idiot-prufs

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

Archive for the category “Uncategorized”

Words of Inspiration

love hurts

I have never written more beautiful or poignant words. I’m starting to get all misty-eyed.

I think I may have a bright future in inspirational writing.

Special thanks to The Phil Factor, whose post, Top Ten Tuesdays! My Top Ten Blogging Pet Peeves, gave me the nudge I needed to pursue this new path.

Taglines and more Taglines

taglines

Because they haunt your dreams.

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

The above statement has been the tagline of this blog since its inception–sadly, it’s also been the guiding principle of my life–but it feels as if it’s time for a change. (For the tagline, my life’s a irreparable heap.)

So I’ve decided to try out a few alternatives:

idiotprufs: what happens when you don’t listen to that nagging little voice in your head.

idiotprufs: read by four out of five drunken monkeys-written by the fifth.

idiotprufs: the blog that is wanted by the authorities for questioning.

idiotprufs: just do it. (Evidently the people at Nike think they own everything.)

idiotprufs: the blog that got so drunk last night, it can’t remember anything it did.

idiotprufs: the last blog you will ever read…after you’ve stabbed your eyes out with a shrimp fork.

idiotprufs: the blog that makes my friends deny they know me.

idiotprufs: the reason most of my family no longer speaks to me. (I wish I had started it sooner.)

idiotprufs: the reason I’ve been burned in effigy by Bolivian pudding makers.

idiotprufs: reading it will make your breath perpetually minty fresh.

idiotprufs: the blog labeled a bitter disappointment by its parents.

idiotprufs: the blog that was a banana slug in a previous life.

idiotprufs: the blog that is…um…interesting.

Note: The above tagline is an actual quote from someone after reading this blog; I think she thought it was more polite than saying, “it made me vomit uncontrollably.”

idiotprufs: the blog that was abandoned in the wilderness, but found its way home.

idiotprufs: the new black–black is now forest green.

idiotprufs: it’s addictive like heroin, but without the needles.

idiotprufs: the subject of dozen of lawsuits.

idiotprufs: it’s only libel if isn’t true.

idiotprufs: it’s better than chugging a bowl full of Sea Monkeys.

idiotprufs: the blog that requires you to have all your shots.

idiotprufs: the crayon drawing of the literary world.

idiotprufs: not everybody that reads it suffers from a debilitating brain aneurysm…but it helps.

idiotprufs: it’s like something Mark Twain would write, but without all the humor and talent.

idiotprufs: five minutes of your life that you will never get back.

idiotprufs: it’s like that rash that just won’t go away.

idiotprufs: reading it prevents scurvy.

idiotprufs: the blog that has resulted in almost zero cases of rabies.

idiotprufs: it’s practically a cure for not being an ax wielding maniac.

idiotprufs: the blog that has never caused cancer in lab rats. (It is however a death sentence for yaks.)

idiotprufs: Bigfoot’s favorite blog next to Outdoor Life.

idiotprufs: overlooked by the Pulitzer committee for purely political reasons.

idiotprufs: the blog that ran into Piers Morgan’s blog in a crowded bar, and beat the crap out of it.

idiotprufs: the real reason Edward Snowden fled the country.

idiotprufs: the only blog read aloud in Buckingham Palace.

idiotprufs: the blog that openly wonders if men from Nantucket ever get sick of being facetiously asked if they’re “the guy” from the limericks.

idiotprufs: the blog that caused Justin Bieber to snap.

idiotprufs: only stupid, repugnant, ugly people don’t like it.

idiotprufs: the blog that is being carefully monitored by the NSA.

idiotprufs: the greatest thing on the internet since that piano playing cat.

idiotprufs: the real father of Snooki’s baby.

idiotprufs: the blog that makes your eyes do this:

kimberly goodman

What did I just read?

idiotprufs: it’s considered a vile profanity in Portuguese.

idiotprufs: virtually none of the death threats were credible.

idiotprufs: developed in a secret underground laboratory below Martha Stewart’s house, by a race of super-smart ferrets.

Note: Mr. Squeakers, a ferret that escaped from Martha Stewart’s compound, described her home as wreaking of buttermilk pancakes and fear, but he also described it as being very tastefully decorated.

idiotprufs: the blog that’s destined to rule the world with an iron fist!

I kind of like the last one.

Head Wounds, Deer Semen and Fear: A Famliy Reunion

ugly men, idiotprufs

You’re not related to these men, you should be so lucky.

So you think your family reunions are miserable?

I’m referring to those occasions that include grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, second cousins, creatures who claim to be cousins, but who you could swear are really albino trolls, in-laws, out-laws, felons, significant others, insignificant others, the cast of that creepy movie The Others.

Do you have that one guy who doesn’t seem to belong with any particular family, but always shows up around the holidays. He wears an eye-patch, has a peg leg, and refers to everyone as Matey.

Does the mere act of thinking about your family make you sweat profusely and vomit a little in your mouth?

Does your calendar have the date of your family reunion circled with the word, Armageddon, written across it in blood?

Do you equate spending the day with the extended family with that disturbing dentist/torture scene from Marathon Man?

When you’re with your family, do you wish you could trade places with Dustin Hoffman’s character?

Did you get all the way to the closing credits of The Hills Have Eyes before you realized it wasn’t a home movie?

Do you read Oliver Twist and think: lucky bastard?

Does having your family around you, have the same effect on your brain as a sweaty 300 lb construction worker, pounding on your skull with a jack hammer, while he lustily puffs cigar smoke in your face and curses at you in Portuguese?

Do you have an uncle whose motto is: you can never use too much lighter fluid, unless you’ve plenty of gasoline?

Whenever he leaves a place, do things seem to be on fire that weren’t before he got there?

Is he one of the things that is on fire?

Do you have an uncle who shows up in full blood soaked camouflage, wreaking of a masking scent made from deer semen?

The disturbing part: he hasn’t even been hunting, he just like the way it looks.

Does the emergency room of your local hospital put extra people on duty the day of your family reunion, to deal with the sudden influx of contusions, broken bones, severe burns, food poisoning, alcohol poisoning, bite wounds–some animal, some human, some unidentifiable, and one that appears to be from a bigfoot–stab wounds, gunshot wounds, arrow wounds, one particularly gruesome wound seemingly caused by a medieval mace, and several cases of acute mental distress?

Do you get tetanus and rabies shots before the reunion, not as a precaution, but because you just know.

On your way to the family reunion, do you stop at a convenience store and casually browse, in the futile hope that masked robbers will burst into the store and rob it. You hope the robbery will go sideways and devolve into a protracted hostage situation that stretches into the night? (Or at least until about 6pm, the approximate time your family reunion ends.)

Alas, you have ill fortune, the store is robbed, but the robbers are highly proficient and a hostage situation never materializes. You are shot in the leg, but you know that that’s not an acceptable reason for missing the family reunion, a gunshot wound was bound to happen at some point in the day anyway.

Even when you do have what any rational human being would consider an acceptable reason for missing the family reunion, you still get the following phone call from your aunt and the family enforcer, Barsinister Hag.

Note: She claims her name isn’t Barsinister Hag, but by the sheer nature of her being, it must be.

Barsinister Hag: why you weren’t at the family reunion?

You: I had bayonet wound in the face.

Barsinister Hag: Is that all? You could have stopped by to say hello to your grandmother.

You: It was bleeding quite a lot.

Barsinister Hag: Everybody else made time.

You: I lost a pretty big chunk of my brain, and quite a few memories.

Barsinister Hag: You seem to remember me just fine, how do you explain that?

You: Fate is cruel and hateful.

Barsinister Hag: You’ll pay for this betrayal.

You: Even more than the time I said you had chunky thighs, and you had a hobo attack me with a hammer?

She angrily hangs up and the next day you are attacked by a hobo with an ax.

Is your family worse than that?

Is it?

family reunion

No. Stick it in my face, this has to be convincing.

Firecrackers and Cow Crap

image source: wpclipart.com

This is a post from last Fourth of July. This was one of my more popular posts, presumably because it details an act of irrevocable stupidity on my part. Enjoy.

When we were about twelve years old, my friend and I got our hands on a cache of fireworks. We had everything from firecrackers to the really big stuff. Our potential ranged from slight burns, to watching as the fireman hosed down the side of the house.

We gleefully spent our summer blowing things up and creating a general state of mayhem.

At one point we thought that it would be a clever idea to set off a firecracker in my grandfather’s barn, with the noble goal of making the cows crap.

We had a huge string of firecrackers that we took into the barn. We removed one firecracker from the string and set the string on a barrel. We lit the lone firecracker and threw on the floor in the middle of the barn. We were already chuckling and basking in the glow of our brilliance.

The firecracker went off, leapt into the air, did a strange turn in mid-air, as if it were a guided missile, and landed on the barrel next to the string of firecrackers.

We both tried to grab it, but it was too late. That string of firecrackers took off like a bat out of Hell. We chased it from one end of the barn to the other, yelling, banging into each other, and having no success in corralling it. If I’m not mistaken, it was using evasive tactics.

The cows were in a complete state of panic. They were jumping up and down and trying to break out of their stalls. They were also crapping in a nonstop torrent.

When the string of firecrackers had finally extinguished itself, the air was thick with smoke and the pungent odor of spent gunpowder and cow crap. The lone bull in the barn, had broken loose from its stall, and was glaring at us with a look of unfriendly intent. He was in a state of slight agitation. A bull in a state of slight agitation, closely resembles any other animal in a total rage. 

A solitary thought went through my mind: there may have been unforeseen flaws in our brilliant idea.

Moments later another thought took its place: that bull is going to mangle us.

We learned a valuable lesson that day: you can corral an angry bull without being trampled and gored, or you can corral an angry bull without getting yourself covered with cow crap, but you cannot do both. 

We chose not to be trampled and gored.

Note: We also learned that the stench of cow feces is a stench that lingers.

Through a series brilliant tactical maneuvers, we were able to calm the bull down and eventually return him to his stall.

Note: It’s amazing what fear and panicked fueled frenzy can inspire.

Then we had to clean up the cow crap, and it was everywhere: on the floor, on the cows, on walls, on surrounding beams, dripping from the ceilings above the stalls, and on us.  After that we had to hunt down every vestige of former firecracker, to insure that my grandfather didn’t find out what had happened.

All of this took hours to accomplish.

That night, my grandfather walked into the barn, walked out five seconds later and said, “who set off the firecrackers in the barn?”

We told him the entire messy story. He laughed at us, for what seemed like a longer time than was necessary.

Years later, we were still finding bits of used firecrackers in that barn, continual reminders of our idiocy.

They don’t like firecrackers.
image source: wpclipart.com

Achilles Frustrated by Hole in Health Care Coverage

Originally posted on The Grimm Report:

A Special Report By Grimm Report Chief Health Care Correspondent,
Larry Shampoe
idiotprufs.com | @idiotprufs

The Greek warrior Achilles has recently become vocal about his dissatisfaction with his health care coverage. “Ridiculous waiting lists, exorbitant dinars out-of-pocket, and an inexplicable hole in my coverage,” were just some of the phrases used by Achilles to describe his frustration.

View original 281 more words

Ask, Ask and Maybe We’ll Answer: Battle of the Pancake Syrups

idiotprufs:

The Nudge Wink Report has answered a burning question of mine with great skill and alacrity.

Originally posted on The Nudge Wink Report:

Now that staff performance appraisals are done for another year, it’s time to move on to:

Ask, Ask and Maybe We’ll Answer” here on NWR.

This week’s question comes from Larry in Pennsylvania, writer of the WordPress blog: idiotprufs. Larry, we’re happy you found your way to The Nudge Wink Report. We hope what’s about to happen doesn’t make you regret your decision to become a fan of NWR. And you are a fan.  Right?

Larry’s question is:

If Mrs. Butterworth and Aunt Jemima had a bare-knuckle boxing match, who would win?


Tom : Most people don’t know this, but “Mrs. Butterworth” and “Aunt Jemima” were actually ill-advised code names for famous cars. Sweet!

“Mrs. Butterworth,” obviously, was “The General Lee” from the hit TV show The Dukes of Hazzard. By process of elimination it’s then easy to deduce that “Aunt Jemima” was how Doc and…

View original 905 more words

Hiccup Gremlins and a Punch in the Face

man with hiccups idiotprufsExperts tell us that hiccups are a myoclonus of the diaphragm, that results in an abrupt rush of air into the lungs. You get them when the vagus nerve, which runs from the brain to the abdomen, is irritated. They are most commonly the result of digestive disturbances.

Well that’s just crazy talk–everyone knows hiccups are caused by gremlins.

There are a lot people out there who will tell you that gremlins don’t exist. People who think they’re smarter than you because they have years of medical training, or they’ve read books, or they’ve never been described as “bat crap crazy” by a certified mental health professional. Maybe they’ve never slapped a mime in the face, or they’ve never been arrested for urinating on a police car, but does that make them smarter than you?

Probably, but don’t listen to them–you can’t trust a person who’s never slapped a mime in the face.

Do you think it’s a coincidence that you only seem to get hiccups at the most inconvenient times:

  • You’ve just gone to bed because you have a big presentation at work the next day.
  • You’re at that big presentation; your company’s pitching a foolproof remedy for hiccups. It doesn’t go well.
  • You approach that cute girl to ask her out. She has a terrible phobia of people with hiccups. She blasts you in the face with pepper spray.
  • You’re trying to catch your breath after being blasted in the face with pepper spray.
  • You’re giving a eulogy for a close friend. The fact that your friend died from a mysterious case of hyper-hiccups, heightens the inappropriate nature of your sudden attack of hiccups.
  • Just after the judge asks if you have anything to say for yourself. Evidently urinating on police cars is frowned upon in some places. (You can however slap a mime in the face almost anywhere.)
  • That brief moment of silence after that pastor announces, “if there is anyone here who objects to this union, let them speak now or forever hold their peace.” The former bride of your deceased friend is finally moving on with her life and remarrying. She is not amused. More pepper spray is in your future.

But now you have hiccups, how do you get rid of them?

Note: If you don’t want to be punched in the face, don’t try to cure a person of hiccups by scaring them.

Don’t get me wrong, watching one of your friend’s attempt to scare the hiccups out of another one of your friends, and get punched in the face, is completely entertaining.

Also, being the only person in the room who doesn’t have the hiccups or a black-eye, is weirdly satisfying.

So you won’t waste your time with a bunch of supposed hiccup cures, or get punched in the face by a startled person with hiccups; here is a list of hiccup cures not to try:

  • Scaring someone: this will only get you punched in the face.
  • Tickling: this will also get you punched in the face.
  • Punching someone in the face: While there are several perfectly sound reasons for punching someone in the face, curing hiccups is not one of them.
  • A spoonful of sugar: this may work for Mary Poppins–or any Disney character who breaks into song at irritatingly inappropriate moments–but it doesn’t cure hiccups.
  • A spoonful of peanut butter: this will actually give you hiccups if you don’t have them. If you already have hiccups, and you eat a spoonful of peanut butter, your esophagus will explode.

Note: I spelled esophagus correctly on the first try. I just thought you should know.

  • Drinking a glass of water while standing on your head: this is something made up by your friends, so they can take your picture and post it on the internet.
  • Inhaling paprika: your friends are cruel liars.
  • Holding your breath: this will make you turn blue and pass out. You will wake up with a bump on your head, still with the hiccups, and a blurry view of your friends posting another picture on the internet.
  • Putting your friend’s hand in warm water while he’s sleeping. (Sorry, this comes from an entirely different list. Your friends will definitely post the results of this one on the internet. A punch in the face may also be forthcoming.)
  • Fifty small drinks of water without taking a breath: at sip 42–yes, at exactly sip 42–you will involuntarily take a breath and inhale the water, coughing and shooting the water through your nose.
  • Fifty small drinks of vodka without taking a breath: the same as above, but with the added aspect of vomiting.
  • Putting your fingers in your ears: you still have the hiccups, but at least you can’t hear your friends laughing.
  • Holding your tongue with your fingers: seriously.

This is the point: hiccups cannot be cured, they are caused by gremlins. You simply have to wait for the gremlins to tire, and the hiccups will just go away by themselves. Believe it, it’s science.

 

Not this type of Gremlin.

This type of gremlin.

Bees and Calligraphy

bee calligraphy nerd

In my spare time I like to improve my yodeling.

First a few personal facts regarding the differences between bees and calligraphy:

  1. I have never been stung in the face by calligraphy.
  2. I have never gotten a D on an art project written in bee.

Good things about bees:

  1. If you don’t happen to have any Crazy Stinging Amazonian Bastard Ants, Africanized killers bees will work in a pinch.
  2. It is hysterical when a bee stings a mime.
  3. Pollination. Bees pollinate a vast array of plants, helping to propagate many types of fruits and flowers. I’m also pretty sure Donald Trump’s hair is some sort of hive.
  4. They make honey, that sweet nectar byproduct without which Pooh bear would have never gotten his head caught in a honey pot, in that adorable image by A. A. Milne.  If it weren’t for that image, I’d have nothing tattooed to my left butt cheek.

Good things about calligraphy:

  1. Because of calligraphy, nib manufacturing is still a thriving business in Bangladeshian sweat shops.
  2. Without calligraphy wedding invitations would have to be written in silly fonts.
  3. Anything written in calligraphy looks super classy; like William Shakespeare threw up on a piece of paper. (It’s how the entire first act of Much Ado About Nothing was written.)
sonnet shakespeare

Super classy. Created by William Shakespeare after a night of pounding tequila shots.

Note: This blog has often been referred to as the Shakespeare of humor blogs–sometimes by poet laureates, occasionally by scholars, but mostly by people when I lie about things people have said. I’ve also won the Pulitzer Prize–twice.

Honestly, it’s closer to those five-line poems with a strict AABBA rhyme scheme, that seem to focus on an odd man from a small island off the coast of Massachusetts.

Bad things about bees:

They sting you in the face.

You could be a small child innocently playing in your grandmother’s backyard. Playing in a manner so innocent, its very nature demands the use of the word angelic.

Your could then have your childhood bliss shattered in a moment when bee stings you in the face.

You might retreat into your grandmother’s house sobbing because a bee has just stung you in the face.

Instead of receiving the consoling you need, your aunt–who is evil–snidely tells you, “bees only sting you if you bother them.”

Years later you have your revenge at a family picnic when your aunt is stung by a bee. You confidently inform her, “bees only sting fat bitchy women.” She is not amused.

Note: The Stephen King classic, Cujo, was based on my aunt. While she’s not as hairy as the titular character, she does drool considerably more. You might think that’s mean, but you don’t know her.

Bad things about calligraphy:

They make you learn it in Art class.

When I was in school we didn’t get to use the calligraphy pens with the replaceable ink cartridges; we had to use the old-style calligraphy pens that you had to dip in ink wells. This was problematic.

I tended to get ink blots on my assignment, which hurt the final grade. I also got ink on my desk, on my hands, on my face, on my clothes and weirdly on my left butt cheek. (It was a precursor to the Winnie the Pooh tattoo.)

It was also problematic for the girl in the desk in front of me.

It wasn’t that she had difficulty containing her ink use; it was that my difficulty in containing my ink use, on one occasion spread to her flaxen blonde hair.

Which then became problematic for me, in a loud and somewhat abusive tone.

I threw around more ink than a pissed off octopus.

In conclusion, I want to thank Becky for not using my suggestion of bees and calligraphy; it has allowed me to share more embarrassing moments from my past.

Addendum:


Nantucket. The small island off the coast of Massachusetts is Nantucket. Evidently there once was a man from there.

octopus ink

Man, this calligraphy is difficult.

Fear Loathing and Rejection

fear loathing and sadnessA few weeks ago Becky of Becky Says Things asked her readers for blogging inspiration.

Since I’m constantly inspiring others to do things: sob uncontrollably, flee into the wilderness, punch a mime in the face, file restraining orders, stock up on pepper spray, change their names and disappear into the Bolivian mountains, eat green crayons and evaluate the futility of their lives, just to name a few; I decided to give it a go.

After an enormous amount of deep thought, at least five or six seconds worth, I came up with a topic that I thought to be pure blogging gold: bees and calligraphy.

I sat back and confidently waited for her post about bees and calligraphy, and the awards and accolades that were certain to follow.

It never came. I was passed over in favor of music.

Despair.

As the days passed my sorrow deepened. The colors of life that had once been bright and vibrant now seemed dull and gray. I no longer enjoyed plays, movies or books. I especially couldn’t stand plays or movies based on books. (Except for The Shining, Jack Nicholson is an absolute treasure.)

Music was dead to me. (Except for Weird Al Yankovic, he is delightful.)

Food tasted like cardboard. Cardboard tasted like tapioca. Tapioca tasted like green crayons and green crayons tasted like forest green crayons. Tofu was oddly unchanged.

Even the one thing in the world that I loved more than anything, reruns of The Jersey Shore, couldn’t cheer me up. As I watched their fake tans, greased up hair and increasing levels if stupidity, I knew it was hysterical, but I just couldn’t laugh.

I found myself sitting in a darkened room, chugging Mad Dog 20/20 straight from the bottle, and writing really bad poetry about giraffes and other even-toed ungulates.

As I sat stewing in a combination of fear and loathing and other emotions that remind you of Hunter S. Thompson books, I had an epiphany. (Ooh, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas is another movie based on a book, Johnny Depp is an absolute treasure and he’s delightful.)

The epiphany? I could write a post about bees and calligraphy.

I know what you’re thinking: there are so many reasons why my post about bees and calligraphy wouldn’t be as entertaining as a post about bees and calligraphy written by Becky.

  1. Her blog is more popular than mine.
  2. She’s a better writer.
  3. I don’t have a suave and debonair spokesman like Stickman.
  4. When people tell her that her blog is funny, their voices aren’t dripping with sarcasm.
  5. She probably smells better than I do.
  6. She at least doesn’t smell like burnt toast.
  7. Why do I smell like burnt toast, that’s just weird.
  8. She’s never eaten crayons.
  9. She’s never fought a mime.
  10. She’s never been pepper sprayed.
  11. She’s never been pepper sprayed by a mime.
  12. She doesn’t fill her blog posts with tedious lists.

Regardless, the world needs bees and calligraphy, and I will give the world what it needs.

Next post: Bees and Calligraphy.

weird al

He is an absolute delight.

 

Crazy Stinging Amazonian Bastard Ants

nerd idiotprufs ants

The Crazy Stinging Amazonian Bastard Ant. How would like to get a package of these?

In a recent post, But Seriously, I described of my use of Crazy Stinging Amazonian Bastard Ants when dealing with critics. When I receive criticism I feel is unwarranted, I drop a package in the mail to the criticizer. The package contains a colony of the ants in question. The label on the package reads: shake roughly before opening. (The only thing Crazy Stinging Amazonian Bastard Ants hate more than critics is to be shaken roughly.)

Note: For criticism to reach the Crazy Stinging Amazonian Bastard Ant level, it has to really hurt my feelings; if I exhale a feeble whimper followed by a pained, why, upon receiving the criticism, you’re getting ants in the mail.

It would seem there some people out there who don’t believe that Crazy Stinging Amazonian Bastard Ants are real. People who all suddenly seem to be experts on Amazonian wildlife and entomology. People who say they’ve done their own research and can’t find any evidence of the existence of such an insect.

Hey people, Google doesn’t know everything.

These people claim that no self-respecting taxonomist would give an ant such a silly name.

Things are often given weird or inappropriate names. Have you ever seen a person and immediately thought to yourself: that person’s parents misnamed him; his name should be Rat-Bastard Morgan instead of Piers.

Note: My deepest apologies to Piers Morgan and his family, that was entirely uncalled for, but I really like that joke.

They also say that ants don’t sting: they bite.

Nature provides us with many oddities and exceptions: mammals don’t lay eggs, but the duck-billed platypus does. Birds don’t swim under water, but penguins do. Humans don’t shed their skin like snakes, but Hugh Hefner does. The list goes on and on.

Note: No apologies for Hef: he’s a reptile.

Let’s say for the sake of argument, the name Crazy Stinging Amazonian Bastard Ants, is in fact a product of my fertile if not slightly warped mind.

Who’s to say such an insect doesn’t already exist. There have been over 400 hundred new species of plants and animals discovered in the Amazonian rain forest in recent years, including a monkey that purrs like a kitten and a vegetarian piranha.

Note: the vegetarian piranha was classified as Piersus Morganus, the monkey they called Ted.

Perhaps one of those 400 hundred discoveries is an insect whose sheer nature and attributes demand it be classified as a Crazy Stinging Amazonian Bastard Ant.

Just the other day I read an article about a researcher on the Amazon River who discovered a previously unknown water fowl. The water fowl was infested with a previously unknown type of tick. The tick bit the researcher and infected him a previously unknown and highly infectious disease.

The disease would have incubated within his body over a period of months and the researcher would have unwittingly unleashed a devastating epidemic upon the populace.

Half the population would have suffered from the following symptoms:

  • Nausea.
  • Dizziness.
  • A rash on their butts in the shape Mickey Rooney’s face.
  • A rash on their faces in the shape of Mickey Rooney’s butt.
  • Dry mouth.
  • Itchy scalp.
  • Dry itchy mouth and or scalp.
  • All cheese will taste like wire.
  • All other food will taste like cheese, but the nasty kind like Limburger.
  • Migraines.
  • Chipmunks will throw pine cones at their heads.
  • Migraines from chipmunks throwing pine cones at the heads.
  • They would become obsessed with Kayne West and Kim Kardashian, droning on endlessly about their wedding and how beautiful and perfect their lives are.

The other half of the population would have become depressed and suicidal, mostly due to the fact that the first half of the population were droning on endlessly about Kanye West and Kim Kardashian, their wedding and how beautiful and perfect their lives are.

Luckily the researcher was bitten by a common snake and died straight away.

The point being: for all you critics out there doubtful of the existence of Crazy Stinging Amazonian Bastard Ants, you might just receive a package in the mail containing a hive of Raging Bolivian Biting Wasps. Remember to shake it roughly.

Addendum:

I know there are some of you out there who are doubtful of the monkey that purrs like a kitten and the vegetarian piranha. Do you think I just make this stuff up?

nerd monkey idiotprufs

Ted, the monkey that purrs like a kitten.

 

Post Navigation

Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 3,185 other followers

%d bloggers like this: