Living in a Post-Apocalyptic World

by Andrew Dice Clay

January 29th, 2013

Hickory dickory dock. I survived the apocalypse today, suck my cock.

I didn’t know anything was coming. I don’t have time for this sort of thing, Newsweek or whatever you call it. I was just walking home, you know, taking care of some things. Next thing I know, this guy at the deli is telling me he’s seen some shit. Man, we all seen some shit, you know? I don’t think much about it.

Then, swear to God, it’s an hour later, I’m on the phone with my manager and the line cuts. Cheap ass landlord, that’s what I’m thinking, right? But I go banging on his door, a little pissed, right, but ain’t no answer. Fuckin’ A.

Head outside, figuring, well, I’ll go grab a drink, I don’t know. Kill some time, I guess. I ain’t got nobody waiting for me tonight. Turns out, bar’s closed too. Now I’m like, well, what is this shit? So, I grab this chick on the street. She’s all running and upset, there’s a couple dogs following her, I don’t ask questions, I just grab her, okay?

I say, “lady, can you tell me what’s going on? Seems like some shit.”

And she looks at me, you know, with these big ass eyes, man, and she’s crying and shit, and she tells me to get the hell out of New York.

I say, “what are you, my mother?” Whatever, right? She keeps going. And those fucking dogs. She’s got how many fucking dogs following her, I don’t know.

Anyway, I figure, well, I’ll hear about this tomorrow, I’m sure. Big scary apocalypse, I’m sure.

January 30th, 2013

[Irrelevant text about fucking some broad’s tits has been removed]

Nothing in the newspapers today about whatever was going on yesterday. That’s what I say, man. Newspapers, who needs ‘em. Ask anyone. I say that all the time.

To me, fuckin’ newspapers look the same everyday anyway.

February 1st, 2013

Checked with my landlord about the rent today. Still no response, the rat bastard.

Well, you know, the Dice Man’s an honest citizen. So I try to check with my neighbor Gerald down the hall, see if the old man has paid his rent yet. I can hear him in his apartment, and I’m pounding on his door for a couple a’minutes before there’s any response.

“Gerry,” I say. “What the hell are ya doin’ in there? Playing with yourself?” He knows I’m a comedian, and he’s old an’ broke, so I give him a taste of my act sometimes, what can I say.

But he don’t say much. He just stands there, moaning, shuffling toward me.

Whatever, Ger, I say. I slam the door on ‘em.

February 3rd, 2013

Well, I’ll never forget it.

I’m on my way back from Caroline’s, where I did about ten minutes of new material. I’ve had better nights. Seems like that place can’t get it together. That audience, to coin a term, sucked a fat prick. Lights don’t work. Manager isn’t in. Audience isn’t laughing. I’m giving ‘em round and round of my best stuff, nothing. Not a single response.

So anyway, I’m on my way back, in my own world, you know? But I see out of the corner of my eye, right in the middle of an intersection about a block away from where I’m standing, looks like a fuckin’ sunrise or something. Mind you, it’s one in the goddamn morning.

I’m pretty adventurous, you know, I head on over. This car is tipped over and just completely on fire!

Now, normally, I’m not the kinda guy to interfere with someone else’s business. I let that shit be. But, look, if this was my car, right, I’d want someone to fucking maybe do something, you know? Especially if shit ain’t gettin’ done in the first place, which frankly, it was not.

So I’m looking around, like, what the fuck, right? And this guy, this fuckin’ guy, he bum-rushes me, starts gnawing on my arm! I’m like, what do I look like, a Subway to you? I push the Jared away, you know? I even said that at the time, I called him a Jared from Subway, I did, ‘course this guy, he’s fuckin’ deaf, I don’t know, he doesn’t get it.

This fuckin’ guy, though, looks just like all these other guys around him. And I ain’t saying this as a racial thing, you know, I call it like I see it. These guys are different, fucking pale ass gray skin, pimples all over, I don’t know. Look like shit, is what I’m saying.

Now I look at these guys, and I say to them, and I’m real clear, “you fuckin’ guys better scram, or I’mma kick all your asses.”

But it’s like I said. These guys, fuckin’ deaf and dumb. They don’t listen. They circle around me, right, like, I don’t know, like I’m the last Pac-Man game on the block, I don’t know.

So I say again, “fuck off.” Again, nothing.

Well, look, I don’t know what’s what, I don’t know, but I’ll be honest with you, I don’t need to get jumped tonight.

So I give ‘em the bird and get out of there.

What do I care. I go home, I’ve got a great meal ahead, some canned beans waiting for me.

February 11th, 2013

No more canned beans. Went to the store, stepped over miles of broken glass to get in there. Bone dry. Everything’s torn apart in there. Fuckin’ New York sometimes, man. Going straight to hell.

Fuck it, man. I could lose a few pounds anyway.

February 28th, 2013

Hickory dickory dock, I killed a man today. Suck my cock.

I’m walking down the street, just doin’ what I do, you know? Trying to survive. I’m just a schmoe like any other.

Well, look, I saw the rat first. I saw it and I was chasing it.

This other guy, he ain’t got no manners. He’s got a cape on, he’s wearing some crown, he’s screaming I don’t know what. I don’t care.

I say, “you know who I am?”

He says he ain’t never heard of me. He asks if I’ve ever heard of him.

I say, “fuck no!”

So there we are, both chasing this rat around Times Square. Yeah, I’ve been living in Times Square lately. It ain’t so bad, man.

But we’re jumping over cars and shit, you know, just trying to see if we can get this little thing, check it for too many diseases, and devour it, right? Well, finally, we corner the little thing and it’s just me and the guy then.

Look, man, I’m a classy guy. I don’t need to tell you what happened. But I’m writing this wearing a cape with a full belly.

March 5th, 2013

Hickor

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