idiot-prufs

Striving every day to do least idiotic thing possible, generally failing.

Archive for the month “May, 2012”

31 May 2012
9 Comments

Use Your Good Eye Idiot.

People in this country will forgive a lot of things, maybe even most things. But there is one thing people in this country find unforgivable. One thing that is so contemptuous, that is so vile, that it will send normally docile people into a fitful rage. It will make the most even-tempered among us see red and the most mild-mannered spit blood. What is that one thing? People who screw up traffic.

This thought occurred to me as I was reading a post titled The 4-Way Stop by Twisted Wit. The 4-way stop is essentially the Bermuda Triangle of the driving world. As you approach one, the gauges in your vehicle begin to malfunction, you become disoriented and a form of temporary stupidity seems to set in. There should be a warning sign before every 4-way stop that reads: 4-way stop ahead: prepare for collision with idiot. Amelia Earhart didn’t disappear over the Bermuda Triangle; she’s at a 4-way stop outside of Pittsburgh shaking her fist at some idiot who screwed up traffic.

Other motorists don’t care why you’re screwing up traffic, just that you are screwing up traffic. You could be slumped over your steering wheel with an arrow in one of your eyes and most compassionate thing you’re gonna hear from another motorist is: “Hey, use your good eye idiot.”

Did you know that without transmission fluid, a car is less of an automobile and more of a giant metal traffic clogger? I was driving down the road one day when suddenly my transmission fluid decided that it needed to be somewhere else. My car quickly lost power as billows of black smoke poured from the exhaust.

The other motorists on the road had no compassion for my plight in fact some of them were downright hostile. The following conversation was typical of the reaction I encountered:

Motorist: Hey moron, what do you think you’re doing?

Me: I think my transmission fluid is leaking onto my exhaust.

Motorist: Of course it is you moron, you’re covering the road with smoke.

Me: Sorry about that, I’m getting the car off the road as quickly as I can.

Motorist: I hope so, you’re screwing up traffic….so, I’ll see you Sunday for dinner?

Me: Yes Grandma.

Do you think that people hate O.J. Simpson because he got away with murder? No. It’s because when the police came to get him, he got in that Ford Bronco, got on the California highway on a Friday afternoon and screwed up traffic.

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30 May 2012
16 Comments

It Was an Act of God?

It’s happened to everyone hasn’t it? Throughout the course of your life at some point or another you are going to set somebody’s carpet on fire. It shouldn’t be a big deal. Well, evidently it is a big deal, at least that’s what some of us have learned.

There were a few lessons learn by the great carpet fire:

  • The average household vacuüm cleaner was not designed to pick up paperclips.
  • Attempting to pick up paperclips with an average household vacuüm cleaner might cause it to explode.
  • When the vacuüm cleaner you’re using begins to make a high-pitched whining sound, don’t ignore it, it’s about to explode.
  • An exploding vacuüm cleaner sends a thick cloud of smoke and dust into the air like a mini-volcano.
  • Commenting to the vacuüm cleaner’s owner that it looked really cool when it exploded, like a mini-volcano, does not help the situation.
  • An exploding vacuüm cleaner creates an enormous mess while simultaneously removing your ability to clean up that enormous mess.
  • An exploding vacuüm cleaner might also burst into flames.
  • A burning vacuüm cleaner will probably set the carpet on fire.
  • A carpet fire will probably set off the smoke alarm.
  • Smoke alarms are obnoxiously loud.
  • A blaring smoke alarm will bring the vacuüm cleaners owner running into the room.
  • A contentious conversation might result.

Owner: Why is the smoke alarm going off?

Firestarter: Probably because of all the smoke that’s in the room.

Owner: Why is the room full of smoke?

Firestarter: It probably came from the carpet fire.

Owner: Why is the carpet on fire?

Firestarter: It spread from the vacuüm cleaner.

Owner: Why is the vacuüm cleaner on fire?

Firestarter: Act of God?

There was one more imporant lesson learned: the phrase “some day we’ll look back at this and laugh” does not always apply.

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29 May 2012
7 Comments

Can We Get Some Love for the Squonk?

The Squonk

At the latest meeting of the legendary creatures.

Golem: Before we get started, has everybody that’s going to be here arrived? Nessie won’t be here today but he sends his regards. He did send us a postcard, it has a bunch of guys playing bagpipes in kilts mooning the camera. Pass it around please. Chupacabra won’t be here either, evidently he has had some trouble at the border. We’re still missing someone…Bigfoot, is your cousin coming?

Bigfoot: Yeah he’s coming, you know how he is: always showing up late.

Golem: I’m aware…wait, here he is now, speak of the devil.

Jersey Devil: What?

Golem: Not you Jersey, I was just commenting that Yeti’s finally here.

Yeti: Sorry I’m late, the traffic was “abominable” on the way over. (He laughs hysterically.)

Golem: That joke gets funnier every time you tell it.

Bigfoot: It really does.

Thunderbird: Caw!

Bigfoot: Thunderbird agrees with me.

Yeti: Fine, I’m done with the joke. So what’s so important that we had to call an emergency meeting?

Golem: Squonk has some issues that he would like to address.

Yeti: When’s he getting here?

Squonk: I’m standing right here you overgrown monkey.

Yeti: Sorry little guy, I didn’t see you there.

Squonk: That’s the problem, nobody ever sees me there. Most people don’t even know of my existence. How am I supposed to be a “legendary creature” if nobody has even heard of me?

Golem: You to admit, your story’s a little bit depressing. You have ill-fitting skin that’s covered with warts and blemishes, you’re constantly weeping, and when you get upset you just dissolve into a puddle of bubbles and tears.

Squonk: That’s my legend!

Bigfoot: Consider yourself lucky that nobody notices you. It’s miserable having these idiots constantly stomping through the forest looking for you. I don’t know how many times I’ve just sat down to a nice dinner, when here comes some guy traipsing through the forest, whacking a stick against a tree because “that’s how the bigfoot communicates.” I have never in my life mindlessly whacked a stick against a tree.

Jersey Devil: Maybe people would leave you alone if you stopped leaving those big oafish footprints all over the woods.

Thunderbird: Caw.

Jersey Devil: Thunderbird agrees with me.

Bigfoot: Hey, I live in the woods and I have big feet.

Yeti: I love those commercials: messin’ with Sasquatch.

Bigfoot: Those commercials are an affront, they make me look like a gullible imbecile.

Yeti: That’s what I’m saying, they’re hysterical.

Bigfoot: Those commercials are an abomination!

Yeti: What? So he can use that joke?

Indistinct gurgling in the background.

Golem: Look at that, Squonk just dissolved into a puddle of bubbles and tears.

Yeti: Well, that is his legend.

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25 May 2012
2 Comments

A Veteran Fondly Remembered.

Years ago I worked at an American Legion post. I met a lot of interesting people during my time there but none more interesting than John.

John was a World War II veteran who had a ton of stories to tell and a keen willingness to tell them. That is as long as you kept a cold rum and coke in front of him. He needed the proper “lubrication” to keep the vocal chords going.

John was man in his late eighties but still very spry. He had a weird sense of humor, which was probably a good thing because his wife seemed to have none at all. She was a surly woman who I never saw smile; John was never without one.

John was a rifle bearer for the Honor Guard. One day after performing their duties, the members of the Honor Guard were returning to the post to have a few drinks together, as was their custom. John walked calmly up to bar in full dress uniform and discharged his weapon toward the back of the bar.

The crack of the rifle echoed through the hall. If you’ve never heard a rifle discharged in a building, it’s loud. Beer flew into air, drinks were spilled, people scattered, some hit the floor. Even though I knew it was only a blank, it was still jarring to have a weapon discharged in your general direction.

A cloud of smoke hung in air along with the pungent smell of spent gun powder. For a moment after the echo of the rifle had disappeared there was total silence. Then there chaos. Some people were laughing, some people were not. Some people were cursing, especially John’s wife, who was there waiting for him. Once I made sure that I hadn’t soiled myself, I laughed, maybe as hard as I ever had in my life.

John was reprimanded by the post but that didn’t bother him. In fact, I’m not sure I ever saw anything bother him.

John was there that day on June 6th 1944. It’s estimated that 2,500 allied soldiers lost their lives on D-Day… but John didn’t. He had to hang around long enough to nearly scare me to death.

So heading into this Memorial Day weekend, I’m dedicating this blog post to John and every other veteran who is no longer with us.

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25 May 2012
10 Comments

Was That a Screeching Brazilian Stink Monkey?

Screeching Brazilian Stink Monkey?

I have a phobia. A fear that creeps up on me and becomes overwhelming. A fear that causes me to lay awake at night, tossing and turning, afraid to fall asleep for fear of might happen while I’m slumbering.

What is this fear that has me in such a state of paranoia?

I’m afraid that a roving horde of screeching Brazilian stink monkeys, will break into my home and handle all my possessions with their filthy stink monkey paws. I fear that they will rub my possessions all over their parasite infested bodies and then return them to their exact position of origin, leaving me to only guess of their nefarious activities.

My friends tell that I’m crazy.

Am I crazy, am I really?

When I get up in the morning, I find everything in exactly the same position that I left it in the night before! Typical screeching Brazilian stink monkey behavior.

My friends persist with the idea that I’m crazy for two specific reasons:

  1. Monkeys tend not to be fastidious creatures and are far more likely to scatter things about and pee on them, than return them to their place of origin.
  2. There is no such creature as the screeching Brazilian stink monkey. (They seem smugly confident about this point. [But Wikipedia doesn't know everything.])

According to National Geographic, 1,200 new species of plants and vertebrates were discovered in the Amazon between the years 1999 and 2009. With that many new species being discovered, one of them is bound to be a monkey, a monkey that by it’s sheer characteristics and nature, could only be called a Screeching Brazilian Stink Monkey.

My paranoia has become so profound that my friends have suggested medication. The doctor (another apparent expert of Amazonian wild life) concurred. I’m now on an experimental drug called Oxymoron-gubernatorial-toxin. It seems to be working, there are however a few slight side effects:

  • Dizziness.
  • Dry mouth.
  • Itchy rashes shaped like Ecuador.
  • Your left ear will fall off at really inconvenient times.
  • Nausea.
  • More nausea.
  • Vomiting.
  • Even more nausea.
  • squirrels will steal your mail.
  • Sleeplessness caused by nausea.
  • Coma

Everything seems to be going well; I sometimes get nauseous when I have to chase squirrels or bend over to pick up my ear.

But every now and then, out of the corner of my eye, I think I see a screeching Brazilian stink monkey, just waiting to handle all of my possessions.

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23 May 2012
10 Comments

French Fries and Lab Rats.

“French fries cause cancer in lab rats,” he told me in a voice dripping with condescension.

“What?’ I responded, taken back a little.

“Those things,” he said derisively as he nodded at the plate of french fries in front of me, “they cause cancer in lab rats.” There was a level of contempt in his voice accentuating the word those, that would normally be reserved for those war criminals or those mass murderers.

“I’m sorry, do you have many friends that are lab rats?” I felt genuine concern.

“Of course I don’t have many friends that are lab rats.” He felt it was a genuine insult.

“Is that because you don’t have many friends period?” Again, concern.

“I have friends,” he said defensively, “it’s just that many of them aren’t lab rats.” (It’s difficult to overstate the amount of pleasure I took from prompting another human being to utter that sentence.)

“I’ll tell you what I’m going to do for you, I’m going finish this plate of french fries and rid the world of this particular bit of evil.” Genuine sarcasm.

“People like you are ruining the world!” he shouted then stormed away. (I have often wondered what group of people he meant were ruining the world: people who eat french fries or people who are sarcastic.)

Note: in an unrelated matter, I have always felt there should be occasions when it’s legal to stab a person in the side of the head with a plastic fork. Unfortunately the law is far less progressive in it’s thinking than I am.

I decided to check this out for myself. It turns out the weird little man was right, a weird little bit. Fried foods contain a substance called acrylamide; acrylamide has been used to induce cancer in lab rats. There are however, a few other things that have been used to induce cancer in lab rats:

  • sugar.
  • caffeine.
  • salt.
  • nicotine.
  • alcohol.
  • plutonium.
  • radium.
  • radon.
  • yellow cake uranium.
  • yellow cake with frosting.
  • strawberry shortcake.
  • Strawberry Shortcake the doll.
  • Jersey Shore reruns.
  • Coming within ten feet of the glowing skin of any cast member of Jersey Shore.
  • whatever that crap is they put in their hair.
  • the sound of Snooki’s voice.

Here’s the twist: to ingest the same amount of acrylamide that was injected into these lab rats, you would have to eat 346 orders of large McDonald’s fries everyday. If you eat 346 orders of large McDonald’s fries everyday, an oncologist is not the type of doctor that is going to tell you that you’re going to die.

So the next time you think about telling me that french fries cause cancer in lab rats, you might just get stabbed in the side of the head with a plastic fork.

Correction: the sound of Snooki’s voice does not cause cancer in lab rats; it kills them outright.

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22 May 2012
9 Comments

Green Thumbs Up

So you want to plant a little garden in the corner of your yard. You want fresh tomatoes, zucchini, squash, maybe a few cukes. (you’re not sure what cukes are but want them anyway.)  You think that you might make some homemade pickles or relish, everyone loves homemade pickles and relish. You can imagine the bounty that will cover your dinner table and the compliments that you are certain to receive from guests satiated by the efforts of your labor and toiling. You have high hopes.

Unfortunately you run face first into one tiny problem: you don’t have a green thumb. In fact, it’s not just that you don’t have a green thumb, it’s more that you have a pitch black festering thumb that destroys life.

You’ve purchased all of the books:

  • The Beginner’s Guide To Growing A Garden.
  • The Idiots Guide To Growing A Garden
  • The Idiot-Beginner’s Guide To Growing a Garden.
  • With This Book, Even A Chimp Could Grow A Garden.
  • The Idiot-Beginner-Chimps Guide To Growing A Garden.
  • If You have A Pitch Black Festering Thumb That Destroys Life, This Book Is Your Last Hope.
  • The Giant Catalog Of Plastic Plants.

Those books are now deposited in a bin labeled: things to be shred, burned and buried in a deep hole.

Note: you purchased a few plastic plants that inexplicably turned brown and fell apart. You choose to ignore the metaphysical ramifications that you were able to kill plastic.

You are now known as the “Grim Reaper” at every nursery and ag center in the area.

Undaunted, you press forward.

You read that Native Americans placed a dead fish with the kernel when they planted corn. You put a fish stick in the ground with every seed you plant. It doesn’t seem to help. You decide that you need a whole fish, so you raid the family fish tank. All that results in is a ticked off family.

You do discover that you can successfully grow something: weeds and a lot of them. You can grow weeds like they’re on freakin’ steroids.

You also discover that fresh vegetables are enjoyed by a lot of nature’s creatures: bugs, worms, rabbits, gophers, and the neighbor kid Gerald.

Finally, you discover the answer to all your problems; it’s called the farmers market.

At last, your dinner table abounds with bounty, the fruits of hard labor and toiling, just not yours.

Vile enemy, the prickly weed.

Vile enemy, the prickly weed.

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21 May 2012
8 Comments

I’m glad you’re a vegan, now leave me alone so I can finish my steak.

It turns out that I’m a soulless monster. My children are doomed to be soulless monsters. My children’s children are doomed to be soulless monsters. In fact, all of my descendants have a bleak future ahead of them.

It seems that I’m destined to be the progenitor of race of zombie-like creatures that aimlessly wander the Earth in a soul deprived state. (I don’t actually have any children yet and I’m seriously doubting if I should; who wants a bunch of soulless monsters running around the house?)

I’m also a savage, a butcher and a fiend.

All of this was pointed out to me by a woman who was quite certain that I was pure evil.

What did I do to incur such condemnation and wrath? I ate a cheeseburger. I didn’t eat a cheeseburger while robbing a bank or strangling a puppy. I just ate a cheeseburger.

She found this to be a vile and contemptible act and she let know how she felt.

There’s a point here that I need to make as clearly as possible:

If you’re a vegetarian, I’m fine with it. You can be a vegan, I’m fine with that too. If you eat nothing but pinecones and moss, I don’t care. Your diet can consist solely of gnawing the heads off live herring, a little gross but that’s your choice.

After absorbing a ten minute rant at my expense, I watched in disbelief as this woman got up to leave and put on a leather jacket. I’m not making this up, it was genuine “dead animal hide” leather. Evidently it’s fine to kill an animal if it makes you look like The Fonz.

If you want to wear leather, go right ahead, but please leave me and my cheeseburger alone.

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19 May 2012
2 Comments

Animal Classifications and Angry Penguins.

We’ll show you happy feet.

The zoo is place of learning, a place of discovery, a place where every ten steps you stop and check the bottom of your shoe to ensure that you haven’t stepped in something.

Zoologists separate animals into several basic categories:

Animals that can kill you by stomping on you: elephants, hippopotamus, moose, bison, really huge geese, an incensed mob of penguins that over-heard you comment that the movie Happy Feet sucked.

Animals that can kill you by biting or stinging you: rattlesnakes, scorpion, box jellyfish, black mambo, the Brazilian wandering spider. If the venom of the Brazilian wandering spider doesn’t kill you, it will give you an erection that won’t go away and might result in permanent impotence. (I have no joke for this, I just thought it was weird.)

Animals that will eat you: lions, tigers, polar bears, crocodiles, German cannibals. (google it, it’s creepy.)

Animals that you can eat: cows, deer, pigs, ducks, German guys that answer your Craigslist ad. (seriously, google it.)

Animals that look as though they’ve been genetically altered by a mad scientist: the star-nosed mole, the duck-billed platypus, the axolotl, the aye aye, the entire cast of Jersey Shore.

Animals that appear cute and cuddly but are actually quite dangerous: mink, the short-tailed shrew, the leopard seal, Snooki, that same mob of incensed penguins.

The next you go to the zoo, print-out this list and take it with you. I garuntee that everyone around you will stare in wide-eyed wonder at the depth of your knowledge.

Note: stay alert when you’re around the Jersey Shore exhibit: Snooki is stealthy.

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18 May 2012
5 Comments

Literature and Minty Fresh Breath.

In my previous post I extolled the merits of reading. Quick recap: reading good, hurling your feces bad. Moving on.

I think that it’s important that you should know what to read and what not to read. Here’s a quick overview of various types of literature.

The novel: novels are essentially piles and piles of words endlessly strung together. Novelists are concerned with things like setting, theme, plot resolution, and character growth. Do friends become enemies? Do enemies become friends? Are obstacles overcome? Important questions need to be answered in novels. Does Captain Ahab’s obsession with the white whale drag him under? Does Edmund Dantes’ quest for revenge ruin his chance for happiness? Does Jay Gatsby reunite with his long lost love? Does Sydney Carton seek redemption by going to the gallows for another? Does Lucy ever let Charlie Brown kick the football? (sorry, I don’t know how that last one got in there.) Seriously, novels are just exhausting.

Note: the word denouement is fun to say.

The short story: novels for people with ADD.

Poetry: The first thing about poetry that you need to recognize is that if can even remotely understand it, it’s not proper poetry. When a poet writes about a leaf in a tree being blown by the wind, he’s not really writing about a leaf in a tree being blown by the wind. What the poet is actually writing about is his hatred for his alcoholic father. He’s writing about his own substance abuse and self-hatred. He’s writing about the bleakness of life and the impending spectre of death that awaits us all. The really great poets are also writing about their severe depression and suicidal tendencies. Poets are freakin’ depressing.

Note: this does not apply to limericks. Limericks are short humorous poems with a strict meter and rhyme scheme. They tend to revolve around an odd man from a small island off the coast of Massachusetts.

The humor blog: Humor blogs are written by people of high intelligence. These people tend to be witty and charming, the type of people you want to surround yourself with, the type of people that enrich your life. Most humor bloggers are attractive people, the rest are stunningly attractive people. Humor bloggers have breath that is perpetually minty fresh and they seldom sweat. Humor blogs are to be read, read again, memorized and repeated aloud in public.

So tell all your friends and get to work on it.

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