Oh My Goddard: March 2006

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, 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