The Dickstein Chronicles
If you read my last issue, then John Dickstein needs no introduction. If you are new to NegCap, let me give you a little background. When I was in college, I was friends with a group of guys from Brooklyn who had known each other since middle school. I am still friends with all of them, but Dickstein has been disowned by everyone else for his scary and dangerous behavior. For a while in the 90s, he was really convinced that he was the second coming of Jesus before he went really crazy and embarked on a cross-country journey of hitchhiking, drugs, shitty jobs and fat chicks. He e-mails me regularly, and I have always felt that he had some storytelling talent but was too fucked up to accomplish anything.
Instead of letting his insane, obnoxious, racist ramblings dissolve into the ether, I chronicle them in the pages of this zine. I have asked him many times to sit down and write something coherent, but that’s like asking a chicken to ride a unicycle: It’s just outside of his abilities.
Until very recently, I was still talking to John Dickstein and the issue is pretty simple. He is a crazy asshole with a metaphorical flamethrower, and I tolerated him as long as he pointed his weapon away from me. When he started pointing it at me, I decided that I had enough. He started posting to online message boards that I was the head of NAMBLA, when everyone knows that John Lewis Dickstein has always been the head of NAMBLA (enjoy googling that, pal). He also posted that I was a convicted criminal and that in college I had once slept with a girl who was a little less than attractive. He didn’t tell me about these postings; they started coming up regularly when I was googling myself in the shower. I don’t mind if he wants to play games like that because I say worse shit about myself on my own site, but it would be pretty awful if a potential friend, client or movie date were to read these things about me, especially when they aren’t true. At the same time he disparages me and besmirches my reputation, John has spent the last twenty years fucking women with all manner of mental issues, from autism all the way up to full-on mental retardation. When you have no standards, it’s easy to find new sexual partners. I’ve been off the market since 1994, while John was spending many of his drunken nights playing piggly-wiggly with half-wits at a truck stop in Laramie, Wyoming.
He has given me written permission to print his letters and to edit them as I see fit. It’s not like his life story is going to stop a greasy spoon in Montana from hiring him as a line cook. John briefly had a cell phone that shoots crappy videos and he sent me a video every day for a few weeks, clogging up my inbox and generally irritating me because he usually shot in film-negative mode, so the colors were reversed and it was impossible to tell what was going on. I had just gotten a cell phone that could get e-mail, and there is nothing worse than paying by the byte to have your inbox clogged with bullshit. Believe me, if the content of the videos had been even halfway decent, I would’ve gladly posted them all to YouTube and then embedded them in this story, but as it worked out, everything he sent was just useless and annoying, not unlike the man himself.
Some of John’s old friends have found him through my web site and contacted me asking for his whereabouts. He briefly dated a girl that lives in Scotland and from what he said, it sounded like she actually cared about him. Of course, he fucked it all up like he always does. The upside is that he converted her into a fan of NegCap and I will take readers wherever I can find them. Whenever he would disappear for long periods of time, the Scottish Chick [hereafter referred to as SC] would contact me to ask if I had heard from him. She incorrectly assumed that I had any idea where John was. He just sent me e-mails from wherever he was, telling me what he was up to, and then would disappear again for months at a time. Eventually I told her that if she was hoping to have a long-term relationship with him that it was probably impossible. He had told me as much (as you’ll read) and she was grateful for my honesty.
My original request to John was for him to write about his experiences in love, since this was always intended to be my “nice” issue. We’ll have to see how well that bullshit construct holds up. Previous issues have usually been about 70 percent hate and anger, tempered by 30 percent sweetness and light. Hopefully that balance should be reversed this time. Here comes a good chunk of hate and anger, but it shouldn’t count against me because I didn’t write it. Before we get to John’s brief tale of love, I thought it would be nice to go back in time and revisit some of John’s older letters so my readers can see the devolution of John Lewis Dickstein. As always, I have corrected John’s horrible spelling and grammar as well as removing any material that might get either of us investigated by Homeland Security, but I am always very careful to maintain the internal consistency of what he is saying. In other words, I take his rambling bullshit and craft it into a coherent, linear narrative.
My wife and I moved from San Francisco to NY right after 9/11 and lived with my mom until we had saved up enough money to buy an apartment in Manhattan. I contacted John to see what he was up to, and the first e-mail is his reply. Also note that most of these e-mail addresses are dead, but dickstein [at] negcap.com will usually forward to him if I can keep up with him. Just because I am not talking to him doesn’t mean you can’t waste your time.
Our Love Was a Living Thing and I Killed It
Date: November 21, 2001 4:44:00 PM EST
To: josh [at] negcap.com
Subject: Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell [I didn’t get this reference until the next message, a few days later]
I’m back in Florida, doing a lot of TV watching and growing fat. After leaving Minneapolis, I hopped the Greyhound to Boulder, scored some good pot, went to Austin, smoked it, then came back here. I haven’t fucked since that chick I met on the Amtrak going to Seattle. It’s still boring as hell down here. I hope everything is going okay back in New York. I plan on sitting home and watching football for Thanksgiving.
I’ve seen enough of my family already. The hard-core traveling was interesting, but I’m not 25 anymore and probably shouldn’t be living like that. Please write soon.
From: genpop [at] aol.com [It took me two years before I figured out what his e-mail address meant, maybe it took you a few seconds. I’ll put it at the end of his letter so you can guess what genpop means for yourself.]
Date: December 1, 2001 8:08:17 PM EST
Subject: Blow the Man Down
This might seem shocking, but I’ve enlisted in the Navy. I cleaned my system out and luckily I’ve never had any legal issues. [At this point, I didn’t believe him at all. He is sometimes a liar and after 9/11 I couldn’t believe that any sane person would volunteer for the military knowing full well that we were going to attack someone but, again, John doesn’t conform to the rules of the sane, which is very convenient for him.] Believe it or not, it’s very hard to join the military [I believe that having a pulse and no criminal record is all you need, not much else.] The days of the judge telling people, “The service or jail” are long over. I’ll be going to Chicago in the middle of January for boot camp, then fourteen weeks of medical training. It’s a five-year commitment, but after looking back on the past five years, I haven’t really done much except fuck around. I’ve always wanted to travel beyond North America, I figure letting your tax dollars pay for it will work. [It almost seems like John is doing this because it somehow screws me, always mentioning my “tax dollars.” I prefer to think my tax dollars are only used for hemp subsidies, but that’s my issue.]
I’ll be a licensed nurse after training (Nurse Dickstein). The boot camp shouldn’t be that bad; I’m a good swimmer and it’s completely co-ed. I took some punk-ass job at the mall in the meantime, selling sporting goods. It’s amazing what they expect of you for $7 an hour.
I finished all of my military processing last week. They issued me a temporary military ID and I have Naval Reserve status. Because of my age and limited college experience, I get to go in at a higher rank. The pay is okay, about $1,400 a month to start, plus room, board, travel and medical covered, plus 30 days vacation per year, on top of the normal leave time. My family has been a lot nicer since I decided to join. My step-dad is an ex-Marine, so I guess he thinks it’s cool that he can tell his decrepit cronies that I’m in the military. They’ll probably try to brainwash me, mostly through repetition and sleep deprivation; but hey, after what I’ve been through, I wish them good luck. Anyway, I hope you’ve been successful in your job search [see “Karoshi: Book 2” on page 32]. The economy sucks balls down here and it’s probably not much better where you are. I e-mailed [Chris] Hoffman, but he’s probably too busy cleaning up the rubble that used to be his loft to write me back. Oh, well. I sometimes wonder what happened to John Tormey [another friend of ours from college who seemed destined for jail or a drug OD]. I searched for him on the web and the only thing that came up was some middle-aged character actor with the same name. He’s probably in prison.
Good luck with your new issue. If you’d like me to write anything for you I’d be happy to; I could use the practice. I’m not very self-motivated, so if you have a topic, or would like your readers to experience what’s in my head, let me know. Write soon.
HM/Seaman—John Lewis Dickstein—USN
GenPop: I thought it was about the Pop Generation, or people who were into Pop Art and sometimes things are so obvious that you can’t see them, no matter how hard you look. It actually refers to the GENeral POPulation in prison, but I have never been to prison, so it’s natural that this term would be outside my realm of experience. John is obsessed with HBO’s series Oz.
From: genpop [at] netscape.net
Date: December 22, 2001 5:07:24 PM EST
Subject: Heeby Christmas and a Happy Jew Year
I don’t know if you got my last e-mail—this account is new and I’m still working out the kinks. My neighbor threw a Christmas party last night. I got drunk as fuck and played some D-Cup songs on acoustic with some Filipino guys; we played Beatles songs, too. I was smart enough to leave before the coke arrived. Are you going to Times Square for New Years? [Uh, no, never!] It’s been about ten years since I’ve done that. I miss New York sometimes. I saw a great movie, actually two this week. First, Gangs of New York. I went to the noon show on a Friday so I could see it first in an empty theater. It was brutal and long, like my cock. Also, I saw a movie on cable with Harvey Keitel called Smoke. It was just real and made me homesick. Again, I hope you and the wife are doing well and write back if you get a chance. This e-mail is spam-free but you know my other ones, too. Have a happy New Year and tell Peter I said, “boo.”
At any moment, I was expecting to hear that the whole Navy thing was a bad joke, but it wasn’t.
From: genpop [at] aol.com
Date: January 7, 2002 7:44:52 PM EST
Subject: I had a dream, I was in the sea; it was salty.
I’m leaving [for the Navy] in a week. I’ll probably keep a journal of my boot camp experience. If you’d like, I can send you some excerpts as I go along. Most of the guys I’ve met are in their teens or early 20s. It should be quite a challenge for my rickety old ass, getting rousted out of bed at 5am. The past two months have been pretty uneventful. Lots of food and TV watching on the old people’s couch. I hope your new year went well.
Best of luck to your wife and Lopez. Write me if you get a chance. I check into the airport motel on Sunday.
I didn’t hear from him again for a while. I assumed that he would finish his training and immediately go to Iraq to be killed by a roadside bomb. Instead, more than six months later, I got this from him:
From: genpop [at] excite.com
Date: August 12, 2002 10:43:45 AM EDT
Subject: Stop Drinking at the Sperm Bank
I left the Navy after a month. [What? NO!] My old back couldn’t take it. I fell on my ass during training. I was busy staring at an 18-year-old’s ass instead of watching the icy ground. So basically, they fixed me, paid me and put me on a train back to Chicago. I ended up getting almost two grand of your tax dollars after the smoke cleared. I guess some of it was pain and suffering. Anyway, I ended up spending my first night of freedom in jail. I got drunk on Rush Street with a couple of other guys who were medically discharged. We ended up at Cabrini Green housing projects to buy drugs. The cops saw the dude handing me the shit. Next thing I know, four squads were surrounding us.
Luckily, I have no criminal record, so they let me out in the morning on a signature bond and gave me a court date for the following week. My lawyer cut a deal with the state to go to drug school on Saturdays for a month. I met a guy in jail who owned a loft near downtown. He let me stay there until my legal shit went away. I managed to find work cooking at a brewpub during the day. At night I rolled with the guy I was staying with, picking up stuff and cash, it was insane. [Is it just me, or do you suspect that there were a lot of blowjobs and felonies going on between John and his jail “benefactor”?] Finally, when I was free again, I got the fuck out of Illinois and headed out west on the Amtrak to Seattle, where I am now. Please write soon.
From: ozonhbo [at] aol.com
Date: October 12, 2002 7:13:00 PM EDT
Subject: My Right Nut and Other Astounding Tales
Sorry about my last letter. I tried using the spellcheck and it fucked the whole thing up. I’m back in Florida. I think I have a job with a sports information service. It pays well and will let me use my sports knowledge and laziness to my advantage. I ended up back here because of my nuts. No, really. I had a yeast infection, yeah, poetic justice. [John is referring to the fact that he used to make fun of a girl we knew who once got a yeast infection. He was merciless and incredibly cruel, so it is poetic justice that he was eventually sidelined with a yeast infection.] It ended up turning into cellulitis of the scrotum. I spent two weeks in the hospital and they cut me open and had to drain me. I thought I was going to lose my right nut but the urologist kept me whole. I couldn’t work for a month and I’m still healing so I had to come back home. I’ve been giving a lot of thought to writing a screenplay based on some of the shit that went on at Purchase back in the 80s. That nostalgic crap is really popular now. Maybe you and your Master’s degree can help. We can both get paid. I turned 35 back in August. I’ve shaved my head and cut off my goatee. I look like I’m 25. I also lost 20 pounds because of the infection. I’ll try to keep it off. My family wasn’t very happy about my return, but I was stuck and they understood.
How is everything going back in NY? How’s the mag [NegCap] going? Have you seen Peter or that rich fuck [Hoffman]? I wonder what would have happened if I finished boot camp. I would probably be pulling Marines out of trenches in Iraq [from the Navy?]. I guess I’ll never know. It’s 90 degrees here in the land of sun. I didn’t think I’d ever be back. Seattle is more my kind of town. The Greyhound trip took five days. It was packed with niggers, guys right out of prison, and single welfare moms thinking the grass is greener. I’ve stopped smoking pot for now. I can pass a drug test. Upon release from the hospital they gave me a ton of Oxycontin. That shit is no joke. I’m sticking to beer and ibuprofen in the meantime. I hope you’re doing well. Please write back when you can.
From: genpop [at] netscape.net
Date: December 20, 2002 12:08:38 AM EST
Subject: Now I’m physically healed or Lopez is scared because he’s Catholic [Actually, Lopez is a lapsed Lutheran, but whatevs.com]
Sorry about the long wait. I forgot that I sent you my last e-mail on my mom’s Outlook account. She never uses it, so I was busy dumping files and shit and I found your letter. I’m glad things are working out for you in NY. Very few people are as smart as you, and if anyone deserves a break, it’s you. Chris had his family and dumb luck on his side. You have real talent and someday everybody will know. I think the surgery and my recovery has made me a fairer and more honest person. I did the telemarketing job for a while, but it got old, so I quit and found a job in advertising. I start on Monday. They’re willing to train me and eventually I’ll be an account executive (sales guy). The agency is run by other Jews and retired military guys, I think it’ll be fine for a day job.
As I get older, I realize the value in working 9-5, instead of the vampire bartending hours that I reveled in. I’ve managed to put over $1,000 in the bank, which is amazing, I haven’t drank or smoked pot for almost three months. Getting off those painkillers was a trip, that Oxycontin is no joke. If I feel stressed I just pop a kava kava supplement or take a long walk. I tried taking my mom’s Xanax for a while; that shit really sucks and the withdrawal is worse than cigs or opium. It is truly the Bush family drug of choice. As always, I’m very bored in sunnyland [Florida]. I take public transit everywhere. When I tried to renew my license, the jig was up on all my out-of-state tickets and other violations. They cut my driver’s license in half and gave me an ID card. I was one of the Patriot Act’s first victims. I still hope things are going well, especially with the wife and the zine. I’ve only been in love once and she was a sicker, more twisted bitch than anyone we know. Please write soon.
I responded that I wanted him to write extensively about his work experience because I had just started writing “Karoshi” for NegCap #4 and I wanted him to stick to my theme of work. He is terrible about sticking to anything but his sheets, so after six more annoying months of wrangling with him, I got the following e-mail:
From: genpop [at] netscape.net
Date: June 13, 2003 6:13:38 PM EDT
Subject: Chris Hoffman Loves Jesus? [John looked up chrishoffman.com and discovered it was the personal site of a Christian. Hoffman is Jewish. Irony ensues. The site is now owned by someone else.]
I decided to leave Colorado, it wasn’t good for my mental health. After a short stint in Utah, I decided to go up to North Dakota. I’m in a small college town where they have a program that gives you five free weeks in a motel apartment. I’ve done this twice already in the past five years. It’s a good place to relax and regroup. I found a job bartending at a private club. They also want to teach me how to deal blackjack. I’m going to start on the work story. I’ve had hundreds of jobs in the last twenty years and it’s hard to figure out where to begin. I guess I’ve gotten so used to employers being slave drivers that when I find a decent one it makes me want to stick around. I felt bad about fucking the brewpub in Durango, but the kicker was the fact that I was only getting paid $7.50 an hour and the place was always busy. I guess I was still being taken advantage of, at least financially. I start work at the club tomorrow. They have weddings booked all summer. If it works out I can just work on the weekends and make enough money. My rent is free until July 15. Oh yeah, try going onto www.chrishoffman.com; you’ll be redirected to a site called Jesus is Real. I thought it was funny.
I fooled around with a school teacher with dreadlocks the night before I left Colorado. I refused to listen to her bullshit, so I didn’t get laid.
SC [The girl I was talking about in the intro who wisely prefers to stay out of this story] hasn’t e-mailed me back in about a month. I tried giving her a piece of the truth, which I guess she hated. Anyway, I’m broke again and out of pot. I’ll make some cash this weekend and blow it all again. I just want to have a fun summer for a change. I’ll be 36 soon.
Maybe I can find two 18 year olds to fuck, then it will all come full circle. Hoffman and I gangbanged some whore from my high school on my 18th birthday. I hope you and the wife are doing well. I’ve had several chances at marriage and managed to fuck it up or leave. I don’t like being alone, yet I hate most people. I’ll buy some paper this weekend and start writing.
From: genpop [at] excite.com
Date: December 15, 2003 5:58:56 PM EST
Subject: RE: I am publishing you
Sorry about the long wait. I was in Mexico for a while and did not have access to e-mail. I am in Chicago right now and it is very fucking cold. I’m crashing at some basement shithole in Evanston, across from Northwestern University. I spent thanksgiving in Boulder and caught the flu and its soulmate, pneumonia. I spent three days in the hospital. If I had had a gun, I’d probably be dead. I’m glad to be back in the states and in a real city. Pussy is real mean up here. Maybe it’s the cold, the economy or my big, fat, kike cock. Yeah, publishing my letters is a good idea; it won’t get any more real than that. You know that I’m a lazy fuck and can never really get anything long down on paper. You should publish Hoffman and his faggot, money-grubbing website. He is George W.’s wet dream. I know if he went to jail he’d get it in the ass from the brothers every night.
Anyway, hope you and the wife are doing well. I quit smoking and drinking. The doc says my blood pressure is through the roof. I can’t quit salt or fucking blondes or Red Bull. I guess if I don’t make it to forty I’ll still be okay. If you still want an article from me, I’ll give it my best shot. I would like to expose the hostelling business for what they really are, money-grubbing thieves. Have a nice New Year and I’ll talk to you soon.
John Lewis Dickstein
From: genpop [at] excite.com
Date: Jun 2, 2006, at 1:24 PM EST
I just moved back to Minnesota and landed an I.T. job with a travel website. I’m very bored and hooked on Ambien. [Wow, John’s addicted to drugs, again. *yawn*] I start work on the 12th so I have ten days to get my shit together. I hope all is well with you and the family. Let me know if you have any story ideas for me; I’d like to do a more ambitious one. Suck my larger cock.
From: josh [at] negcap.com
Date: Jun 2, 2006, at 2:45 PM EST
To: genpop [at] excite.com
I was thinking that the next issue would be the “nice” issue that I have always planned, but I know that won’t work for you. Do you think that you can write about love and relationships? The thing is, you have to be really honest. I think people would be fascinated to see your honest approach. Like, what’s up with that girl in Scotland? What happened when you fell in love? Why do you only fuck the wagon* now? What went wrong? Where do you want to be in five years? What are you looking for in a girl? If you write it well, maybe you’ll get a girlfriend out of it. Believe it or not, me, Chris, Peter, Jay and Mo are finally getting together for a poker game at the end of June. Should be fun. As for Ambien, that shit is just awful. I would try switching to something else, like Klonopin. That shit is awesome. I will write more later, but I am at work now. Is this your new e-mail address???
[*The expression “fuck the wagon” means to have sex with a woman that is heinous, purely out of desperation In fact, Morris DROVE to fuck the wagon. But that’s why we love him.]
From: adabesipoet [at] yahoo.com
Date: June 4, 2006 4:21:43 PM EDT
Subject: This week in hell…
I’ve tried Klonopin before and just drink on it, have insane blackouts and get in trouble—like jail, fucking the wagon or permanently 86’d from bars I really like. It turns me into the same dude I was 20 years ago, except mean and bitter, not very funny. I know that by itself it’s similar to good weed, but cleaner. The only time I ever took it without booze or crumbling it into a joint was my stint in jail in Illinois. The puzzle-head [love that term!] gave it to me so I would stop torturing the guards and other inmates. As a rule I don’t generally fuck the wagon, I like the tallest, blondest girl, with the milkiest, whitest skin and tits so big, if she stands behind me and heaves them over my shoulders, it looks like I have huge tits. I’m finally off the Ambien now [woohoo!] and had my doctor write me a prescription for Clonadine—blood pressure pills. Mixed with a cup of Kava tea, it helps a bit, but I haven’t really slept in two days.
I hooked up with a dusty, overnight, twelve-hour hell shift at an ethanol plant, in the middle of fucking nowhere, through Friday night. They were so desperate for cleaning bitches that they even pay for the two-hour round trip drive time. I’m suffering anyway, so it almost makes sense. My check will be nuts on Saturday, probably 100 hours at $10 an hour plus all of the overtime. I’m moving into a hotel above an Irish Pub and liquor store. It’s a great deal, $270 a month including cable and a/c. My chances of staying sober aren’t very good. I feel bad about SC and you know I’ve done enough bad Karma shit to rival Earl [of My Name is Earl], but she is looking for something that’s forever and it would be unfair because I don’t love her and I would only end up hurting her. She’s a very cool person, you can say anything to her and she is truly a kind person and very smart; but she’s not tall enough and blonde enough and young enough. Her skin is milky white and she has HH tits and is a very good fuck. She loves to drink and party and she’ll meet someone else who is better for her. This e-mail is just one of my bullshit ones. I was really fucked up on Ambien and the only one I could remember. I hope you have fun playing poker with the guys and please send my love. I hope your kid is healthy and looks like your wife.
I really liked SC and I told her that no matter John was telling her, he was no good for anyone in his mental state. I think he was more normal around her but always up for partying, as they say. Whenever he disappeared for a while, she would write to me to ask about him, thinking he was dead. He had bragged to her that I was dying to publish him, which isn’t true, but if using my zine gets anyone laid, that’s my achievement, I think. I told him that if he wanted to be in another issue, he would have to actually sit down and write something concrete and honest about love.
On Apr 16, 2007, at 5:03 PM, John Lewis Dickstein wrote:
I quit my shitty job about two months ago, hopped on the Amtrak and went all over the West Coast. I finally arrived out on the Olympic, about an hour west of Seattle. I’ve been staying at a youth hostel and started doing work for a local temp agency. Amazing how quickly money disappears when you’re traveling! I haven’t gotten laid since that college girl on New Year’s [I think he said it was in a bus bathroom], but I met a local girl at work who is cute, blonde, nineteen and very friendly. She said that she would be into sharing a bottle of wine one night. Maybe that will be my night. I applied for food stamps for the first time in about ten years and it really helps. They had a sign in the welfare office lobby that if you have unprotected sex they offer the morning after pill for free right there. Hopefully, I can fuck her and then take her down there the next morning after I’ve ejaculated inside her several times... fun, fun.
I hope that everything is going well with you and your family. I started smoking pot again a few months ago, but have quit again. It really doesn’t help with stress or sleep. It seems to suck out any creative drive and make me depressed when I’m not high. I think I’ll just go back to being an old wino who charms college chicks. I’m at work now and it’s very slow here. My job is to take incoming calls for medical and tech companies after hours. It’s very easy and I’ll switch to overnights, after training, which I prefer. My balls are killing me after talking and sitting next to that chick today. She just left. Maybe I’ll take a break now and jerk off.
Date: April 18, 2007 4:20:27 PM EDT
To: melovehugetits [at] gmail.com
Still, very fascinating, but once again, you can’t even stay on topic at all. Are you capable of writing on a particular subject or have the drugs wrecked your brain to the point where you can’t even understand what I am saying? I am glad you are getting laid with live women for a change, but that doesn’t change the fact that I want you to write about love... have you ever been in it, do you want it now, what does it mean to you... unless you really want to do “The Only Good Job is a Blowjob” part two and just keep on rambling about crappy jobs, hitchhiking and fat chicks. That is your life now, after all.
From: John Lewis
Date: Apr 19, 2007, at 2:29:41 PM EDT
I’ll write about whatever the fuck you want; it’s your nickel. [WTF? I am not paying for this nonsense, dickshit!] It might take more time than quoted. What’s your final deadline for production? [Uh, eventually?] I’ll forward you some letters, if you want, that I’ve been sending back and forth to a girl I met on MySpace, if you will promise that you won’t contact her or fuck with her. She has enough problems. [John being one of the biggest and most life-threatening.] I’ve only been in love once and it was shit. It was back in ’96-’97. We lived together in Minneapolis. I got her pregnant and would have married her. She was so fucking hot that if you saw her you would drop your pants and start jerking off. [No, I wouldn’t do that for anyone.] After I dumped her, she married a partner in a big law firm and had two kids. Jeni was in college and decided on her own to abort the baby. Just like what happened with [REDACTED] and Kermit. Except I wasn’t enough of a romantic idiot to stay with her. You know I have the talent to write about anything. I’m just lazy and sophomoric.
Spy vs. Spy
Date: April 19, 2007 3:21:15 PM EDT
To: melovehugetits [at] gmail.com
That sounds about right. I really want to hear about this love story because I think it will make you seem more human and less annoying. I don’t know what you mean about [REDACTED] and Kermit, though. Does it bother you that your spawn was aborted? Or that she married some other dude? How did you meet? Was that the only time you were in love? That’s what I want to know. I would like the new issue to come out next year and I am still writing, so you should start working on it right now. Send me whatever you have when you have it and I’ll find a way to make it work.
From: melovehugetits [at] gmail.com
Date: April 19, 2007 5:35:15 PM EDT
Yeah, I forgot that first semester at Purchase, we weren’t that tight. [REDACTED] was dating this chick named [REDACTED] who was an uptight blonde bitch with no tits; just the way he likes it. Anyway, she was still seeing her high school boyfriend on the side and she got pregnant. She wasn’t sure who the father was, but probably [REDACTED]. He was fucking her every day for months. She went home one weekend and had an abortion. He’d fuck her in the room right in front of me and she would made these loud, high-pitched noises that sounded like a dying frog—Kermit noises. I think the night before Peter and I left Jen the JAP’s room and wrote our jism graffiti on the walls, we gave her that nickname. [Jen the JAP comes up sometimes and she was an insanely hot, but very JAPpy girl who was my only one-night stand. The jism graffiti was something that he and Peter did on her wall but I was not a part of that particular adventure.] Last year, [REDACTED] asked if I could track Kermit down because I’m good at that and I couldn’t find her anywhere. She must have married a cop or a lawyer.
I’ve only been in love once. She hooked up with a lawyer on the rebound from me. She wanted to marry me, she just didn’t want a kid at twenty-three. I was drunk all the time and hopping from job to job; so now I get it. If I would have been more stable, she would have had the baby. She was a much better person than any of us, from a rich family and the oldest child. You’re the oldest child, but you’re a piece of shit. [Actually, I’m a classic middle child, but don’t let the facts get in the way of Dickstein’s logic.] I’m not much better. She was incredibly beautiful, dark blonde hair, big blue eyes, like a baby, and an ass that wouldn’t quit. She only dated rich morons before me, so I had to teach her how to suck my cock, but she was a fast learner. The terroristic skills that I taught her enabled her to truly marry a millionaire. She loved to fuck. We did it at the movies, on a grassy field and in a back alley on the University of Minnesota campus. She was probably my soulmate. She even liked my vile sense of humor and D-Cup songs [John’s band in college was D-Cup and the Blue Balls, famous for the hit, “(She Didn’t Like It So) Fuck Her!”] She grew up in a huge house out in the nice suburbs of Minneapolis and went to high school in Europe; she had never heard shit like that before. Like most women who are truly beautiful, men would go out of their way to only tell her nice things. When we met in an uptown Minneapolis coffee shop, I had a mohawk like DeNiro in Taxi Driver, wearing a motorcycle jacket and a bicycle chain with a Master lock around my neck and 18-hole, steel-toe Docs. To her, I was from outer space. She gave me the keys to her new car, we drove out to Lake Calhoun and had sex for hours. We both came over and over again like a Pushkin poem.
Now you understand why I’m still single and usually very picky. I liked SC, but it didn’t have much to do with the way she looked. She is like a dude with HH tits. You think that I only get with fat chicks or the Lizard Lady [don’t ask], but you forget that you haven’t seen me in fifteen years. I’m taking Viagra not because I can’t get hard, but to stay awake. It also works for that. [If you say so...] My love story is just a one girl story. I don’t know how much more I can tell you, it’s been ten years. In a way you’re right about the drugs and booze but it’s not really that. I did my best after I left her to try to stuff my emotions and memories of her, it hurt that much. She may have killed our baby, but I think I did much worse. Our love was a living thing and I killed it because I didn’t understand or know how to handle it. We could have had a lot more babies. The thought of her fucking that control-freak ambulance-chaser still makes me want to puke. I did this to myself, so I guess, again, I’ll let it go. You’re a fucking asshole for making me rehash all of this. I fucking hate you.
I finally got John to be honest about love for a minute after more than twenty years knowing each other and believe me, it was not easy. The fact that he reacted so angrily to these memories being recalled means that on some level, he has regrets about the way he fucked up so much of his life. I was just relieved to get a story out of him that was usable, instead of the insane ramblings and accusations that he normally sent me. That was enough of the story for me to call it a day. Some people have said that Dickstein is not a real person: He’s either a character that I created or he is based on a real person but that I am doing all the writing. That’s complete bullshit and if you don’t believe me, please contact him yourself and confirm the story’s veracity on your own. In case anyone really wants to date Dickstein, he’s still single and on Facebook he’s “Charlie Agon,” or Charles W. Agon, a Chuck Wagon reference. Here's a link http://www.facebook.com/ridethewagon. All of his points of reference are twenty years too late to be relevant, but that never seems to stop him from making them. Go ahead and friend him. He’s a lot of fun.
2011 Update: I was contacted by a girl that John was dating in the midwest. She said that she was currently living with him, decided to google him one day and she found this story. She was appalled and offended by the things that he said and I can't blame her. She said that she never wanted to be mentioned by name in any of his stories and I will respect her wishes. But for the record, this guy who brags about having sex with the hottest girls was riding the wagon HARD.