Wednesday, July 13, 2011


Takes one to know one, right? I’m not looking to turn in my “Nice Guy” Card quite yet, but every time I leave my shell, my inner dickiness rises to the surface.

Warning: You can’t convert a dick to a nice person by using kindness, no matter what the Hay House authors say. You can only ignore the dick and hope it goes away. If you can’t resist the urge to call a dick a dick, you’ll probably cause dick enlargement.

Dicks have pride and no conscience.

If your neighbors are noisy, nosy, or naked (depending), they are annoying dicks. If they park unsightly vehicles near your property, it’s a dick move. If there are toys, empty beer cans, or horseshoe pits in the front lawn, they are hayseed dicks. If they have flags or banners of ethnicities, sports teams, or favorite racecar drivers, they’re probably toothless dicks.

Your boyfriend can be a dick (with a dick, technically). If he ignores your call because he’s chatting up a cute bartender, it’s dick-y. If he leaves the toilet seat up, a yellow-spotted rim, and two sheets on the toilet paper roll, he’s an uncivilized dick. If he shows up to dinner empty-handed or with Charles Shaw wine in a bag, he’s about to return home a hungry dick. If he has four orgasms for every one of yours, he’s a selfish dick about to have competition.

Women can be dicks too. Oh, yes they can. If she flirts with me to get something from me that doesn’t include a good, deep dicking, she’s a dick-tease. If she comments on my wardrobe, hair, or wine selection, she’s a pretentious dick. If she checks my phone, scans my Facebook wall for women she doesn’t know, or rifles through my pockets, sheets, or waste cans, she’s a paranoid dick.

Servers can be dicks. A combined check, when it’s obvious I’m not on a fucking date, is lazy and dick-y. In return, I’ll show my dick by leaving a ten percent tip. If the bartender fills my drink to the top, forcing me to bend and sip it like a sissy or pick it up and drip it onto my crotch, that’s a dick move. If my plate is cleared before my date is done eating, the dick is rushing me. If the bartender pretends to be precise by using a stainless two-sided shot measuring cup, I’m not as impressed as the bar manager at the dick’s stinginess.

Coworkers can be dicks. If they fart, snort, or eat smelly food, it’s a dick move. If he disregards the courtesy flush rule, he’s an insensitive dick. If she remarks about the length of a coworker’s skirt, she’s a big, fat dick with cankles and bad skin. If they decorate their cubicles with crayon drawings from their little dicks, they’re tasteless dicks.

Drivers are typically dicks, especially the ones with stick figures, sandals, or other rear window decals. If he’s blowing Marlboro smoke rearward, he’s a smelly dick. If she’s dumping the rest of her coffee curbside, she’s a sloppy dick. If their little dicks are making faces at me through the rear window, they are parental dicks who should have been neutered.

Who’s the dick now?

1 comment:

  1. Thanks for making me laugh out loud, while agreeing with you 100 percent. As Wil Wheaton's tag line on his blog says, "Don't be a dick!"

    Here's a link, in case you're not already a follower of his:

    I've recently started your book series and wanted to tell you how much I like your "voice". Book one reads like it was written by a friend, just one I haven't met, ya know? Yeah, you know.