Cinco de Mayo, which in Spanish means the fifth of Mayonnaise, was a very exciting night. After working the entire day I was relieved to walk into my kitchen to see one of my roommates and a friend of ours making Martini’s. Though I have never tried a Martini, I gulped one down in a matter of seconds. This turned out to be very very stupid idea, because of course…it tasted like shit and burnt the crap out of my throat. They obviously had no idea how to make Martini’s and were waiting for me to get home to use me as the dummies in their alcoholic experiment. I ended up just drinking straight vodka and chasing it with Hersey’s strawberry syrup. Now that’s what I call a drink.

I then spent 20-30 minutes searching through my food cabinets for marijuana. I was successful in finding three small roaches, all of which tasted delightful with my strawberry syrup. Of course this lead to me climbing out my window, into the pouring rain, and onto my roof to yell things at the drunk people on the street. Luckily when I slipped and fell, I feel on the roof and not off the roof. If I feel off the roof I would be dead, or have no legs. That would totally be ‘not cool’.

I then spent some time at a Mexican restaurant down the street from my house (When I say sometime I meant between 90 – 140 seconds). Something told me this restaurant had a very bad vibe and I shouldn’t be there. Looking back I’m sure that something was the marijuana. So as soon as my meal arrived I got up and ran out of the restaurant, leaving my roommate and friend there, trying to figure out what the fuck just happened. They found me sleeping on the bathroom floor when they got home.

I finished the night off by drinking some more and walking around to different bars in the rain. I had a bottle of Brandy in my back pocket, and when the bouncer of one of the bars asked me what it was I said, “Idiot what does it look like? It’s carrot juice. I have really bad eyes”. They bouncer told me if he ever saw me again he’d crack my face open with his fist. I told him if I ever saw him again I would run. He started to laugh just when I spit on his shoe. “Suck my dick you fat Toad”, I said as I ran for my life out of the bar. There’s a good chance this man will murder me if I ever go into the bar again (Unfortunately I was to drunk to remember which bar this was. I don’t think I’ll be going out for a while).

Doing laundry,

Daniel Dickey

I usually don’t get out of my DJ gig in Time Square till about 1am, and on weekends the subway on 42nd street is filled with drunk tourist, angry bums, and New Yorkers trying to escape their problems with a weekend filled with binge drinking and over priced pizza. So almost nightly after my shift, while I’m rushing down the subway stairs to catch a train that hardly runs, I find myself extremely aggravated when a stumbling drunk blocks my path.

Last night two fat tourist did just this. This is what transpired word for word right after I pushed my way through their fat slop.

Fat 1: Watch where you’re going, you American queer boy.

(I ignored his slurred speech because catching the N train was still my number one priority. As I rushed down the rest of the stairs, the other fat ogor, sporting a unkempt red goatee, tried to humor his sloppy buddy, with a really witty line)

Fat 2: Yeah, you better slow down…or you might fall.

(Their laughter roared at the genius joke. Hearing the train’s door close, and realizing it was to late to catch it, my priorities began changing. I stopped and turned to see the two unhealthy bodies giggling their way down the long row of stairs. There were a handful of impatient people stuck behind the piggish men. They couldn’t get past them. Fuck it, why not?)

Me: What did you say you German Shark fucker?

(Thrown off by my response their laughter stopped as they starred at each other)

Fat 1: Did you just call my boy a German Shark fucker?

Me: Yeah I did, and what you going to do about it with your tough lesbian hair cut?

(Feeding off the couple people stuck behind them smiling at my challenge)

Me: Look at you looking like a German nutty professor. You look like a Beluga whale fucked a slutty Possum.

Fat 2: A what?

Fat 1: I think he said a Possum.

Fat 2: You mean those things with the hard shells.

Fat 1: No that’s a Armadillo.

(Directing he attention back towards me)

Fat 2: Shut up you…you hair gel guy.

Fat 1: Yeah, nice hair. What are you suppose to be a hair model?

(Again they both laughed at their intoxicated foreign humor. Again I saw the faces of the frustrated people stuck behind there fat bodies).

Me: “Real funny”, I said as I unbuckled my belt.

Fat 2: (Taking notice of me unbuckling my belt) Hey look how gay he is. He’s taking off his belt so we can suck his dick.

Me: Really? Come on. I’m taking off my beat so I can beat the shit out of both of you.

Fat 1: Are you a fool? (Throwing his stubby arms in the air) He must be a fool. You are a third of my size. I’m going to punch you in the face and then I’m going to break your arm.

Me: Go ahead and try you hairy white Gorilla.

He beat the living shit out of me (Not to be confused with I got my ass kicked). This fat fuck shattered my jaw with his shin. He kicked my ribs with his Puma shoes. He bitch slapped me across the face. His friend didn’t even help in the bashing of my face and body. He only took pictures and poured beer on my battered body. The frustrated people that were once stuck behind the two blobs, we’re now laughing, pointing fingers, and making Coyote noises at me. One of them even offered to give them a lighter, just in case they wanted to light me on fire.

Right then and there I realized just because someone is fat, drunk and foreign does not mean I can beat them up…in fact it probably gives me even less of a chance of beating them up.

I should also make mention, though 17 of my bones are broken, included my collor bone and three pieces of spine, he did not break either of my arms. He might of been tougher than me, but at least I’m not a liar…and that makes all the difference.

Healing,

Daniel Dickey