pussies,” the team captain once said that when asked, “Since you use your hands to hit the ball what do you do with the racquet’s?” Most Angolans aren’t associated with handball…Human Jerky, which is made from actual Human flesh, is something most people might identify they with (Manly due to their barbaric name. That in fact is the reason I associated them with that.) BUT it seems they have found themselves another hobby, asides from eating tenderized, simmered, and sauteed, baby flesh.

How did I first become a fan of the Angol’s? Last Saturday I was looking at pictures of my favorite Genghis Khan tattoo’s and happened to find one where he was eating a puppy at summer camp…thing is, the summer camp sign said, “Angolan Women’s Handball is #1.” It made me wonder, if an awesome specimen like Genghis Khan would eat a puppy at a camp which thinks Angolan Women’s Handball is #1, wouldn’t I?

Answer: Yeah, sorta.

I thought they were a pretty rad group of ladies. That was until I saw their secret training video…it’s changed everything. Everyday they wake up a 1:30 in the afternoon and eat sixteen pancakes and three glasses of raw Bear’s milk. After that they head straight back to bed and sleep until 6:00pm. Now this is when the fun starts. At 6:35pm everyday they all take turns raping their husbands and then kill them. Everyday, new husbands. Everyday, dead husbands. The oldest member on the team has been married twenty three thousand times. They kill their husbands as a sign of respect for their team mascot, The Black Widow (And also because they are very mentally disturbed). After the last man is buried they drink various liquors, beers, and pig’s blood, while talking and measuring their hands. Then from 8:00pm to 8:15pm they practice. At 8:16 they are very tired and go to sleep. Goodnight.

The Eleven Qualifications to Join The Team

• Must own three dozen chickens.
• Must have proof of 100 pure Angol blood.
• Must have killed your Brother or Father within the last four years.
• Must always carry an Ivory hunting spear.
• Must pee on flowers.
• Must kill yourself immediately if a match is ever lost.
• Must kill anyone who wears aprons.
• Must be able to drink four gallons of whiskey in eleven seconds.
• Must introduce yourself as a Gorilla.
• Must wash your face with blood.
• Must be able to krump dance to every Ludacris song.

Sadly, the Angolan Woman’s Handball team lost their first match against the Chinese yesterday. All but one has already killed themselves. She said that the rules were outdated and killing herself would be barbaric. There is currently a group of men burning her house down. She will be stoned to death any day.

Goodnight,

Daniel Dickey

I know what you’re thinking I have blogged a lot recently (This is like Christmas for my readers). I have been extremely busy the past few weeks and have tried to make a conscience effort to stay up to date with my blogging. I’m actually standing in my Dj booth in Time Square with a play-list playing and headphones on my ears to insure that the 300 people around me think I’m working hard (Defiantly Not). Actually most of the time I’m really doing nothing, I’ve just developed a great “Pretend Like I’m Working Face”. I use it when I’m at work, when I’m building rockets, and when I’m having sex (My girlfriend just gets off knowing I’m naked). Matter of fact I don’t even know what I’m typing right now, but my face sure looks like I’m doing something important (Note: As I typed that and large Swedish man was walking up here to request a song…I guess he saw my face and realized I was “working hard” because that big ogor went and sat his ass down. Also, you might be wondering how I knew he was Swedish? How do I know you’re not a lizard…Exactly).

Back to the important stuff…

I’m thinking about making a porno, but instead of people I’m going to use chairs. It’s going to start with just a empty room and these two chairs…two horny chairs. One chair, the lady chair, is going to fold up one of it’s legs just as the other decides to let his dick hang out. The thing is, it’s a chair, where did a dick come from? The other chair is totally thrown off by this huge multi color dick just hanging there like a rainbow sausage…but her wood hardens. He senses her interest and say something smooth, real smooth “I want to burp on you”. She shy’s away, but responds “Without a table I don’t think anyone will ever sit on me”. A fat smelly bum with rotting feet walks past them, the male chair takes notice, “I bet he would sit on you…but he smells like poop”. She giggles, “Yeah his toes look like carrots before you peel them”. Again, taking notice of his long flaccid penis, “What’s up with that?”. He blows her a kiss, “I’m sorry, if it’s to much I can put it away”. “No No”, she says quickly. “I just was curious why it was so many colors”? My Mother was on of those massage chairs at the sharper image, so many men sat on her I guess I got a little of all of them. She stares at his strong cherry oak frame, “But everything else is one color. Why is just your chair dick so many colors”? “Why does the sun sleep at night”, he says with a sarcastic tone. The sun doesn’t sleep at night, the earth rotates and it can only illuminate half of the earth at a time. Bitch are you a chair or a scientist? I’ve had my dick out for close to three minutes now and you haven’t even touched it, so if you’re just going to keep filling me in about space shit, I know a picnic bench that is begging for this dick. Matter of fact she just texted me some freaky shit on my iphone, saying she wants me to cum on her tits. She’s in complete shock. I’m a chair, I don’t even have hands. Did you expect to fuck me? Where? I don’t even know how we’re taking right now, I don’t have a mouth. iphone? How the fuck do you have a iphone? Your such a liar…all chairs are. I thought you were different. He laughs, Baby I’m made of oak. What did you expect, a lawn chair? Ha.

Yes this might not cause a major buzz in the American porno industry, BUT it will be a surefire hit in Finland (They really really love chairs…especially conceded oak ones with multi colored cocks).
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Ladies Ladies when will you learn?

Disney’s newest nude picture scandal comes in today from Adrienne Bailon, one of Disney’s Cheetah Girls. It was reported her laptop went missing after a flight to JFK airport, but was returned from an anonymous man for a ransom of $1000, paid by her record label. Sadly for her, happily for us, he decided to keep the naked pictures of her and release them on-line. Because of this I can happily say DanielDickey.com has your pictures and will be posting them all over the Internet for horny men and Mexicans to masturbate to.

Couple Quick Questions

• When you recorded the song “Shake Ya Tailfeather” was this the inspiration?
• Are my eyes playing tricks on me or does that tattoo say “Cum Here”?
• When you were looking back into the camera, could you see your career slipping away?
• Are you a PETA supporter? Because there are defiantly no signs of fur (See Vanessa Hudgens a couple Blogs below).
• In the last picture were you trying to pose just like the lady in the panting on your wall?

From the pictures it’s obvious this Cheetah isn’t scared to get it doggy.

Till Next TIme,

Daniel Dickey