So I was in the waiting room of a doctor’s office this morning tapping my toes and browsing their selection of reading material while I attempted to pick out the best two magazines. I had my choice rounded down to the June 04′ issue Home & Garden and the Tiger Beat issue devoted solely to Twilight, when I caught a glimpse of this issue of Parents magazine… something told me it was going to be a little more raunchy than usual. Something also told me the genius who designed the layout of this issue no longer works for the company.

Penis,
Daniel Dickey

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

The small smokey room smelt of burnt skin and baby oil. It’s dated wallpaper was peeling, revealing thick green fungus and large crayon drawings of animal dicks. The dirty wooden stool uncomfortably pressed into my tailbone as I sat at the long bar. This was my first time in Kansas and I was quickly realizing why. The bartender, a large viking like woman, had just challenged me to an arm wrestling match. I said no thank you, as I ordered my third Apple Cider on the rocks. To my request she punched the table, spat in my cup and filled it with cheap vodka. “Thank you”, I said as she took all of the cash in my wallet. There was a silent pause as I sipped my Vodka from a straw. Broke and a little scared I said to myself, “Maybe I should leave?” But my mental thoughts were quickly cut short as I heard a deep moaning whisper in my ear “Don’t you move a muscle, you little sunflower”. Huh?

He was dressed in a pastel pink woman’s dance leotard that hugged his manly hips and flared out on his hairy forearms. It hardly covered his sagging body and was just tight enough to see his erect penis aiming at his outtie belly button. His crud covered Converses reeked of mildew, foot sweat, and syrup; and his long, shaggy, almost dread locked hair smelt as bad as it looked. When I tried to ask him why he was whispering in my ear, he put his sticky index finger over my mouth and told the bartender to get me a warm tomato juice and a rape kit. Who was this Kansas cross dresser? Why did he call me sunflower? Why did he just stick his other hand inside his leotard, and begin stroking his very erect sex organ?

Turns out this transgender was once a political science major at Harvard, but got into methanphedimines during his senior year and dropped out of school to build meth lab’s in the Mid West. Thirty years later, most of his teeth are gone or severely rotting, he wears woman’s clothes, and has a rubber ear and nose do to a large meth lab explosion. “So, um, why exactly are you jerking off right now?” “What do you mean jerking off? I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about?” He placed his other hand on my inner thigh, “Why are you touching my thigh?” “What? I’m not touching your thigh”. He began rubbing my ear lobe, as sweat began to emerge on his forehead. “Guy, listen, please stop touching me”. His beady black eyes began to roll back in his head as I sensed he might be coming to a climax. Like a hungry Vampire he dove at me from his bar stool. Unprepared I flew back, hitting the floor hard, as he laid on top of me humping and rubbing his wiener against my body.”Ahhhh”, I yelped like a girl. His weight was to much; I couldn’t move him. I remembered the rape kit he ordered me and reached for it as he stuck his tongue in my ear. With my ear filled with his saliva I pulled out a bull horn, closed my eyes, and pushed the button right next to his ear…it was the wrong ear, it was his deaf ear. Quickly I switched hands and pushed the button again…this time he jumped up yelling, “My good ear! My fucking good ear! It exploded! Ahhh!” This gave me a second to plan my get away. I zipped up my pants and began crawling towards the door. “Oh no your not”, he screamed as he jumped on my back and began riding me like a horse. In a southern draw I heard “Giddy up little pony. Giddy up little pony. The cowboy wants to fuck you in the barn”. I would not be fucked in a barn like all my friends, I would break free for his rains. “Yeennhhh (A wild horse noise)”. I jumped back on my hein legs, but he held on tight, still rubbing his exposed cock and balls against my bare back. I told him I had herpes, but he didn’t stop. He held my head to the ground and tried biting off my lips. His moaning got louder. His body convulsed more than ever. He had stuck all the toes on my left foot in his mouth. Finally EXPLOSTION.

He had came to climax inside one of my shoes. I was bruised, but I was alive. Within minutes he reapproached me with a large apple cider in hand. “Hey sorry about that, that whole thing that just happened. I just get these animal like urges and I can get a little out of hand”. Awstuck I said, “You just tried raping me on the floor of a bar”. “Yeah, I know, right. It was so weird how it happened. But listen I have got a afterschool baseball program to get to at the local elementary school…I’m a coach, but…if you ever in town give me a ring”. “What?” “Yeah great. See your around”.

He left the same way he came in, through the womans bathroom. That was the last time I’d see him…or so I hoped.