idiot-prufs

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

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“Experts”

expertOurs is a nation whose shores are teeming with experts. They are vital to our existence. We could barely function on daily basis if not for these titans of knowledge and purveyors of wisdom. We know these things because it’s what they tell us.

We expect much of our experts, and they tell us how to do many ways:

  • They tell us what to do.
  • They tell us what not to do.
  • They tell us what to think.
  • They tell us what not to think.
  • They tell us where we should go.
  • They tell us where we shouldn’t go.
  • They tell us what we should or shouldn’t be thinking, while doing what we should or shouldn’t be doing, on way to somewhere we should or shouldn’t be going.
  • They tell us not to be long winded.
  • The tell us not to be abrupt.
  • They tell us not to make things too complicated.
  • They tell us not to make things too simple.
  • They tell us what to say.
  • They tell us what not to say.
  • They tell us not to pronounce the T in the word often.
  • But when they tell us, they pronounce the T in the word often.
  • And they do it often.
  • They tell us not to interrupt people.
  • But they interrupt us to tell us.
  • They tell us what to write.
  • They tell us what not to write.
  • They tell us not to end a sentence with a preposition.
  • But you can end a sentence with the word preposition.
  • You can do it twice in a row.
  • They tell us what to eat.
  • What not to eat.
  • How long to boil an egg.
  • How long not boil an egg.
  • Don’t boil eggs–poach them.
  • Stop! Eggs are bad for you.
  • Now they’re not.
  • Now they are again.
  • Now they’re not, as long as you don’t put salt on them; salt is very bad for you.
  • Now it’s not.
  • They complain constantly about office politics and their pointy-haired boss.
  • Sorry, that’s not what experts do–that’s what Dilbert does.
  • They tell us not to wash our hair with flea and tick shampoo.
  • They assume someone would be stupid enough to wash their hair with flea and tick shampoo.
  • They tell us to read labels carefully, so you don’t accidentally cover your head with liquid pesticide.
  • They can bite me.
  • They tell us what to read.
  • They tell us what not to read.
  • Starting with seemingly endless and annoying lists.
  • When we feel miserable, they tell us why we feel miserable.
  • When we don’t feel miserable, they tell us why we should feel miserable.
  • When we feel happy, they knock some sense into us, so we can get back to the business of being miserable.
  • They tell us what to do to avoid getting sick.
  • When we get sick, they tell us why it’s not their fault.
  • And when we die, they tell our relatives how to prepare heartfelt eulogies.

If not for the tireless work of experts, how many of us would still be living under the dark veil of happiness.

Our experts must be totally exhausted.

If should happen to see an expert on the street today, stop and be sure to give him a heartfelt thank you. If you don’t know how to do that: ask him, I’m sure he’ll tell you how it should be done.Dilbert. point haired boss

 

Man In Yellow Hat Jailed After Destructive Tirade.

North East, Pennsylvania–In a bizarre story involving a construction site, a mischievous monkey and a bulldozer; a man in a big yellow hat was taken into custody following a destructive tirade.

It seems the man, who was traveling with the monkey, had stopped at a local market to pick up a few things. While he was inside, the monkey made his way across the street and onto a construction site where he found an idling bulldozer.

“I look up and I see the bulldozer tearing across the lot,” said Dirk, one of the construction workers who witnessed the incident. “I thought that Earl had lost his mind, but then I look and I see this freakin’ monkey, and he’s driving the bulldozer. We always joke with Earl that a monkey could drive a bulldozer…I guess we were right.”

According to Dirk, the monkey swerved around the lot before making a beeline toward the Porta-Johns. “Guys were jumping up and down and waving the monkey away from the Porta-Johns. The monkey just waved back. The bulldozer hit those Porta-Johns, and they went flying through the air. They hit the ground and blew into pieces; they really aren’t made for that type of thing. It’s a good thing no one was in them…except for Earl that is.”

“Yeah that’s right,” another witness confirmed. “From out of the Porta-John rubble climbs Earl, covered with crap, literally.”

According to witnesses, it was at this point the man in the yellow hat arrived.

“This guy dressed in a yellow suit comes running across the lot and screaming at the monkey. I mean, from head to toe everything’s yellow–that’s weird isn’t it?”

Everyone agreed that it was a little weird.

“So now the guy is chasing the monkey on the bulldozer. He’s trying to grab the monkey but the monkey won’t let him. Each time the guy gets close, the monkey hurls crap at him. The monkey is steering with one hand and hurling crap with the other–he really puts Earl to shame. So the guy is ducking and dodging the monkey crap, and he’s really quick, like he’s done this before. But then, he catches one square in the forehead. The guy just stops dead in his tracks, he gets this crazy look in his eyes and he starts screaming: ‘that’s it, that’s the limit.’”

Many of the witnesses told the authorities they had never seen a man with such a wild look in his eyes.

“I guess the monkey could tell he was in trouble, because jumps off the bulldozer. Then the man in the yellow hat gets on the bulldozer, and now he’s chasing the monkey. He’s smashing through walls and knocking things over, the monkey’s scrambling around with the bulldozer right on his tail. The monkey climbs over a pick-up truck to get away, but the man just plows into the truck, and the truck flips over. Earl’s screaming and running over there because it’s his truck.”

The police arrived on the scene shortly afterward.

“I just couldn’t take it anymore,” the man in the yellow hat told police as they took him away. “He just keeps getting into more and more trouble, and it’s really pissing me off.”

Animal control came and retrieved the monkey, but not before the monkey stole their tranquilizer gun, climbed a pole, and put four rounds in Earl’s keister.

It was not a good day for Earl. He later said of the incident, “@#$%$&!#%  monkey.”

“I heard the man in the yellow hat refer to the monkey as George,” Dirk told authorities. “He sure was a curious little thing.”

porta-john

Pre-monkey Porta-Johns.

Lady Bigfoot Responds to allegation of Floppy Breasts

bigfoot boobs idiotprufs

Lady Bigfoot: upset about the allegation of floppy breasts.

In a recent post, A Case of Delusion?, I shared a few tips from the Facebook page of a group devoted to Bigfoot hunting. The page’s creator, John Reed, related the following tips if you should happen to find yourself face to face with a Sasquatch:

“bigfoot tip #1 when being chased by a sasquatch run up hill if its a male .. they have an extended forehead so they have to stop offten to look up.” He adds, “if its a female run down hill they have no bras so they got big ole lady boobs and when running downhill they flop about and they have to stop to plop them over their shoulders…..”

So the first time I read this, I had a number of thoughts:

  1. Yikes.
  2. Doesn’t Facebook have spell check?
  3. Yikes again.
  4. Judging by the contents of the Facebook page, this guy probably hasn’t been anywhere near female breasts of any type, for quite some time.
  5. Seriously, yikes.
  6. Shouldn’t you actually find a Bigfoot before you worry about being chased by one?
  7. I cannot overstate this: yikes.
  8. I wonder what a Lady Bigfoot would think about this?

The verdict is in: Lady Bigfoot is pissed. She is so upset, she is setting aside her reclusive nature, to come forward and address the comments made on the Facebook page. In an Idiotprufs exclusive, she has agreed to sit down with me to discuss it.

Idiotprufs: So, what are your thoughts on the tips John Reed gave his Facebook followers?

Lady Bigfoot: First, of course I don’t have a bra. Where would I get a bra?

Idiotprufs: From a clothesline?

Lady Bigfoot: Do I look like a thief to you?

Idiotprufs: No ma’am.

Lady Bigfoot: What do you think would happen if were to stroll into Victoria’s Secret looking for a bra?

Idiotprufs: I don’t know.

Lady Bigfoot: People would panic. People would scream and run away. Hysterical women would call me a monster, and blast me in the face with pepper spray. Men with tranquilizer guns would show up and put me down like I was a lowly bear. They would lock me in a cage, and poke and prod at me. That’s what would happen.

Idiotprufs: Wow, that is eerily similar to my experience at Victoria’s Secret, but for completely different reasons.

Lady Bigfoot: (Glares at me.)

Idiotprufs: Sorry, continue.

Lady Bigfoot: Second, these breasts don’t need a bra; they are plenty firm. Go ahead and feel them.

Idiotprufs: Oh I don’t think that’s a good idea.

Lady Bigfoot: Really I insist.

Idiotprufs: I don’t think I…

Lady Bigfoot: Feel my breasts or I will rip your arms off, and beat you to death with them!

Idiotprufs: Yes ma’am.

Lady Bigfoot: What do you think?

Idiotprufs: I think this is the most uncomfortable moment of my life.

Lady Bigfoot: (Growls at me)

Idiotprufs: They are very firm. They’re more hairy than I’m used to…but sadly not by much.

Lady Bigfoot: You let your millions of viewers know the truth about my breasts.

Idiotprufs: Millions of viewers?

Lady Bigfoot: You’re Maury Povich aren’t you?

Idiotprufs: Uhsure why not.

Lady Bigfoot: I have to get home; Bigfoot will be waiting for supper, and those grubs and berries won’t gather themselves.

Idiotprufs: That sounds nice.

Lady Bigfoot: It’s not nice; grubs are disgusting. Unfortunately it’s impossible to a get a pizza delivered to your home when your address reads: behind a rock in the woods.

Idiotprufs: I’m sorry. Thank you for your time.

Lady Bigfoot: It was my pleasure…idiot.

As you can see John Reed’s tips are simply ridiculous; if a female Bigfoot is chasing you, just compliment her breasts.

Maury Povich, bigfoot, boobs,

Maury may have never done a show about Lady Bigfoot boobs, but it’s right in his wheelhouse.

 

Spring 2014: More Mooning Garden Gnomes.

 

idiotprufs, prickly weed

The prickly weed; a very under appreciated weed.

The signs of spring are all around you:

  • The temperature has warmed.
  • The sound of birds chirping in the morning has replaced the sound of snow blowers and the guy across the street complaining bitterly as he scrapes the ice from his car.
  • And the sound of his cursing as another ice-scraper breaks off in his hand and he yells, “that’s it, I’m leaving this God forsaken weather and I’m going to Texas,” as shakes his fist at the sky.
  • Soon to replaced by his cursing as he scrapes bird crap from his windshield as he shakes his fist at the sky.
  • The final remnants of where Gerald the neighbor kid, wrote insults to you in the snow with his pee, are finally melting away. That kid has a vivid imagination and a huge bladder.
  • Your neighbor will begin work on his annual garden. In the coming months, he will regale you with baskets of fresh vegetables. He will explain to you that his garden has produced so overwhelmingly, that his own family couldn’t possibly consume all the bounty themselves. Smug Jerk.
  • Your other neighbor has once again placed a mooning garden gnome, Willard #6, facing your kitchen window.

A quick recap of the history of the Willards

  • Willard met an untimely demise at the hands of a maniac with a shovel.
  • Willard #2 was also smashed with a shovel.
  • Willard #3 was backed over by a car and smashed with a shovel.
  • Willard #4 was hit with a brick, peed on, and smashed with a shovel.
  • Upon swearing to your neighbor and the local authorities, that you had nothing to do with the dispatching of the previous Willards, and under no circumstance would you attack an innocent garden gnome with a shovel, Willard #5 took his proper place facing your kitchen window.
  • Willard #5 was smashed with a hammer.
  • Willard #6 now stands proudly baring his buttocks toward your kitchen window. He is protected by flood lights and a security camera…for now.

You begin to make preparations for Spring yourself:

  • You drain and fill in the moat you dug the previous Spring. Gerald the neighbor kid, took swimming lessons over the Winter, and the cold weather killed all the piranha anyway.
  • You plant a vegetable garden of your own, regardless of the fact that your touch seems to destroy life.
  • You take down the sign that some smart aleck placed by your garden that read: Potter’s Field.
  • The local nursery places a picture of you on the their wall labeled: The Grim Reaper.
  • Gerald the neighbor kid mockingly asks you what kind of plants you plan to kill this year.
  • You look into the purchase of an electrified fence.
  • Your gardening neighbor assures you he’ll have plenty of extra vegetables to give you, after your garden has shriveled up and blown away like blades of grass in the Sahara Desert. “I’ll give you some tomatoes, zucchini, squash, maybe even a few cukes,” he tells you.
  • You try to think of a clever response, but you’re not clever.
  • “You’re a cuke,” you finally yell, long after your neighbor has left.
  • You focus on growing the only things that seem to flourish under your care: weeds.
  • Your plot of weeds thrives, especially the prickly weeds.
  • Your home is raided by the DEA after they receive an anonymous tip about you “growing weed.” They find nothing illegal, but your precious weeds are trampled.
  • You buy a rifle. You know who the anonymous tipster was, and it’s time for Willard #6 to pay.

Note: oddly, Sea-Monkeys also do well under your care.

 

idiotprufs mooning gnome

This is practically a bullseye.

A Case of Delusion?

idiotprufs bigfoot

“I hope no one saw me.”

A resident of the great commonwealth of Pennsylvania, has reported to police that his 1973 Winnebago motor home was vandalized by a Bigfoot. The windows and tail lights were broken out with what he described as a fusillade of rocks.

Is that delusional?

Note: isn’t fusillade a fun word to use?

In the police report the suspect was described as: “very large, brown in color, and walks somewhat hunched over.” The victim was unable to describe whether the attacker “was hairy” investigators added.

Is that delusional?

Evidently in an attempt to avoid discovery, the ape-like creature began to hurl rocks at the Winnebago.

Is that delusional?

Note: avoiding discovery is only 8th or 9th on my list of reasons to hurl rocks at things.

In an odd coincidence, it seems the victim happens to be a Bigfoot hunter, and has a Facebook group devoted to such.  His Facebook page offers some advice if you come face-to-face with a Sasquatch. Here are couple of gems, verbatim:

Bigfoot tip #1: when being chased by a sasquatch run up hill if its a male .. they have an extended forehead so they have to stop offten to look up.

Bigfoot tip #2:  if its a female run down hill they have no bras so they got big ole lady boobs and when running downhill they flop about and they have to stop to plop them over their shoulders…..

What the hell…is that delusional?

Note: I don’t know if the victim pronounces the T in often, but he adds an extra F.

idiotprufs, bigfoot

The victim of Bigfoot’s fusillade.

 

The victim is also a Cubs fan, and has high hopes for the Cubs chances in the World Series this year.

Now that is delusional.

A Healthy and Shiny Coat

coconut idiotprufs

The vile coconut.

Coconut makes me sick. If I bite into something with coconut in it, I will immediately begin to gag.

The mere smell of coconut makes me nauseous. In fact anything coconut scented bothers me.

Am I telling  you this because I’m a whiny little crybaby?  A little bit, but I do have a point.

I was attempting to take a shower at my friend Lance’s house.

Note: normally I don’t use real names in an effort to protect the innocent, but no one here is innocent.

I stood in his shower, surveying the menagerie of shampoo and hair conditioner bottles that littered the front of the tub. I had only one priority in choosing a shampoo: it mustn’t be coconut scented.

I spotted a small innocuous bottle of green shampoo set off to the side. Green shampoo is likely apple blossom scented, or green tea, possibly something herbal, but it certainly wouldn’t be coconut.

Without checking to see what it was, I confidently applied the shampoo to my hair and began to lather up.

The scent was odd, not at all what I expected. My scalp immediately began to tingle; it must be dandruff shampoo.

The tingling sensation transitioned to a burning sensation. The burning sensation spread to my eyes and nose, and there was a strange metallic taste in my mouth. It certainly wasn’t apple blossom.

As I started to rinse the shampoo from my hair, the burning intensified and it felt like I had gargled battery acid.

I grabbed the bottle to find out exactly what kind of poison I had been scrubbing into my scalp.

Flea and tick shampoo for dogs?

Are you kidding me?

The warning label instructed dog owners to wear gloves while applying the shampoo to their dogs, and to avoid making contact with skin.

Not only was the shampoo all over my skin, some of it had run down to the tender bits.

I grabbed a different bottle of shampoo, squeezed a copious amount into my hand, and began to aggressively slather it over my body.

A stark and sudden realization paralyzed me: coconut!

What insufferable madness is this?

The combination of pesticide and coconut made my stomach to flip like Nadia Comaneci in the 76 Olympics. I began to wretch like a cat hacking up a hairball; something Nadia Comaneci has probably never done.

It was horrible.

I was nauseous the remainder of the day, and everything I ate tasted like someone had sprayed Raid on it.

Lance would point out my hair to people and say, “doesn’t he have a healthy and shiny coat?” Then he would laugh hysterically.

Note: I told you no one was innocent.

“Don’t you read labels?” Lance’s girlfriend scolded.

“I sorry. I didn’t realize there would be a bottle of napalm in the shower,” I responded.

“Don’t be a baby,” she told me.  “I use that shampoo on the dog all the time and he never complains.”

I thought this criticism to be unfair. The dog also humps your leg, licks himself in indiscreet places, and eats his poop. I do almost none of those things.

Through it all, at least I know I’m virtually parasite free.

Note: Don’t worry, Henry my tapeworm is fine and doing well.

nadia comeneci, idiotprufs

Nadia scored a perfect 10; my stomach did not.

Lucky the Leprechaun Busted

idiotprufs, luck the leprechaun

The troubled leprechaun.

Golden Valley, Minnesota–In a shocking turn of events, longtime mascot of Lucky Charms cereal, Lucky the Leprechaun, was charged with driving while under the influence, resisting arrest and attempted bribery, according to Minnesota state police. Upon pulling him over, he was found with several empty bottles of Irish whiskey, and a half-eaten box of Lucky Charms cereal. “I guess Lucky Charms cereal is like crack to leprechauns,” the arresting officer said, “no wonder they’re ‘magically delicious.”

“Don’t you know who I am?” The leprechaun kept yelling according to the arresting officer. Then he offered the officer three wishes and all the ‘Lucky Charms he huff’  if he would let him go.

It would seem that it was Lucky’s trouble had started with his pot of gold and an ill-advised wager. Apparently he had bet his entire pot of gold on the Denver Broncos to win the Superbowl.

Police said it was a colleague who had prodded Lucky into the wager.

“That idiot Cap’N Crunch. ‘It’s all about Peyton Manning, It’s all about Peyton Manning’ he kept telling me,” Lucky would rant the officers.

“He was a lot of trouble,” one of the booking officers reported. “Every time we tried to take his mug shot, he would disappear right before the camera flashed, then he would reappear and laugh hysterically. It was really annoying.”

At the bail hearing Lucky plead his case before the judge. “There’s so much pressure being an internationally known cereal mascot; everyone expects you to keep up a certain image: clean cut and wholesome. Have you read the literature? That’s not how leprechauns are. We’re tricksters who like to smoke and drink and tell stories. Honestly, I hate kids: they’re loud and annoying and for some reason, they’re always sticky. Why the hell are they always so sticky?” He paused for a moment to compose himself.

“And the other cereal mascots really get on my nerves. That wimp the Trix Rabbit is always popping in unannounced, griping that he never gets any Trix because Trix are for kids. Just take some you pathetic fur ball, they’re just kids, what are they gonna do? That giant nosed freak Toucan Sam, flying all around and crapping all over my carpet…you shouldn’t have to lay down newspaper when friend comes around. And don’t get me started on Tony The Tiger; he’s obnoxious, he smells and I’m pretty sure he has chiggers…Does any of this sound “lucky” to you?” He then began to weep uncontrollably. He tears were green.

The judge released Lucky into the custody of General Mills pending trial.

A spokesman for General Mills said, “We certainly hope Lucky can straighten out his personal life. If not, were looking into gnomes.”

Note: Authorities are still unclear as to how a naked Justin Bieber wound up in the trunk of Lucky’s car. They both claim to have no memory of what happened the night before.

idiotprufs, leprechaun

Frankenstein’s Omelet

frankenstein's omelet idiotprufs

An almost perfect likeness of the Creator. Well…maybe if it were a little more sinister.
(image source: wpclipart.com)

It was an omelet in the way Frankenstein’s monster was a human.

While its creator’s intentions may have been noble, the result was a seething beast that mocked nature and good culinary practices in general.

The plate sat before me, its contents bubbled and oozed, its bulbous features groped at the air and shifted to form what resembled a sinister grin.

Its creator hovered over me, flush with pride and anticipation, and offered me a verbal nudge, “well, are you going to try it?”

“Of course I’m going to try it…what exactly is it?”

“What is it,” she was incredulous, “don’t you even recognize an omelet when you see one?”

“Obviously I can see that it’s an omelet,” I lied. “It just doesn’t have the typical appearance of an omelet.”

“That’s the fault of your stove.”

“It’s the stove’s fault?”

“Your stove isn’t level.”

“My stove isn’t level?” I poked timidly at the contents of the plate with my fork, “And that’s that why this is purple?”

“I don’t know why it turned purple, ” she snapped defensively.

“It just seems like a really strange color for…”

“Nevermind the color. Are you going to try it or not?”

I searched the plate for the least offensive portion. I stabbed my fork into what appeared to be a mushroom; it was almost certainly some form of fungus.

Tendrils of steam curled from the fork and disappeared into the atmosphere, accompanied by a sickly pungent smell that hung in the air like a brick in wet cement. As I drew the fork to my mouth, beads of sweat began to well on my forehead.

I paused.

She gathered over me like a thunder-head. The weight of her stare bore down on me; I could no longer delay the inevitable.

I steadied my nerves, said a quick silent prayer, and jabbed the morsel into my mouth.

It had roughly the consistency of synthetic rubber. The flavor was an oddly unpleasant mixture of fetid egg and moldy wood. Just as I thought it couldn’t be more repulsive, I bit into something that seemed to squirt a semi-viscous liquid.

It was like a mouthful of used bandages, but much less pleasant.

I chewed as quickly as possible, and swallowed hard, in a desperate attempt to remove the offending portion as far from my taste receptors as possible.

I had to suppress the protective gag reflex that separates humans from rats.

Then I swallowed again. It was clinging to the sides of my throat.

I shifted slightly in my seat and swallowed a third time. It finally lost its grip.

To this day I can’t be certain, but If I’m not mistaken, it attempted to climb back out. I quickly grabbed a glass of water and emptied its contents into my stomach, taking with it the stubborn piece of the beast.

I looked up at its creator, smiled weakly, and forced the words out, “it’s delicious.” A single tear slid silently down my cheek.

She stood over me, arms crossed, with a deep look of suspicion on her face. “Why don’t have some more then?”

“I’m not really hungry now,” I assured her as I slowly pushed the plate away. “I’ll have the rest later.”

“I know what that means: you’ll stick it in the refrigerator where it will sit untouched for weeks, until it turns bad and you have to throw it out.”

“I explained to you about the casserole, it wound up behind something, I forgot it was there.”

“Behind something? The entire contents of your refrigerator consist of a can of coffee, a bottle of ketchup and a mysterious yellow stain that seems to move around on its own.”

“The yellow stain moves around?”

“Forget the stain,” she snapped. “When I come back later, I expect to find the entire thing eaten.”

I was never certain whether she was talking to me or to the creature.

Per her orders, the entire thing was eaten: I fed it to the neighbor’s dog. The dog later vomited on my front steps and bit me; it seemed like an equitable trade.

broken egg shell

The Creator broke a few of these to make the omelet. Also, there was likely some radiation involved.
(image source: wpclipart.com)

What’s in that Drawer in the Kitchen?

Mr. Yuk at idiotprufs

Just one of the things in the drawer.

Check out my post at That Drawer in the Kitchen.

It Sucks to be a Lab Rat

lab rat idiotprufs cancer

So awhile ago I was informed that French fries cause cancer in lab rats. I found this to be upsetting for a number of reasons:

  1. I like French fries.
  2. Many of my close friends like French fries.
  3. A number of those close Friends are lab rats.
  4. Virtually all of my lab rat friends frequently enjoy French fries.
  5. The snarky little man that informed of this, just as I was preparing to enjoy an order of French fries, suffered an immediate injury that has caused me great distress.

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. Let’s get on this, Congress.

I decided to check this out for myself. It turns out the weird little man was right, a weird little bit. A substance called acrylamide, which is found in fried foods, has been used to induce cancer in lab rats.

Here’s the twist: to ingest the same amount of acrylamide that was injected into these lab rats, you would have to eat 346 large orders of McDonald’s fries everyday. Let’s be honest, if you eat 346 large orders of large McDonald’s fries everyday, you have a slew of problems that require immediate professional attention, long before an oncologist gets anywhere near you.

It also seems that these lab rats are bred to be susceptible to cancer. Something as slight as a simple change of diet can induce cancer in these rats. That’s just cheating.

Note: It sucks to be a lab rat.

It has also been discovered that every time a potato farmer in Idaho named Earl, utters the word crap-shack, lab rats in Sweden immediately develop cancerous growths. The day he fell off his tractor and broke his tailbone, every lab rat in Sweden ballooned to the size of a cantaloupe.

Here are a few things used to induce cancer in lab rats:

  • sugar
  • caffeine
  • salt
  • nicotine
  • alcohol
  • radon
  • plutonium
  • radium
  • yellow cake uranium
  • yellow cake with frosting
  • strawberry shortcake
  • Strawberry Shortcake the doll
  • Guys and Dolls the musical
  • Cats the musical
  • cats
  • dogs
  • pink flamingos
  • pink the color
  • Pink the singer
  • Pink Floyd’s Dark Side of the Moon
  • Floyd the barber
  • barber shop quartets
  • Donald Trump’s hair
  • Jersey Shore reruns
  • Pauly Shore reruns
  • Pauly Shore movies
  • Bob Costas’ glowing red eyes
  • The word okie-dokie
  • potato farmers named Earl
  • everything

So the next time you think about telling me that French fries cause cancer in lab rats–pending action from Congress–you might just get stabbed in the side of the head with a plastic fork.

Correction: Jersey Shore reruns do not cause cancer in lab rats; they kill them outright.

idiotprufs

“Hey, you can’t pin cancer on me. High cholesterol: maybe. Obesity: yes. But not cancer.”

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