DeKalb, IL is a Paradise
by Scott Mitchel May, 3.24am November 10th 2021

Dickless Jones had a dick and it was big, that was the joke, that he had a dick so big it was like he had no dick at all because the girls he’d date would refuse to touch the thing after becoming acquainted with it and the novelty of seeing the thing wore off and all that was left was the harsh reality of the meaty thing staring them down, expectantly, and the prospect of somehow trying to accommodate it inside themselves became a reality — some blessings are a curse and whatnot. Let’s see, far as I can remember Dickless Jones was the nicest person DeKalb, Illinois ever gave the world. I could tell you about the time the group got mad at me because I hadn’t bought any pot to share for over three months and I was being actively excluded from the group and not invited around anymore and Dickless he recognized that this was making me feel bad so he gave me, just gave me, a quarter ounce of weed and told me to show up to the spot with it and to smoke it with the group until it was gone, but that’s not really the point here. Weed wasn’t necessarily Dickless’ thing. The point I’m going to be driving at is the booze. That was Dickless’ thing —booze and cocaine. He was a champion drinker and so-so coke-head.


So, there was this older girl, she was 19 when we were 17, and she had a real shitty and scummy second-floor apartment over by the railroad tracks in downtown DeKalb and she would have all of us over (especially Dickless) to party on like a nightly basis. She was tall, broad in a way that was solid but not big, and she had that kind of black hair that looked dyed but really wasn’t, which, she wore in the standard goth-girl bang cut — Dickless called her Nae-Nae. Nae- Nae's boyfriend, Anatoli, was a writer and an artist and him and Dickless got along famously, until they didn’t, which all had to do with a bet that Anatoli made with Dickless when Nae-Nae was at work. Anatoli bet that Dickless could not break the top log of the log fence over at the park two blocks away using just a karate chop. Dickless being a former tournament-winning Kjukenbo fighter (aged 11) said, “Like hell I can’t,” and they debated the matter for a long time while finishing off some Jack Daniels and about a case of Busch Ice. Neverminding the fact that Kjukenbo isn’t exactly known for its training in breaking things, the fence was one of those fences put together with zig-zag offset stacked and pegged logs that were at least five inches thick. There was literally no way that Dickless was going to be able to break it and Anatoli knew that.


“Okay,” said Anatoli eventually, “time to show me what’s what.” The stakes of the bet were such that Dickless would have to show Nae-Nae and Anatoli his penis (Nae-Nae had always been curious but owing to the fact that the two were so close, brother and sister close, she was always afraid of offending Dickless by actually coming straight out and asking to see the penis and Anatoli, himself being bisexual, was certain that he could convince both Nae-Nae and Dickless to get into some kind of three-way situation if only the circumstance was charged enough) and remain with it (the penis) out for at least twenty minutes while they all did lines of yak (Dickless usually abstained from cocaine so as to not then spend weeks chasing money and the drug all over DeKalb, Illinois, and Anatoli recognizing this fact knew that if he wanted both himself and Nae-Nae to suck Dickless’ dick his best chance would be if everyone involved was yaked to the gills). So off to the park they go.


And that’s where I come into this story, having been walking through the park high as all get out and buzzing a little off some Mickeys Grenades, and just having been ditched by the rest of The 40oz Crew because I had bogarted the joint a little too long. I yell out “DICKLESS JONES,” as way of greeting just as he’s taking his chop. I am here to tell you he chopped as hard as he could chop, and the sound that was made when his forearm connected with that log could be heard for at least two-hundred yards and it was a pop so sickening that I’m not ashamed to tell you I almost threw up and I am also not ashamed to say that I did throw up (just a little and in my mouth and I swallowed it before Dickless or Anatoli could see and think me a pussy) when I saw Dickless’ arm hanging limp and unnatural in the middle of his forearm and the shard of bone sticking through the skin. But what got me wasn’t the gore of it, it was Dickless’ laughing and the sheet-white look Anatoli was wearing. The scene was all wrong. Backward. Incongruous. Dickless drove a late 80s Caprice Classic and he wouldn’t let us (meaning Anatoli and myself) call him an ambulance because: a) an ambulance ride cost something like $300 U.S., and b) Dickless was pissed off and embarrassed at the stupidity of his own self having believed that he was capable of pulling off such a feat of strength. After a few, Dickless became red in the face, and he was wailing, and he was screaming, “Fuck!” and “Cocksucker!”, and he was storming around acting like he wasn’t hurt. That is when I lost my lunch. Anatoli grabbed Dickless about his shoulders, careful of the arm, and he whispered something in his ear that I could barely make out, and what he said calmed Dickless, at least a little. He said, “It’s okay, you are loved.”