The large room smelt of peanut butter and tequila. I was drunk, but also very hungry for the butter made from peanuts(not to be confused with the butter made from penis…I did not want that). Our clothes were scattered across the floor…except for my socks, I stapled those to her wall(I’m tired of losing my socks at girl’s places and in my drunk undressing, stapling them to the wall seemed like a genius idea). I met her at a bar on 50th street. She was throwing up outside. I called her beautiful and asked if she’s ever been to Italy. She smiled, threw up again, and asked if I wanted to go back to her place. I started unbuttoning my shirt.

Her goose down comforter was torn and goose features flew around the room as I fucked this little Asian’s vag out. She kept insisting on only having sex missionary style so she could see my eyes (weirdo). I told her her breath smelt like battery acid and spider shit and to turn around. She did and I continued my drunk attempt to look like the porn stars I watch on an hourly basis on my iPhone. I will say, I was doing a great job…so good in fact, that I started to get a little sea sick. Did she have a water bed? Wait, we were on her kitchen table. I wanted to distract myself from my nausea so I did what most people would do and started pulling her hair. At first she jerked her head forward and yelped like a small dog, but I held tight and kept her in my reins. I began pulling tighter and with every tug I could tell she was starting to enjoy it a little more. I figured if she liked that, maybe she might like ‘other things’.

That’s when I started talking dirty to her, real dirty. “oh you likey me?” and “me makey your kitty kat purr so nice ” she replied, “why are you talking like that? I’ve already told you twice I’m from San Francisco, I’m not Asian, I’m white”. She was lying. Her eyes were way too small and chinky, but maybe, just maybe she was looking for a little roll playing? “oh you bad bad girl, you get big spanky from daddy…your Irish daddy(said in a terrible Irish accent)” Why not? She replied with, “well, tell me I look as pretty as Susan Sarandon”. What did she just say? Did she really just tell me to tell her she looks as pretty as Susan Sarandon? This bitch was fucking insane…who thinks Susan Sarandon is pretty? She played the mom with cancer in Step Mom. BUT once I’m humping around I do what has to be said or done to get the job done right. “Yeah, yeah you look just like Susan Sarandon. You guys have the same…toes” She screamed in delight. “When I first met you I thought you were Susan Sarandon. I was just coming up to ask for your autograph”. With her eyes closed in pleasure, she scream, “Oh my God, I’m going to cum. Don’t stop. Don’t stop”. I didn’t know much about Susan Sarandon and was sorta running out of things to say. “And you know who else you look like…that actress…um”. Her little Asian eyes got larger as she yelled, “Who, Who? Tell me who I look like?” “You know that one from that movie…she’s soooo pretty”. “Tell me! Tell me! I’m going to cum”. “Um, that real pretty one, um…Morgan Freeman?” There was a long, very silent pause with no movement. Then she turned, looked me dead in the eyes, “I just came all over the table cloth”.

I hadn’t cum at that point, but opted out of a blowjob and just got dressed. She asked where I was going…I told her I thought she was the real Susan Sarandon and felt really betrayed. Though disappointed to see me go, she understood and said, “I understand”. Within 10 minutes I was back at the bar ordering a Blueberry Stoli and Ginger Ale with my friends. When questioned where I was for the last half hour I told them I was drunk texting my dad outside. They were all hammered and didn’t bother nor care to question the authenticity of my story…until I sat down and my pants rode up over my ankles. A friend of mine took notice, “Dude why the hell aren’t you wearing any socks?”. Fuck.

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

What is a roommate? Someone who eats your last pop tart when you’re at work? Someone to flirt with your girlfriend when you’re in the shower and she’s a little drunk and maybe flirting back? Someone to use your computer to look at underage porn, that way the FBI will track it back to me and ruin my chances at running for President? Someone that enjoys watching the dishes pile higher and higher? Someone that I swear uses my shampoo, but can’t prove it because the bathroom door is closed, but I have put a camera in the bathroom, just next time I will aim it at their head? All questions with many answers…but who has them?

I have always had roommates growing up. Their names were sister one, sister two, Mom and Dad. They were alright. Mom always cooked. Dad always drove me places. Sister one let me hit her in the head with an encyclopedia once to see if it would knock her out. Sister two still makes a big deal about the time I tied her up, put a sock in her mouth, put her in a box, and told her I was shipping her far far away. But overall they weren’t that bad. My new roommates are quite different. Let me explain…

Do to the fact I must stare into their beady black eyes every morning I will not bash them with the intensity that I do when I secretly curse them out in my head.

One leaves the toilet seat up. One leaves it down. Another pees in the sink. She blames it on religious beliefs. I think she is a liar, and most of the time make sure to brush my teeth before she uses the bathroom.

One eats my food without asking. One eats my food after asking. Another tried licking my ears when I was sleeping. He too blamed this on religious beliefs. I not sure if I believed it this time.

One won’t take out the trash. One takes it out too frequently. Another has been caught several times going through my trash and eating it. He blamed this on a personal fetish and slight psychological disorder. I did believe that.

One likes to sleep in the nude. One likes to sleep in my bed. Another likes to sleep with my girlfriend. She has woken up on many occasions and found him spooning her lower body. He said he sleep walks. Why hasn’t her walked anywhere else?

One plays the music too loud. One plays the music to low. Another still tries to play the recorder from fifth grade. It sounds like a feminine Dolphin trying to squeeze out a wicked fart. He said women digg guys that know how to play an instrument. I say you are ruining my life.

One hasn’t cleaned since she moved in. One is obsessive compulsive and cleans everyday. Another has been sniffing all of the cleaning products and started a small fire in the living room. I don’t think she speaks English.

One never takes showers. One takes too many showers. One takes very weird pictures of himself showering and puts them in the meat drawer of our refrigerator. When I ask him why he does this, he just smiles and begins licking his fingers.

Roommates? These are mine.

Can you guess which ones do what?

Daniel Dickey

To a girl I once knew…

Close your eyes, put down that steak manwich you were just eating, and get ready for the second biggest boner of your life (the biggest boner will come later…much much later). Let me fondle your fallopian tubes with a story so sexy even I can’t read it till all the witches and goblins have fallen deep deep asleep. A story so spicy, even the darkest Indian can’t drink it down without a glasses of bears milk. A story so erotic that the words all get off as you read them (If your into reach arounds…try reading this backwards).

Imagine soft, almost baby like skin, long long dazzling hair that fly’s and flops as it dances through the wind. Picture big brown, almost puppied, eyes illuminated by the hint of liquid eyeliner painted on its lidz. SOFT tender lips that moisten with each nibble. Tight jeans that ripple up the backside to show each and every God made piece of perfection hidden inside.

Now look in those big eyes, watch them tell you what you have been waiting to hear…”yes” (the lips whisper). Pull them close against your semi erect cock. The hair feels so soft to the touch as you yank against it, shoving your cock deeper and deeper into those lips. Looking down you see the hint of a crack peeking through those jeans. The skin tight t-shirt can no longer hold back the naughty nipples looking for a party…they want to dance. You know when you pull out and cum all over their face you will try your best not to explode on the eye liner that’s dark beauty stretches to extenuate those eyes.

Here’s the twist…You have just gotten your dick sucked by one of the Jonas Brothers…you are gross. (And no not because male on male is disgusting…but because someone else reading this was getting off…And someone else was reading this till they ran out of toilet paper, and they shit all over this. And that is three boys, a Jonas Brother, no cup, and a bunch of shit. And know that is just a gross waste of time if know one is taping.

Dancing,

Daniel Dickey