Good Night

I was in a diner, talking with my Lady Wonder Wench when I got a sudden itch on the back of my hand. So I started scratching it with some of the stubble on my chin. That was just another reminder of how lucky I am to be a man. I can stubble scratch my hands, my arms, some of my shoulders and even parts of a leg if an itch alert happens. Women can't do that. I like women, but they have a tough life. My lady recently had to take a mammogram. I don't even like the word, "mammogram." It sounds like the woman needs to squeeze her breasts into something like a pdf file, and email it to some doctor. Seriously, I got a fast lesson in how tough it must be to be a woman a long time ago, and I'll never forget it. My Lady and I were going home from a concert, and we were walking a couple of blocks to where I'd parked our car. It was kind of a slow walk because I was on crutches after a knee operation. It was late at night, and it wasn't in the best part of Manhattan. All of a sudden I noticed three or four guys who

You know on a long drive you start looking for out of state license plates with silly slogans, and strange advertising billboards, and other cars like yours or other cars that are just strange? My Lady Wonder Wench and I were on the road again, going to meet our tall son Eric and his Lady, Brenda halfway between their place in Virginia, and our place in Pennsylvania. We saw plenty of cars that look like ours, and one that looked like nothing I've ever seen. It was a vintage red Mustang with something that looked like a jet plane intake on the hood. One of the advertising signs was so clever I wrote it down. It was a home cleaning service called "One girl and her bucket." Pretty neat. There was a billboard advertising a moving company called, "Two guys and a truck." And you know how you sometimes kid around with each other to pass the time? I remembered an old bit that I tried on my Lady Wonder Wench. It goes like this: What color is snow. What color are clouds. What color is whipped cream. What color are

I'm sitting here in my big, comfortable, manly, black leather poppa chair in my living room, with a big smile on my face because I have just thoroughly scratched a hard to reach itch on my back. Oooh that feels good. Scratching an itch into surrender is exceeded in pleasure only by certain sexual celebrations too graphic to describe here. Most itches you can scratch all by yourself, but some itches attack in what I call the Zone of Despair. The Zone of Despair is on your back. It's only about two inches wide. But you can't reach it with either hand. Certainly not if you reach for it over your shoulder. But even if you reach for it from below it's just out of your reach. About fifty percent of you are trying it right now...the male fifty percent. The feminine fifty percent are just rolling their eyes out loud, because they've already discovered this for themselves. Sometimes you can reach the Zone of Despair with a fork, but that's something you'll always remember doing every time you eat with that fork. T

Proud Podcast Person Ryan W. sent me an article from Wikipedia called Autonomous Sensory Meridian Response, which we'll simply call ASMR, because I don't want to break my mouth with the full title. It's the key guys. You can be a woman whisperer. You can forget your corny opening lines...stuff like "Your eyes are as blue as the water in my toilet bowl," "How come I didn't hear it when you dropped from heaven," "That blouse looks lovely on you, can you imagine how lovely it would look on my bedroom floor"...no more of that stuff. This article says ASMR is the subjective experience of euphoria, characterized by positive feelings, relaxation and a distinct static-like tingling sensation on the skin. It typically begins on the scalp, then goes down to the back of the neck, and quickly spreads to the back, arms and legs as intensity increases. It has been called a "head orgasm, a brain massage, and a spine tingle." I call it Woman Whispering. And it's so simple. Mainly all you've got to do is speak quietly...or

I'm sitting here in my big, comfortable, black, leather Poppa chair in my living room relaxing. It feels good to relax. Just a little while ago I was sitting in the left front seat of my little airplane, running a checklist to go flying with my buddy Jon. That felt good too. Jon is a flight instructor, and he runs the little airport where I keep my plane. He's also been a friend for a long time. John went flying with me to check me out for a BFR. A BFR is a biannual flight review. Every two years small plane pilots like me have to prove to a flight instructor that we probably won't crash too often. If I didn't pass the test, even though he's my friend, Jon would have had to take away my Ray Ban sun glasses. That would have been cruel, And John knows it. Because he is also a small plane pilot, and he shares some of our small plane pilot flight fantasies involving Ray Bans. For example in one of our fantasies, a beautiful, but obviously stressed out flight attendant gets on the PA system and she says, "Both

Thanks for dropping in here on my podcast. I like your company. I'm sitting here relaxing...in my big, comfortable, manly, black leather poppa chair in my living room. It's good to relax. Among other things, it's a defense against lots of nasty stuff. Big nasties and little nasties. Sometimes when they really pile up, the little nasties start looking like the big ones, and we lose sight of the fact that the Lord wants us be relaxed and happy...otherwise he wouldn't have given all of us...except politicians, a sense of humor...and some friends who don't mind when you play practical jokes on them. That's not being nasty, that's having fun. Here's what I mean. I was looking all over the place for a missing sock the other day. That's irritating. It's a small nasty when you have one sock and you're looking for the other one. Then I I asked myself, "Self...why should you suffer looking for the other sock?" And my self answered, "You're right. That's foolish. Take your sock over to your buddy Al's house, and give

Thank you for dropping in here on my podcast. Lots happened today. The new Victoria's Secret catalog came in the mail today, and my Lady Wonder Wench came home totally exhausted. She walked in the door and she said, "You can't believe how much I've had it with the idiots out there. Leave me alone." Then she went quiet. All day. Being the sensitive Louie-Louie Generation guy that I am, I instantly caught the subtle hint that if I tried any of my famous "Tricky – Dickie" stuff on her to re-focus her mind to include some of the positives of pleasures of the flesh, I would risk putting myself in serious danger of having her tempt to remove some of my Viagral parts with a spoon. So I was thinking that an evening of prayer, abstinence and fasting might be in store, even as a power point presentation of the girls wearing the latest fashions in that new Victoria's Secret catalogue started running through my head. They had to run. If they slowed down...well...never mind. So it was obvious that I was going to have

Gotta get my back back in whack...according to Dr. D the Chiropractor. He says I have not been straight with you sitting here in my big, manly, comfortable, black leather poppa chair in my living room. In fact he claims I have been tilting to the right for some time...not politically...personally. He also says I am heavier on the right side than on the left. By a lot. And one leg is longer than the other. That's weird. To understand what happened next it would help if you try to remember that old song about..." the ankle bone is connected to the hip bone"...and all the way up your body to your head bone. And also try to remember the skiing video about "The thrill of victory and the agony of defeat," because those two ideas explain what happened when my feet hit the floor getting out of bed this morning. My feet bounced up around my neck, and the mouth part of my head bone popped wide open and made a very loud noise which expressed quite clearly in words of four letters the agony of de-feat. It was clearly D

My sister in law Tanya is smart. But I think she thinks too much. She just sent me an email quoting some self proclaimed genius guru that says, "The most important human endeavor is the striving for morality in our actions." I am not a fan of that kind of BS. In fact, I am not a big fan of self proclaimed genius gurus in general. But her email got me to try to come up with a better answer. So I've been sitting here in my big, comfortable, manly black leather papa chair in my living room thinking about the "great questions" like, "what are we supposed to with our lives," and I think I've come up with an answer that works for me anyway. So while the thinking momentum is up and running, I thought I'd tackle some of the other questions in life. Like, why does the windshield wiper on the driver's side always wear out before the one on the passenger side...and why do hot dogs always taste better at a ball game...and what are people who are always smiling really thinking? If anything. And here's one. I got to spen

Nighttime is the best time to make your hope float. Because nighttime is full of hope...perfume traces...fantasies of black lace falling slowly to the carpet...quick smiles leaving lipstick traces on your life...whispers...quiet laughs...Hopes.

I am sitting here in my big, manly, comfortable black leather poppa chair, still shaking from an encounter with thousands of home grown idiot terrorists driving their cars. And it reminds me of something Big Louie said in my book Staying Happy Healthy And Hot. Louie said, "Statistics show the 10% of automobile accidents are caused by driving drunk. That means 90% of automobile accidents are caused by stone cold sober idiot terrorist drivers." Louie has lots of helpful comments like that. "Never order pea soup from a waiter who really likes puns" he says. And "Everything you see in today's politics is probably just an hallucination from breathing oxygen." Of course he also claims that rocks are like some ladies. They're soft but they tense up when you touch them. But his best comments are about those of us who are members of the Louie Louie Generation. For example, "If you have any moving parts left, for crying out loud move 'em." Big Louie can't restore our youth, but he can restore our sense of humor. My

Spring is crouching down, getting ready to spring a bunch of flowers up at us. She's a sexy young woman in heat...Spring. You really can't tell what she's going to do next. One day she gives you flowers and a soft, beautiful blue sky, and the next day she slams you with a hurricane. I tend to go a little nuts in the Spring. That's what this podcast is all about.

How can I explain this to you. As hard as it must be for you to believe, some people haven't bought my book Staying Happy Healthy And Hot. That's why I am sitting here in my big, manly, comfortable, black leather poppa chair in my living room, trying to figure out how to make a fortune in some other way...perhaps by inventing something people need. Here are some of the ideas I've come up with so far. Maybe you'll drop me a note at dick@dicksummer.com and tell me if you like any of them. How about neon thumbs for night time hitch hiking. Or hot dogs that are ninety feet long to take care of a whole row of fans at once at a base ball game. Here's one...a perfumed bookmark so if it slips down into the book, you can just sniff down along the edge till you find your place. Or song books printed on plastic for people who like to sing in the shower. Maybe a follow up to my book would be a better idea. I could call it Staying Happier Healthier And Hotter. I like hot. Hotter would be better. Maybe it's because my na

Thank you for dropping in here on my podcast, because I can use some friendly company. It looks like I've become an adult. When did that happen? And how can I make it stop? I'm sitting here in my big, manly, comfortable black leather poppa chair in my living room, hiding from another birthday. In my book Staying Happy Healthy And Hot, Big Louie, the head guy of the Louie Louie Generation says, "There are 3 ages of mankind. Youth, middle age, and "My you look good." So now I have to look good on an every-day basis? I really can't complain I suppose, because I know I asked for it. Last time I saw Dr. Charles about the aches and pains he said, "I can't make you any younger you know." I told him, "I'm not interested in being younger. I want to get older." So here I am. Thank heavens they haven't discontinued my blood type yet. I find I'm relying more and more on Big Louie's advice. "Age and treachery will always defeat youth and skill," he says. That's encouraging. And of course I always keep his biggie in mind

I am sitting here in my big, comfortable, manly, black leather poppa chair in my living room, thawing out from the trip I just took to the mailbox. It's cold. No I mean COLD. That's because it's February. And as I told you in my book, Staying Happy Healthy And Hot (available at Amazon.com) the word is FebRUary. Not Feb-YOU-ary. Think about this please: If you, a priest, a rabbi, and a minister walked into a bar and the bartender asked if you wanted some b-YOU-skis you, the priest, the rabbi and the minister would all figure it was some kind of joke. It's bREW-skis. And it's FebRUary. February and brew-skis are both cold. I took my hot cup of coffee with me to keep my hands warm when I went up to the mailbox just now, and by the time I got back to the house, I had a large lump of coffee rattling around in the cup. My next door neighbor Randy was out getting his mail too. I said "Hello", and it was so cold, the "lo" froze, hit the ground and broke before he could hear it. He thought I was just saying "Hell" a

You've got to be a little crazy to fall in love, because if you're not a little crazy in love you're not really in love. It's complicated. Especially for guys. The only way a guy can find out if a woman is feeling romantic is by puckering up and trying for a kiss. Sometimes that works, and sometimes she just turns her head, and rolls her eyes out loud, which leaves you kind of licking her ear. But Louie Louie Generation lads and ladies have been around long enough to know that love is like a bathing suit. It all depends what you put into it. So you've got to go all in. I read a magazine article about it yesterday. The article said a modern woman really likes it when a guy makes dinner for her. I am not good at making dinner. But I have learned a couple of things about it from trying. Let me pass them along to you guys. For example stuff you cook on the stove should be cooked on the medium setting till just before it boils over. Stuff in the little room under the stove...which is called an oven...should als

I like Valentine's day. You get to tell somebody, "I love you," or at least, "I like you." It means baseball's Spring Training is about to start. And it's a day when the thought really is more important than the gift. In fact, I have found that if you can get the right kind of thought going, Louie-Louie Generation ladies like my Lady Wonder Wench generally really get into the spirit of giving...so to speak. And if you are a Louie-Louie Lad like I am you will certainly put to good use the power of warm words...aural sex...and of course you will follow Big Louie's advice having to do with any of your remaining moving parts. If you've got em...move em.

Has it ever occurred to you that the smartest guys think in opposites. For example take the guy who packaged the batteries I just bought on line. They're totally encased in plastic so thick that I had to cut if with a pair of wire cutters. It was essentially a plastic battery chastity belt. But when I dug the batteries out and put them in the flashlight, they didn't work. I wanted to send them back, but the invoice from the guy who sold them says, "All returns must be in original packaging." Smart guy. He thinks in opposites. And thinking in opposites made me change my mind about the guy at the drug store who sold me a bottle of cotton with a few Tylenol pills in the bottom. Hey, think in opposites...maybe I could make a nice warm winter coat out of that big ball of cotton, then I wouldn't catch cold, and I wouldn't have to buy any more Tylenol. I've got to learn to think in opposites. For example, will everything east of the San Andreas fault eventually plunge into the Atlantic Ocean? Does every silver lin

All the smart guys are telling us, "We are doomed. Run and hide." Stephen Hawking the famous scientist says, "We are doomed because the artificial intelligence we are creating will take over and kill us, or we will be wiped out by a giant asteroid." Lots of politicians are telling us "We are doomed because the terrorists are coming to get us." Other politicians are telling us "Our coastal cities are doomed because of climate change."It seems like most TV shows are about murder and blood, and the commercials in them tell us we are doomed if we don't take their pills with names I can't pronounce. Lots of holy people tell us we are doomed because we have been mighty naughty. But I say, "Fear not faithful friends. As Big Louie, the head guy of the Louie Louie Generation says in my book Staying Happy Healthy And Hot (available at Amazon.com) and I quote: "Hey Smart Guys...B.S." And I agree.

In my book Staying Happy Healthy And Hot, Big Louie, the head guy of the Louie Louie Generation says "Most of the time we have two reasons for doing anything. A good reason, and the real reason." And I guess he's right. I'm sitting here in my big, manly, comfortable black leather poppa chair in my living room, fondling a new toy that I have wanted for a while, but I couldn't bring myself to get it until I figured out a good reason for buying it. Look, it's like the first guy who said an apple a day keeps the doctor away, because he liked apples...even though he certainly knew that one onion would do the job very nicely for a week. His good reason was keeping the doctor away. His real reason was that he really just liked apples. We do lots of things like that. That's why you figure it's ok to leave your kid with a baby sitter so you can take a break from your being a parent routine at a night school class that you really enjoy, but you feel terrible and guilty if you leave your kid with a baby sitter to go t