I try not to speak on religion, as don’t want to offend anyone and really only care to comment on funny things (religion is much too serious) but GOD damn check out these morons.

So my ribs are still broken, I have a fever and have spent the last 24 hours eating muscle relaxers out a of pez dispenser. I’d say all is well, but I feel like a bee’s bum after his stinger rips off and he dies, covered in honey and flower semen. Couch ridden with a smashed cable box, I only had 12 channels to choose from. Several were of the new speaker of the house crying like a tiny republican bitch, one was a Spanish version of Are You Smarter Than A Fifth Grader, and then there was the People’s Choice Awards. I’ll start by saying, if the people could choose, they’d ask for their time back. Are award shows doing that bad that product placement is the only way to produce them? I saw products sponsoring products, which sponsored other products. At first, I assumed that all of the ridiculous promotion was their way of making money without going to commercials. Nope. Just as many commercials… terrible commercials. I watched a washed up gay man, with an ugly scarf, give away 8 CVS gift bags, filled with a body wash and a cheap toothbrush. Vanessa Williams took 10 minutes to talk about her passion Proctor & Gamble. Why do that to yourself NBC? And mostly, why do that to the people?

I’d express my views of Queen Latifah job at hosting, but she seems like a ridiculously sweet person, with great energy. Now if I didn’t think that, I’d say stick with comedians when it comes to hosting award shows. Actually no. Just have the cast of Twilight host the show… any and every award show their is. Are they still winning awards? Are people really still watching that pale British guy and the wolf with muscles? How are they making two more movies? If Harry Potter shit on himself while overdosing on mushrooms, it would still produce a greater movie that the Glitter Vampire Saga. Watching their acceptance speeches could only be compared to the feeling ones goes through after a rabid dog bites you in the dick… multiple times. Die.

The upside to the show… it’s over.

Like always, I remind myself and whomever got conned into read this, I’m just a balding 24 year old, that peeked in high school and eats cereal for dinner. My views mean nothing.

Daniel Dickey

I was sitting around, probably high, eating pretzels, when my mother called me.

• Mom: Are you smoking pot?
• Me: What? No.
• Mom: Danny, don’t lie to me. Are you smoking pot?
• Me: Mom, what are you talking about?
• Mom: Your blog said you were high, wearing your socks on your hands.
• Me: Why would I wear my socks on my hands?
• Mom: It said you were eating brownies.
• Me: I was eating brownies.
• Mom: Pot brownies?!
• Me: No. Delicious chocolate chip brownies. And even if I was, who cares?
• Mom: I care, you idiot! Marijuana is–
• Me: Mom, I know you’ve smoked weed before.
• Mom: Are you nuts?! I have never–
• Me: Dad already told me. He said when he met you you were a hippie Jew girl who smoked pot and couldn’t cook.
• Mom: Well your father is a God damn liar! I when I met that bum all he had was a stupid pair of bell bottom jeans and piece of crap yellow Volkswagen Beetle.
• Me: Well I guess only a pothead could find a 20 year relationship with bell-bottom wearing, Beetle driving, bum.
• Mom: He said I didn’t know how to cook? That bastard! Granted, he was a good cook, but where do you think he learned half of the recipes he knows? I taught him. Those are Jewish recipes!
• Me: Last time I was home he made pork chops. What Jewish recipes have pork chops in them?
• Mom: Tell me the truth right now. Have you tried marijuana before?
• Me: Mom you found a hydroponics lab in my shower when I was 16. What did you think I was doing?
• Mom: You’re were always doing something ridiculous as a child.
• Me: When you cut up my plants I cried for three days. I didn’t cry for three days when I found out Santa Claus wasn’t real.
• Mom: You never thought Santa Claus was real.
• Me: I wish I did. Jewish or not, Santa Claus seemed like such a wonderful man. I feel like you should have lied to me about that. When I have kids, I’m telling them religion is fake, but Santa Claus is real.
• Mom: Stop changing the subject.
• Me: Of course I’ve tried weed.
• Mom: Do you smoke it on a regular basis?
• Me: I drink orange juice on a regular basis.
• Mom: When was the last time you used drugs?
• Me: I’ve never used drugs. The last time I smoked marijuana was when I wrote that blog.
• Mom: Are you smoking on a regular basis?
• Me: Mom, when I get high I eat cookies, make milkshakes and watch movies. If I did that on a regular basis I’d be fat and diabetic.
• Mom: Well I don’t think you should be talking about this stuff on your blog. What if you apply for a job and they read that?
• Me: I’m not applying for jobs at the FBI, I’m applying to be a driver for Pete’s Taco Truck and a dishwasher at Chilies. Matter of fact, I think you have to be a pothead to get one of those jobs. If I don’t get hired, it’s because I don’t smoke enough weed.
• Mom: Your father really said I couldn’t cook?
• Me: Yeah, maybe he was high?
• Mom: Who do you think came up with that breaded chicken over vegetable rice that he makes all the time?
• Me: I don’t know. He always said you tried to cook it, but always over breaded the chicken.
• Mom: I over breaded the chicken? He didn’t even know what chicken was until he met me. Why do you think he started using butter in his matzo ball soup?
• Me: He said his mother taught him that when he was young.
• Mom: His mother was English! What Christian, English woman makes matzo ball soup? You’ve got to be kidding me. (To herself) His mother… my ass. What a lair.
• Me: Ok, well, I’m going to go get some cookies, make a milkshake and watch a movie.
• Mom: (Didn’t listen to anything I just said) Yeah, I’ll call you back. I’m going to give that father of yours a piece of my mind. Goodbye.

Daniel Dickey

It’s father’s day and boy am I thankful I’ve survived another year without impregnating some random witch that has flown my way. The key is to splash them with a bucket of water right after you ejaculate. They slowly melt away and die, and you get to go to sleep without some sweaty girl trying to cuddle with you and talk about ‘taking things to the next level’.

With that said, I hope I don’t have any children anytime soon. Children require your attention and cry if you don’t buy them things… if I wanted either of those qualities in someone else I would have kept my girlfriend around. Though when I think about it, I would consider adopting kids. But I’d only do it if the government approved me using them as slaves. Seriously, if I’m going to feed, cloth, and support these little bastards the least they could do is carry around some 50 pound potato sacks. Of course I would only be willing to adopt kids from Africa. Please don’t take that as a racist thing, because it’s not… it’s a genetics thing. If you were given the choice of child slave, would you choose some little Asian orphan that can hardly lift a stack of Twilight books, some Spanish twerp that kicks around soccer balls instead of building the dungeon like he’s supposed to, or a 6′6 ft 8 year old African that can bench press an elephant and pay his way through college with a football? Exactly.

Whether I decide to adopt or have a little child of my own, it won’t be for awhile, as I think 23 is too young to worry about anyone other than yourself. Fulfill yourself before you attempt to fulfill another. Blah blah blah chase your dreams (currently mine are serving Mexican food, staying up late and sleeping in).

Father’s Day… the most confusing day in Harlem,

Daniel Dickey

I spent the bulk of last night stumbling around trying to find my center of gravity… salted margaritas and Pabst Blue Ribbon turned out to be my center of gravity. It was an interesting evening of fun, Mexican food and the urge to curl up in the back of the bar and sleep. I didn’t get any poon, so there won’t be any spicy stories about me having fun while attempting to satisfied the other sex with my peener. THOUGH there was an awfully odd man who followed us out of the pizza place at 3:30am and onto the subway. He was drinking an extra large Redbull, speaking to himself, and licking some sort of tarish looking goop off of his forearm. When I saw he got on the same train as us I realized he could be a dangerous killer and decided to run onto the next car leaving the girls by themselves to die. I found this very funny.

No one died, but I did throw a pencil at him and told him to shave my feet as he got ready to leave.

Daniel Dickey

With one hand holding her full B cup boobs, the other brushing the hair out of her face, a naked girl got out of my bed and began collecting her scattered clothes. She was a cute, strawberry blond, with pretty feet and a helluva’ ass. As she tiptoed across the room and bent over to pick up her bra, I said:

• Me: Why don’t you leave that here?
• Naked Girl: What… My bra?
• Me: (I point at a hook in my wall holding 20+ bras). Yeah… something to remember you by.
• Naked Girl: (Giggling) Well wasn’t the sex something to remember me by?
• Me: Yeah, but I want something good to remember you by. (Her sleepy eyes shot open) I’m just kidding… I’ll remember the sex too.
• Naked Girl: (Relieved) Ok. (After a moment) Wait… you’ll remember it as something good or something bad?
• Me: (I don’t respond. I just laid there naked, massaging the pouch my testicles call home)
• Naked Girl: Danny last night was good! I… You… We both came, and it was… wow.
• Me: Yeah it was good. I just…
• Naked Girl: You just what?
• Me: I just was really distracted. (She waits for me to say more) I haven’t seen Lost this week and I couldn’t stop thinking about Jack and Sawyer (characters from Lost.. or maybe some hot man meat from the West Village). But it was still really good.
• Naked Girl: Yeah?
• Me: Yeah. (She senses something in my voice) well… I uh… I faked it.
• Naked Girl: Faked what?
• Me: My orgasm. I faked it.
• Naked Girl: But you came all over my tits.
• Me: Yeah, it was fake.
• Naked Girl: (As she hangs her bra with the rest) How could a guy fake it?
• Me: You had your eyes closed… I just threw some milk on you.
• Naked Girl: Oh my.
• Me: Yeah, I do it all the time.

She she left shorty after and I went back to sleep.

I’ll always remember her (B 34 Victoria’s Secret pink polka dot bra).

She was an idiot.

Daniel Dickey

It was February 15th and I was hungover at the gym. I just finished a set of starring at the weights while thinking, “I really don’t feel like lifting you” as my phone rang. It was my mother.

• Me: Yo.
• Mom: Yo. What are you doing?
• Me: At the gym. What’s going on?
• Mom: Well, I just got out of the doctor’s–
• Me: And?
• Mom: My fibroid is out of whack, again.
• Me: What does that mean?
• Mom: Remember last time something was wrong with my fibroid I lost 20lbs? It was because there was calcium in my blood. And this time I gained 25lbs because there’s–
• Me: Bagels in your blood?
• Mom: (Laughing audibly) What did you say?
• Me: Anytime I’ve spoken to you in the past six months you’ve been out to eat. So if you gained 25lbs I don’t think it has to do with a ‘fibroid out of whack’… but more to do so with your appetite out of whack.
• Mom: My doctor doesn’t seem to think so.
• Me: Well your doctor hasn’t seen you finish off a plate of penne ala vodka and strawberry cheesecake.
• Mom: (her laughing turns into a uncomfortable “ow”)
• Me: What?
• Mom: (sighing) I went to my OB/GYN yesterday and my breast are still very sore.
• Me: What?! Why would you boobs be sore?
• Mom: Because he had to–
• Me: He?! What are you going to a male gynecologist for?
• Mom: Because he’s a good doctor.
• Me: Good doctor my ass! He’s a pervert.
• Mom: (Ignoring me) He was giving me a mammogram and really flattened out my breast. They’re were like pancakes.
• Me: Pancakes?!!!
• Mom: Yeah. He’s a good doctor, but he was a little too rough and I’m–
• Me: You go in for a mammogram and this guy’s trying to make breakfast! So help me if he had syrup in the office. Don’t you have one of those things in the shower that shows you how to check yourself for boob lumps?
• Mom: Danny I’m almost 54 years old… I need to be check out by a professional.
• Me: Ok. When do you want an appointment? I’ll set you up with a female doctor.
• Mom: What did you do last night for Valentine’s Day?
• Me: I helped ghetto 18 year olds get laid by playing 90’s love songs while I gave them shout outs at work.
• Mom: You go out afterward?
• Me: Yep.
• Mom: With who?
• Me: _________.
• Mom: Oh! Well… look… at… that. Where’d you two go?
• Me: My apartment.
• Mom: Isn’t it funny how things work out?
• Me: What worked out? We didn’t take a horse drawn carriage around central park. We got drunk and I took her back to my place at 3:30 in the morning.
• Mom: Well then I guess it’s safe to say you ended the night with a bang (my mother laughs to herself, as she thinks she made a really racy joke).
• Me: Yes mom, I did end the night with a bang.
• Mom: (Still laughing) Would that be categorized as emotionless sex? (Highly sarcastic) Like, do you think you’ll remember her name?
• Me: (Shaking my head, as I realize my mother has been reading my blog) Yes mom. I think I will remember her name.
• Mom: Just making sure, because you wrote a whole article about…
• Me: I know what I wrote. Ok, I’m going to finish working out. I’ll call you when I’m done.
• Mom: I’ll be out to lunch, so if I don’t pick up leave a message.
• Me: I thought you just got back from breakfast?
• Mom: Danny you don’t know what it’s like to be pregnant.
• Me: You’re not pregnant.
• Mom: Yes I know, but this fibroid sure is making me hungry like I was.
• Me: Well with the threading of your pants in mind, I hope you give birth relatively soon.
• Mom: Bye.
• Me: Goodbye.

Making Pancakes And Watching Movies Online,

Daniel Dickey

• Last night I came home at 5:40am.
• I was a little drunk.
• I realized that my new computer has a web cam.
• This is what I did until 6:30am.

I think there was something about Aliens that seemed appealing at the moment…not sure what it was.

Daniel Dickey

It’s widely known that I love parties…like I REALLY love parties. I love pizza parties, pool parties, I even love baby showers. But there’s one kind of party that reigns king when it comes to a great time, The HOLIDAY PARTY (fetish parties are a close second). Last night a friend of mine on Twitter threw a holiday party in Manhattan and though I can’t remember most of it…what I do remember was an amazing time!

When my roommates and I hit the liquor store we all agreed having too much liquor is way better than not having enough (hence the picture of my bottle compared to the other ones at the party), and with that in mind we skipped past the normal sized bottles of vodka and found a half gallon bottle of Svedka. We then grabbed some 7up and Pineapple Fanta (which they made fun of me for wanting…but turned out to be a fantastic mixer) and headed to 136th street.

We walked into a wonderfully decorated apartment filled with liquor, cookies, and some very merry sweater vests. People were taking pictures by the tree, playing games in the kitchen, and smoking weed in the bathroom. It was my kind of party. I quickly found some counter space in the kitchen and started mixing drinks…I don’t remember too much after that, but do know the drinks were much too strong and that wearing a grey sweater was a bad idea, because every time I spilt something on myself it was completely obvious and very embarrassing.

Everything was a blur, but my mental consciousness kicked in as I stood outside trying to convince a girl that I needed to kiss both of her cheeks 50 times because I have OCD. I don’t think she believed the OCD, but she did let me kiss her cheeks…I won.

From there this is what I remember…

• Left party
• Stood in elevator for several minutes wondering why it was taking so long
• Realized I hadn’t pressed the button in the elevator
• Called Jt and told him I thought I was having a heart attack and he needed to meet me on 125th street
• Burped and realized it wasn’t a heart attack
• Walked around Harlem with Jt until we found a McDonald’s
• Ordered six McChickens
• Got in a taxi, but was told to leave when I said I’d be paying for the ride with McChickens
• Got on subway after paying MTA worker with McChickens
• Took off shoes and fell asleep on subway
• Was woken up at 14th street by Jt yelling and shaking me
• Tried to convince Jt to leave me and let me sleep on the train
• Was carried out of the subway by Jt and some drunk Asian girls
• Smiled as one of the Asian girls kept pinching my butt and told Jt to let me go home with her
• Frowned when I realized my shoes were left on the N train and my socks had holes in them
• Woke up at 1:32pm…next to naked Asian girl
• Holler

Last night was a great night.

Enjoying Double shot Decemeber,

Daniel Dickey

After seeing the popularity of my post, “A conversation with my mother”, I decided to post another one. This took place last night.

Me: Yo mom.
Mom: Yo son.
Me: I need some help with Thanksgiving.
Mom: You need me to send you some turkey recipes?
Me: Na. I need to try and figure out how to convince ‘the girls’ to eat Thanksgiving dinner with me naked.
Mom: Danny, are you still employed? How do you have the time to sit around and think of this stuff?
Me: I’m serious mom. I need something to be thankful for, and what better than naked girls and gravy.
Mom: How about you be thankful that you’re alive and healthy.
Me: Really? If you’re gonna start with that love life stuff I’m going to hang up the phone.
Mom: Did you call me for anything serious.
Me: As if naked girls isn’t something serious! I need you to tell me how to make stuffing.
Mom: Well what kind of stuffing?
Me: The good kind. See this sexy German girl thinks she’s going to make the stuffing and you know how much I love stuffing. So I want to secretly make some stuffing and then just pull that shit out from under the table and be like, “Oh shit! Look what I found. Fuck your stuffing.”
Mom: You’re eating with Germans?!
Me: Just one. But don’t worry; she looks madd Jewish and sexy. Obviously if she tells me I have to take ‘a shower’ first I’m not falling for that one.
Mom: (laughing) That’s not funny.
Me: Then why are you laughing?
Mom: You know your grandfather was in a labor camp for four years?
Me: No, I totally forgot that. I called him last week. He said he likes the Germans, but hates most of his grand kids. He likes me though. I told him he’s my favorite grandfather.
Mom: Your other grandfather isn’t alive.
Me: He doesn’t know that. Did you go to the gym today?
Mom: Danny I have a house to run. I don’t always have time to go to the gym.
Me: You say, ‘a house to run’ like it’s a car dealership. You dust the blinds and maybe mop the kitchen. If you’re that busy why don’t you just do kegels?
Mom: Excuse me?
Me: Kegels. They’re like sit ups for you vagina.
Mom: I know what a kegel is.
Me: Then why don’t you do them? You can do them in the car or in the super market while you buy potatoes.
Mom: Why?
Me: Why what?
Mom: Why didn’t I put you up for adoption?
Me: I wish you did. I’d be living at Angelina Jolie’s house right now eating lobster and taping Brad Pitt shower.
Mom: I’ll email you the recipe for the stuffing tonight.
Me: Cool. Mom?
Mom: So help me if you say something inappropriate and hang up the phone.
Me: I just wanted to say that thanksgiving is my favorite holiday and I really wish you were here.
Mom: Danny that was really–
Me: But it’s probably better you’re not, because I’m going to be popping like 100 bottles and drinking champagne off of my bitches belly buttons.
Mom: I doubt that will be happening. Goodbye.
Me: I love you.
Mom: I love you too.