Dydo — "M"

by David Cady

DYDO m-f-in M (click can to enlarge)

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Sitting here with my short, ugly fingernails, I cannot think of a task more annoying than reviewing this shitty little can of coffee. But they told me they would "let me go" if I didn't do a quick write-up of my experience with Dydo "M." So I write. I write naked and sweaty, choking in a miasma of rage that envelops my cross-legged form. My pen trembles as it lurches across the soiled pages of my diary.

If someone were to gaze upon me from afar right now, they would see a stern presence of unfathomable wisdom. A closer look, from maybe ten feet away, would reveal me to be alarmingly haggard and possessing a Buddhistic grin. Anything closer than that would represent a breach of my comfort bubble and trigger my "back off" dance.

The complex motions utilized in this metaphor-laden performance are carefully calibrated to keep people the fuck away from me. There is hooting and shuffling involved. There are rolling eyes and sudden sideways scampering maneuvers accompanied by shrieks and hiccup-like utterances. There are feints and charges. There are catcalls.


The penultimate act of this 19-part skit involves me dry-humping the ground while sobbing with astonishing vehemence. The climax begins with a disorienting giggle that builds embarrassingly into an angry, coughing "laugh." At the point when the offending party appears ready to flee, I leap up, quickly mince toward them then turn around, pull down my pants and defecate noisily while glaring at them over my shoulder.

As you can imagine, this is exhausting work and generates within me a need to reward myself for my skill and bravery. The reward is always the same — a can of coffee. Dydo "M" was my prize this morning after warding off a group of high school girls who got too near me on the subway. After I had cleared out the train car, I reached into my backpack, plucked out my quarry and flopped painfully to the floor to nurse my lukewarm beverage, pants bunched around my thin, hairless ankles. I glugged down the sugary beige liquid.

"Dydo M," I declared in my best radio DJ voice, "you disappoint me." And when I'm disappointed, somebody pays. Somebody pays big.

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