idiot-prufs

Read by four out five drunken monkeys–written by the fifth.

Archive for the month “July, 2012”

A Bad Job Interview and Ungulates.

He likes to size up new employees with a long hard stare.
(image source: theitcrowd.wikia.com)

He stares at you with an unwavering gaze as you shift uncomfortably in your seat. The seconds grow into minutes. The minutes grow into…well, slightly more minutes, as his unwavering gaze intensifies into a penetrating glare.

Beads of sweat well on your forehead.

The faint buzz of the flourescent lighting above you is the only sound in the room.

He picks up the phone and begins to dial, never averting his steely eyes from yours. He suddenly stops dialing and slams the receiver back into the cradle.

You flinch, beads of sweat break and run down the side of your face.

He sits back and crosses his hands, he seems to relax. You relax a little.

He then suddenly lurches forward and yells at you in a booming voice, “ungulates.”

Your brain frantically searches for the proper response. “What?” Is the best that your brain can do.

“Ungulate, it roughly means hoofed animals or being hoofed,” he explains.

“I know what an ungulate is,” you respond defensively.

“Then why did you seem so perplexed by the word?” He demands.

“I don’t know. I guess I was just startled,” you answer.

“Do many words startle you so easily?”

“I don’t think I startle that easily,” again you respond defensively.

“Really? The word ungulate seemed to make you wet yourself. What other words give you a start?”

“I’m not afraid of any words,” you tell him, feeling ridiculous.

“So it’s just ungulates that you hate. That’s a problem.”

“I don’t hate ungulates,” you reply, feeling a sense of desperation although you’re not certain why.

“I love ungulates,” he tells you with conviction. “My father loved ungulates. My father’s father loved ungulates…His father didn’t care for them, something about being kicked in the side of the head.” He then pauses for several moments, staring into the distance in a reflective manner, before continuing with renewed vigor. “But his father really loved ungulates. I don’t think that I could deal with a person who didn’t love ungulates.”

“I love ungulates too,” you tell him latching on to his enthusiasm.

“Very well,” he says as he eyes you with suspicion, “what is the best type of ungulate?”

It’s at this point, you realise that you have never once in your life stopped to consider the qualities of ungulates. “The zebra,” you answer apprehensively.

“Are you currently high on crystal-meth?” The interviewer demands.

“Why. Is that the wrong answer?”

“No. Zebra is the proper answer, you just seem very skittish.”

“I just didn’t think there’d be so many questions about ungulates for this type of job?” You tell him.

“You are absolutely correct. Let’s get on with a proper interview shall we.” You nod in agreement, glad to be getting on with it. “So, why do want to be a proctologist; do you enjoy sticking your finger up other men’s butts?”

“What? No. I don’t want to be a proctologist.”

“Well then why are you here?” He asks you accusingly.

“This is an accounting firm,” you spit the words at him.

He shuffles through some of the papers on his desk, reads through a few of them thoroughly, shuffles through a few more, then looks up at you. “You’re right, this is an accounting firm. How silly of me. We almost never have cause to stick our fingers up other men’s butts. Except on Thursdays, there’s quite a lot of it on Thursdays, but other than that, almost never.”

“Okay…I guess.”

“I suppose you’re well equipped at adding and subtracting numbers, because that’s the type of thing we’re looking for in a proc…I mean accountant.”

“Yes. I’m very good at math,” you assure him.

“Quickly. What’s 6+5-2 equal?” He snaps at you.

“That would of course be nine,” you reply confidently.

He stares at you for a moment. He then pulls a small calculator from his desk drawer and punches several buttons. “Amazing. That is absolutely correct, and you didn’t need an adding machine, an abacus, or even your fingers. You just did it right in your head.”

“It was really just a child’s question,” you tell him modestly.

“Nonsense. You are brilliant. When can you start?”

“I can start immediately.”

“There’s just one little thing: what is your opinion on diseased chimpanzees?”

“I don’t think I have an opinion on diseased chimpanzees,” you tell him with uncertainty.

“Don’t be silly, everyone has an opinion on diseased chimpanzees.”

“Really?” You seem doubtful. “What’s your opinion on diseased chimpanzees?”

“I think they’re smug,” he tells you with a tinge of contempt in his voice.

“Why is it relevent?”

“All of our employees share a desk with a diseased chimpanzee.”

“Why in the world is that?”

“It seems we were doing a job for a research lab, and misplaced a few million dollars of theirs. Now we have to house some of their less than successful projects.”

“You misplaced a few million dollars,” you ask in total disbelief.

“Look,” he replies angrily, “not everyone is as brilliant at math as you are. Listen, getting along with a diseased chimpanzee as a desk mate is really very simple: don’t make eye contact, don’t make any sudden movements, don’t ever use his stapler, don’t let him use his stapler to staple documents to your forehead; they will do that, and if he hurls his feces at you, dont hurl yours back.”

“Do you honestly think, I need to be told not to hurl my feces in the workplace?”

“There have been incidents.”

“This is crazy. I don’t want to work here. I don’t want to work for you, and certainly don’t want to work with a diseased chimpanzee. I’m outta here.” You storm out in a huff.

“And he wanted to be a proctologist; he doesn’t possess the temperament,” the interviewer mumbles to himself, “and I would never allow him near my ungulates.”

The best type of ungulate.
image source: wpclipart.com

The High School Guidance Counselor and Some Disturbing News

I’ve been reviewing your records.

Counselor: Well, it’s your senior year, and it’s about time that you started to think about your future, specifically in regards to a career. I’ve reviewed your transcript, gone over your aptitude test scores, and I have spoken with some of your teachers. I seem to be running into a bit of a problem.

You: What exactly is the problem?

Counselor: You’re qualified to do nothing and you’re irretrievably stupid.

You: That seems kind of harsh.

Counselor: I’m sorry. I suppose your entire life, your parents have told you that you’re smart and capable?

You: Of course they have.

Counselor: Well they’re full of it. I have never encountered anyone so ill-equipped to enter the workforce in all my years of being a guidance counselor, and this school is full of stupid kids. Sometimes in think there’s lead in the drinking water.

You: You’re exaggerating, I can’t be that hopeless.

Counselor: Am I? In mathematical aptitude, you answered correctly only 25% of the time.

You: One out three isn’t that bad.

Counselor: Exactly my point. In your English essay you seem to have confused Angie Dickinson with Emily Dickinson.

You: No I didn’t.

Counselor: Let’s see what it was that you wrote? Here it is: Emily Dickinson has a great rack, she was smoking hot in Big Bad Mama.

You: I don’t remember writing that.

Counselor: You have terrible memory skills.

You: That’s not fair.

Counselor: And a delusional perception of fairness.

You: But…

Counselor: You also have trouble completing a thought. Moving on to geography; you couldn’t find Chile on a map.

You: That can’t be that uncommon.

Counselor: It was a map of Chile.

You: I thought it meant the restaurant.

Counselor: You mean Chili’s, I doubt you could find your way through the children’s maze on their placemats.

You: Yes I can, I always use the green crayon.

Counselor: You seem to have absolutely no grasp of economics or government.

You: I know a little about government.

Counselor: You listed the three branches of government as strawberry, vanilla and chocolate.

You: Neapolitan government.

Counselor: You took a course on New York State history didn’t you?

You: Yes I did.

Counselor: Yes you did. You listed the state capitol as Albania. You claimed that the Erie Canal was named thusly, because it was “really spooky.” And you listed the first mayor of New York City as Babe Ruth.

You: It wasn’t Babe Ruth?

Counselor: No. It was Lou Gehrig.

You: Really?

Counselor: NO YOU MORON, it was Thomas Willett. This next one is especially perplexing: under state bird you put Bigfoot. I find that disturbing for at least fifteen different reasons. I’ve come up with four categories of jobs that I believe you could handle. They are as follows:

  1. Jobs requiring  a shovel: digging ditches, digging graves, digging holes in general, and whomping rats.
  2. Jobs requiring a pitchfork: moving piles of hay, moving piles of straw, joining angry mobs that are hunting down rogue monsters.
  3. Jobs requiring a shovel and a pitchfork: moving horse manure, moving cow manure, moving goat manure, basically moving any type of manure.
  4. Jersey Shore cast member.

You: I don’t know. I find that shovels and pitchforks are complicated and difficult to use, and tanning beds give me a rash.

Counselor: There is one other job. Would you be willing to scale steep cliffs and harvest honey, while angry bees sting you repeatedly?

You: Would Snooki be there?

Counselor: No. She most definitely would not.

You: Then I’ll do it.

Counselor: Welcome to the world of Himalayan Bee Keeping.

You: Is it close to home?

Counselor: With your map skills it is.

Snooki is nowhere in sight.
image source: stathconabeekeepers.blogspot.com

Meet the New Neighbors Again.

The Bumpuses: the worst neighbors ever.
Image from My Summer Story.

I have been made to realise that yesterday’s list was woefully incomplete. So here it is: more things that you just don’t want to hear come out of your new neighbor’s mouth. (With a little help from others.)

  • Can you help us out with bail for our son? We can pay you back in two weeks when the heroin comes in.  Courtesy of Carl D’Agostino author of the blog I know I Made You Smile.
  • You’ll have to excuse my wife, she has a form of voluntary Tourette’s syndrome. Your home is lovely, and wife doesn’t at all have the appearance of a fat slutty whore.
  • This seems like a nice quiet neighborhood where we can await the return of the mothership.
  • I love this big spacious backyard, it’s perfect for burying the evidence…er, planting a garden.
  • I don’t see any cinder blocks in your front yard; where do you keep all of your old appliances?
  • Hi, we’re big fat hairy nudists, who sweat a lot, and we love it in the cold. It’s so great to finally be here in Canada.  Dedicated to Diane Henders author of the blog dianehenders.com
  • I’m going to paint my entire house hot pink, with giant flaming skulls on the side. Man is the property value around here going to soar.
  • We really needed to find a bigger home, we were running out of room. I’ll tell you, swamp rats really multiply fast.
  • We had to move from out last neighborhood; all our neighbor’s homes kept burning down. Nobody knew why. Billy, put down those matches and come meet the new neighbors.
  • We’re the Mitchells, and this is our son Dennis. Sorry about that welt on your forehead, Dennis is a crack shot with that slingshot of his.
  • You’re going to love living next to us. We’re quiet as church mice; we’re really into mime.
  • It’s okay, you can shake my hand, leprosy isn’t nearly as contagious as most people think.
  • This is our son Damien, some people think he’s the antichrist, but really he’s just mischievous. But seriously, if you see him on a tricycle, just get back.
  • The witness protection people put me here because I whacked like fifty people, and then I ratted out the family to stay off death row…Oh crap, I wasn’t supposed to tell you that…My name is Ed, and I’m an accountant.
  • I’m Paris Hilton and I’ll be doing a reality show in the home next to yours. It’s going to be called, “I’m Better Than You Because I’m Rich And Skinny, And Just A Tad Slutty.” It’s going to be great.

I would recommend the short story collection, “In God We Trust: All Others Pay Cash” by Jean Shepherd. He details some truly horrifying stories about his childhood neighbors, the Bumpuses. Several of the stories were also the basis for the movies: “A Christmas Story” and “My Summer Story.”

Meet the New Neighbors.

image source: bubbleinfo.com

New neighbors have moved in next to you, and you are hopeful of the type of neighbors they will be. Will they be quiet and tidy? Will they have well behaved children or pets that won’t bark all night or crap on your lawn? Will they be fun people who invite you to barbeques?

Then you meet them and your hopes are dashed. There are certain things you just don’t want to hear come out of your new neighbor’s mouth:

  • We’re members of the Society of Obese Nudists, we’ll be holding our weekly meetings in the backyard.
  • Would you like to meet Yancey and Theodore, our pet howler monkeys.
  • If you hear weird sounds or see odd lights emanating from my basement, don’t worry about it, I’ll just be conducting a few experiments. By the way, if you have any spare DNA lying around, I could really use it.
  • Hi, I’m Charlie Sheen, could I borrow a cup of cocaine? I seemed to have left my cocaine suitcase with my porn star girlfriend.
  • Do you like garden gnomes as much as I like garden gnomes? I hope you do, because I have hundreds of them.
  • I’m Hannibal Lecter, I’d love to have you over for dinner.
  • We’re not actual neonazis, they weren’t radical enough for us. But I’m sure that you and I will get along just fine Mr. Abramowitz.
  • Out entire family just loves to yodel.
  • No. We don’t shave off all of our body hair because the cult makes us, we just like the way it feels. Although, the testicle piercing is mandatory.
  • I’m Tom Cruise, could I interest you in some literature on how Scientology will change your life.
  • Don’t mind all the roosters, they only crow at sunrise.
  • Don’t worry about all the rats you see us carrying in, we use them to feed all of our giant pet snakes. They only escape once in a while…but if you have small children, keep an eye out.
  • You won’t have to worry about noisy lawnmowers with us, all the goats and sheep, take care of our lawn.
  • You might recognize us from out television show–Jersey Shore.

    Bad neighbor
    (image source: fanpop.com)

Even worse neighbors.
(image source: mtv.com)

Federal Government: Mermaids Don’t Exist.

Purveyor of lies.
image source: wikipedia

In a shocking turn of events, The United States National Oceanic and atmospheric Administration has recently released a statement debunking the existence of mermaids. “No evidence of aquatic humanoids has ever been found,” it states on its ocean facts page. (Seriously, they did.)

The NOAA fact page went on to explain how the movie “The Little Mermaid,” was rife with ugly distortions and lies. “The people at Disney should be ashamed of themselves for producing such a misleading representation of aquatic life,” one NOAA official stated. “Although I did cry at end a little,” he later admitted.

NASA, not to be outdone, quickly released their own statement, declaring unequivocally, “there is no man in the moon and it is not made of green cheese. It’s pretty much just a big dust covered rock.”

While we’re all familiar with Neil Armstrong’s famous quote: “That’s one small step for man; one giant leap for mankind.” Most of us have never heard the full quote: “That’s one small step for man; one giant leap for mankind. Wait a minute…what the…there’s no cheese up here. There’s nothing up here but dirt and bunch of useless moon rocks. Hey Buzz you can forget about the wine, there’s nothing out here but dust. What a freaking gype…this place blows.”

Now that our government has put aside the mermaid question; it can move on to the serious and pressing matter that has been plaguing our national conscientiousness: unicorns, do they exist, and why do little girls love them so much?

Note: the mythical beast called The Kracken is real; don’t mess with The Kracken.

Don’t Do This at a Job Interview.

So you need to find a job, but you have the following problems: you interview poorly because you have poor verbal skills, you get nervous in pressure filled situations, and most importantly, you’re hopelessly stupid.

You are sloppy and ill-mannered to the point that Larry the Cable Guy thinks you’re uncouth.

You give bad first, second, and third impressions; the fourth time people meet you they generally snap and attack with a stapler.

And you smell funny: like beets and goat urine.

So I’m going to aid you in your quest for employment with some helpful hints to get you through that daunting job interview.

Things you should not wear to a job interview:

  • A belt buckle that reads: The Boss Sucks.
  • Your “I’m too drunk to care” t-shirt.
  • That shirt you own, that has a mustard stain, that looks like Jiminy Cricket.
  • That shirt you own, that has a ketchup stain, that bears likeness to Donald Duck.
  • Any shirt, with any stain, shaped like a Disney character or otherwise.
  • Those bell-bottom pants that you’re so proud of.
  • Your alligator boots. (This applies if you’re interviewing for a job with Peta.)
  • Your lucky pair of pants. (They may be lucky, but the hole in the crotch isn’t doing you any favors.)
  • Your fake eye patch. (Yes it makes you look cool, but don’t)
  • Your Groucho Marx glasses. (Yes they’re hysterical, but don’t.)

Things not to do on a job interview:

  • Turn every innocuous statement into a double entendre, by responding with the phrase: that’s what she said.
  • Bring in Leonard, your pet lizard, because you think the interviewer might enjoy seeing how a lizard can devour an entire rat.
  • Bring in Wilbur, your pet wombat, because you think the interviewer might be fascinated by how much a wombat can crap.
  • Bad-mouth your previous employer, explaining to your interviewer, that he singled you out for beratement and unfair chastising.
  • Describe your previous employer with phrases such as, weasel-faced penis, rat-fink, and tiny brained flea with matching genitals.
  • Punctuate the tirade about your previous employer by saying, “of course, I was nailing his wife.”
  • Nod toward a picture of your interviewer’s wife, give him a knowing wink, and ask him, “how’s that working out for you?”
  • If your interviewer is a woman, don’t try to show her how clever you are by guessing her age and weight.
  • Don’t ask her if she’s prematurely gray, or if she’s just dirt old.
  • Don’t recommend a good wrinkle cream.
  • Don’t recommend a good plastic surgeon.
  • Under no circumstance should you ask your interviewer to “smell this.”
  • Don’t demonstrate your conscientiousness, by pointing out that you’re waiting until after the interview to get stoned.

Note: The following is an actual conversation that I had with a man who was dropping off his resume at steel coating plant where I used to work:

Man: is there someone here that I can talk to about a job?

Me: The plant manager does the hiring, but he isn’t here today.

Man: So I can’t talk to anyone today?

Me: Sorry.

Man: But I made sure not to get stoned today.

Me: That’s very conscientious of you; I’ll add a note to your resume.

Man: You make sure you do that.

That man wasn’t even considered for the position. Does honesty count for nothing anymore?

Now that you are armed with the knowledge you need, go out there and find gainful employment, or at least stop getting physically throw out of interviews by security.

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