Oh My Goddard

Oh My Goddard

Hi my name is Dick, I'm a Mecha-Meterologist, Hero to Canines, Cyborg Love Machine, Warrior Poet, Libra, Decorated War Vet, Singer/Songwriter, Statatician for the Cleveland Browns and All Around Bad Ass Mutha.

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Location: Cleveland, Ohio, United States

ask anybody

Wednesday, March 01, 2006

It's my "birthday" , don't be a Dick.


Yeah, those cheese eating, talking heads over at Fox 8 think I'm just 75 today but, whatever. I've kicked it with Kenny, that fat, no talent, ass janitor. Flaming Christ in hell, I've kicked it with George Washington and he was a wooden-toothed, flea wigged, prick.
I tried to talk him into the wonders of being an awesome cyborg, like me. He'd be here to blog about his cherry tree if he wasn't such a picklewipe... if you had termites trying to do your dental work you would probably act like an asshole, too. So, I took the day off, it's my goddard damn birthday. I'm going to do the things I enjoy today. Even if those asshats over at Fox 8 are royally fucking up without me today, Fuck em' Uncle Dick's gonna party. What a bunch of low rent hacks.

I'll start with a nice breakfast at Max's Deli (they always fix me a nice breakfast of lug nuts, waffles and WD40), following that I'm off to the QuickLube for some 10W40 and maybe a new air filter, if I'm in the mood. Then I might sharpen my cyborg sensors by sticking my tongue in an electrical socket when no one is looking. The rest of the day is whatever Dick wants. And what dick wants Dick gets. Ask your mom, hell ask your greatgrandmother - I probably banged her, her nanny and the retarded girl who brought them water from the well.

Somebody remind Mikey Stanley
to give me a call, we need to expand the earthly limits of what is drinkable and or acceptable tonight, he's such a short little wannabe rockstar-prick, anyway. Hopefully me and the Stanz will end up at the Lido Lounge, to see some low rent talent. Stanz usually talks one or two of them into our cab. If we don't I'll post the picture of him making out with the fat chick from Heart.
I don't let just everyone know my true age, 150, yeah 150, go ahead say some shit about that to my face and my robotic hands will rip out your preppy, faggot windpipe (or for the educated amongst you esophagus). I've been there and back, son. On my 70th birthday Robin Swaboda jumped out of a cake.
I thought that was going to be some hot shit, but she kept her clothes on, it was just a big cock tease though and the hydrolic servos in my pants soon settled down after enough booze. Thank goddard, I heard robin had some weird nipples and that shit freaks me out.
Finally after years of sexual harassment and offers of diamond bracelets and threats to her personal safety, Wilma Smith promised me a piece on my 75th and hell or high water I'm taking her up on that tonight.
She's been promising for years, she's always been a cock tease. If it works out I'll make her my cyber bride and I'm probably going to rest my dick on that dimple in her chin. Oh, Wilma. Oh, Wilma. I can't wait to jump into her cake.

Whatever, listen up my litttle woollybears. Here's some advice from your Uncle Dick: just go ahead and live today, tomorrow and the next like it was your goddard damned birthday. Have some fun, because when you turn 150 or (75) those are the only times you'll remember. 001001010101010110

Friday, January 13, 2006

Haven't been getting enough Dick lately?


Well here I am, my little woolybears. Uncle Dick is back. I overheard some women in the the grocery store saying that she hasn't had enough Dick lately and I think that has something to do with this weblog. I also told her to just watch Fox 8 news and put her hand down her pants when the weather report comes on.
Kids, most times your uncle dick is cooler than the other side of the pillow. But, I just spent a bunch of time laid up in front of the tube. Long story short, I went to the Jiffy Lube (some people go to Starbucks - I go to the Lube...) for a little snack like I do everyday and asked the mongrel ape child working there for my usual synthetic blend, a 15w-40 no cream hold the sugar - Uncle Dickie's sweet enough. The dumb son of a whore switched it up and served me power steering fluid. I didn't injest that much but just enough to throw this Dick out of wack. I spit most of it in his mongrel face. He apologized and tried to offer me a free air filter. So, I asked for his name and accessed my data bases - wiped out all his family's bank accounts and registered him with the county as a sex offender. Not so short I guess but my circuits are a little fried. anyway to get to my point, watching so much television as I have lately I realized that hollywood owes me some money.
Those bastards have been ripping your Old Unckle Dick right the fuck off. For instance, Terminator. That movie is based on a drug induced rampage I went on back in the 60's. Short Circuit, is basically the biography of the love child I had when I got wasted one night and made love to an ATM machine. But by far the most blatent rip off has to be the movie Westwood.
Those fuckers didn't even have to write that movie. It seems like some one stole the transcripts from my court trial in Orlando. So what if Unckle Dickkie went a litttle crazy at Disney World. So some people got killed. You don't have to make a damn movie about it. I probably shouldn't have sworn off television when Sanford and Son went off the air, I would have known about this shit sooner. Christ, Yule Brenner? That bald jerk isn't qualified to shave my nuts. Fuck that guy. Well, my lawyer's on that shit. And when Dickkie gets paid he's going straight to hollywood to make a real movie - There's A High Pressure System In My Pants, The True Life Story of Dickkie G.

Wednesday, December 21, 2005

Please Santa... Don't be a Dick

Parum pa pum pum...
So here we are, another goddardamn christmas. Whatever, this is like my 157th. Christmas has changed alot but so have I. I should be worm food but I aquired awesome mutant powers when I witnessed the explosion of the first hydrogen bomb (http://164.109.57.227/dynamic/images/stories/personalities/dick_goddard.html). The government turned me into their own little cyber science project, Project G.
Back when I was young, little wooden horses on wheels used to be the shit. One of my favorite gifts as a child back in 1860, was cup with a ball on a string, hours of fun for my pre-cyborg brain. People were stupid back then. Anyway, I guess i'm just just trying to come up with a segway into posting my Christmas wish list.

1. A piece of Wilma Smith's sweet, sweet ass (I've been jonesin' for some of that action since the mid 1970's, come on Santa!).
2. A big assed karyoke machine.
3. A diamond and platnum grill for my teeth so I can look tough as those scary black guys.
4. Some new porn.
5. Some of those spinny wheel thingies for my ride.
6. A giant box full of tasty D Cell batteries.
7. George Bush's giant balls.
8. A Tyco Supercross race set with glow in the dark track.
9. The blood of seven babies.
10. Some new slutty interns at work for me to moles... I mean mentor.


Thanks, Santa for answering last year's christmas wish #4, banging Paula Abdul.

Monday, December 12, 2005

Some Serious Dick

Welcome back to my little corner of the interwebs, Dickaroos! Your old Uncle Dick has to get some things off his chest this week and I'm not talking about these jumper cables pumping tasty life giving kilowatts though my nipples right now, my little woolybears, dual freakin' dopplers.
I'm talking about being a cyborg, you know-half man, half machine and 100% awesome force of destruction and female satisfaction. I'm talking about immortality. It's not all it's cracked up to be. I've already watched everyone I grew up with die, sure i'll admit that some were by my hands. Hell, the statute of limitations has saved my ass more times than hemorriodal surgeries (thank god my diet now consists mostly of alternate current, petrolium derivitives and D batteries - everything comes out like butter that jesus himself would like to spread on the holy toast). I've been though 13 wives, 36 dogs, 27 cats, 59 motorized vehicles, 5 horse and buggies and 2 steamboats. Ah, it seems just like yesterday that a big ol' lump of coal used to be a good enough fix for a young spry Dickie G., how times change... 00101001010011110
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Oh yeah. Another thing that really chaps my ass - the little glucous burning shitheads who always bitch about the weather. I know who you are. "Boy sure's a hot one today!", "It sure is a tid - bit - nipply out", and "Some weather we're havin', huh?". No shit it's some weather we're havin', Marvin. I FUCKIN' control it! I'm DICK FUCKIN' GODDARD! If I wasn't making minute ajustments to my cyber weather controling apparati every other nanosecond, northeast would be in complete choas. How 'bout Uncle Dickie sends some frogs raining down on your parade? That wouldn't be very pleasent now would it? Stupid humans.
Oh, you know I'm not talking about you loyal fans. I'm talking about the little hippie bastards who come up to me and say shit like:

"Goin' golfin' this Saturday, Dick. Make shure it doesn't rain on me an th' boys, hardy har!"

Fuck you, you hippy assed golfer. How about some hail? How 'bout I hail rotting dead babies on your hippie wife's fat hippe head? How about I make it rain rusty scisssors all over you and your hippy assed golfer drum circle? Maybe I'll send a tsunami over british coumbia so you have to smoke shitty weed for the next year and a half?

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Wow, that was refreshing. I think I just blew out Rocky River's power grid.

I guess all we are saying, is give peace a chance.



Good night, Mr. Lennon, my sweet prince.

Saturday, December 03, 2005

Attention: "The Bricks"

Prepare to get hit.
Uncle Dickkie's going south for a few days, bitches. Don't worry though, I left the snow machine on full blast. Just for you.

Saturday, November 26, 2005

20% Chance of Blah


Hey my little clouds! Hope your holiday was better than mine, there's a thunderstorm in my head today. I was ready to load up the old shotgun turkey night, when Mikey Stanley gave me a ring and asked me to go boozin' with him again. I don't know why he doesn't just come over. We've been getting faced every night for the last three weeks. His wife is probably banging some guy in his band again. It started out like any other night, but since it was a holiday and all Mikey chipped in for the good stuff it had red hairs on it and it smelled like a pine tree. My circuits were fried. So I woke up face down in the snow in my backyard. The artificial skin on my face was fused to a garden hose. It's a good thing I always keep a spare face around. I was stuck to the ground for nearly 45 minutes. Have you ever tried to free your cyborg head from the frozen ground with a bic lighter? I smelled like hotdogs. Anyway I had a bit of time out there to think about junk and I wrote this little poem called "Super Christopher":



when stop to look at snow covered leaves
i can't help but to think about christopher reeves
and when he could no longer run
that would really be noooooo fun
the man of steel was really fucking cool
suddenly he became the man of drool
and then i think about how america
used to be like superman
and now
its more
like
christopher reeeves.


A special RIP and big ups to the notorious P. A. T. Morita.

wax off, man.

Thursday, November 24, 2005

Thanks NOT Giving Eve 1101000101010!


So me and my pal, Micheal Stanley, went out tonight to our favorite watering hole, to tie one on tonight. he said he wanted to get "Crunk", I think that's black people talk for getting high and drunk, no problem. I have altered my alcohol receptors to be almost as sensitive to booze and chronic as WD-40 or petrolium. So I knew i would have a good time. We totally forgot how crazy the bars get around here when all the goddard damned, college kids come home. Stanz reminded me that it was "Amatuer Night" but I thought that meant that his band was playing at the bar. Jimminy Christmass there sure was alot of talent out there, but it didn't make up for all the amount of sausage that we had to deal with. Half these kids couldn't even grow a manly beard goddard damn it, I doubt they even had hair in their pants. We were packed like sardines and could barely get to the bar to get a goddard damned drink.

I wrote a song about it. Micheal Stanley and I recorded it in his attic over a bottle jagermeister before we got yelled at by his wife and passed out. it's called " Hot Chicks Who Will Never Do Me":

this town was our town
hoes up g's down
little bitches with the big titty
knowin' me and Stanz run this city

chick fat rollin' over the belt
doesn't even beg to be felt
little manboy posers-bad hair cut
leave so i can touch-your girlfrind's butt

the weather is bad
don't try me Chad
i'm not your wimpy little dad
if you girl saw my junk she would be sad (for you)

for you ou-ou-ohhhhhu-for you

cyber c*ck all night long
pnematic, long and cyber strong
you're worring about your little dong
but you're the reason for this song

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Dickkie G.

Wednesday, November 23, 2005

There's A High Pressure System in My Pants


I love Abraham Lincoln. Here's a little known fact. President Lincoln was our country's first cyborg! He was powered by coal and a small steam engine ran all his processors. I may not have a time machine, but I just purchased the bones of John Wilkes Booth. I going to take a steamy one on them when they get delivered.

In Goddard We Trust.

Where's That Dick Been?

Hello my little Woollybears and Woolybearettes. Uncle Dick finally entered the blogosphere. Actually I've been here all along. I created it one day just by thinking about it. That's one of the great things about being a cyborg, you don't even have to type. My left nipple is a firewire2 port and my right nipple is goddard damned sexy.
If your not familar with old Uncle Dick then you either live in a cave in some backtarded middle eastern country or maybe you have been hooked up to some kind of life support machine for most of your sad life. If that's the case you should look into cybergenetics but you'll still never be as awesome as me. Pass me the WD-40, ladies. Well, where was I? 001010001000100010110100101010100010101010101010100100110110100010010. Sorry about that I get all mixed up sometimes, I can communicate in over 6,000,000 languages and little power surges trip me up while I'm recharging. Ohio Edison you are one tasty, sexy little devil. Oh yeah I'm Dick Goddard and I control most of northeast ohio and several small countries in Asia. I run this Goddard damn town and if you can't except that, you will be eliminated. Using just a small part of my advanced mind I could fry you like a piece of bacon - right through your second-rate keyboard. A chilling thought ain't it. Sorry, there goes my crazy appetite for world domination again. I was just kidding... or was I? 00101000. Ok, let's be friends. Old Unckle Dickkie wouldn't hurt a fly (legal bot.V1.5.2 made me say that).
I've been very busy lately. but I took some time away from controling global weather patterns this past summer and put some serious studio hours in with my old pal, Michael Stanley. The album won't be out until after the holidays but it is pure balls to the walls rock and goddard damned roll. I'm going to call him today and tell him that's what we're naming the album. And just because I don't hate you here's a little ballard I wrote that starts out one of the heaviest songs on the albumits called "Enemy Mine":

he felt it shake
he saw it crack
i owe my life
to utah jack

my blistered hands
my broken back
coughing up
that evil black

walk the line
walk the line
i’m living on
borrowed time

how can i stay
no sun today
my brand new pick
cost a’half week pay

the company store
the company store
every week’s
a nickel more

walk the line
walk the line
i’m living on
borrowed time

a baby boy
my pretty wife
they get me through
this dirty life

00101000101 010101010,
The Big G