Oh My Goddard: December 2005

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

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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 ( 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
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?


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.