idiot-prufs

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

Archive for the tag “comedy”

Woefully Inadequate Preparation

 

pythagorean theorem

Useless knowledge when you’re about to be cut.

This occurred while I was working as a quality control inspector at a steel coating plant near Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. I was sitting at my desk filling out paperwork–paperwork that I’m sure was vital to the daily functioning of the plant, and not be interrupted–when the crane operator, Jim, burst into the office.

“We have a problem,” he barked.

Jim tended to have problems more days than not. Urgent problems. Urgent problems of all varieties. (I could tell it was urgent because Jim was using his urgent voice. His urgent voice was similar to his whiny voice, but an octave higher.)

I looked around the office to discover I was the only one there. Crap.

“Houston,” I said to him.

“What?”

“When you burst into a room to exclaim that you have a problem, you’re supposed to say, ‘Houston, we have a problem.'”

“But we’re not in Houston.”

Note: nobody gets me.

“Never mind. What’s the problem?” I asked with genuinely feigned interest.

“Look at this,” he said as he shoved his phone at me. It was a picture of some temp workers standing outside on a smoke break.

“It’s a picture of some temp workers standing outside on a smoke break.” I said.

“You don’t see the problem?” He was incredulous.

“The threat of emphysema?”

“Look closer.” He shoved the phone at me again.

“Okay. They’re all smoking cigarettes, except for that little guy who seems to be holding…a crack pipe.”

“So you understand the problem now?”

“He’s not sharing with the others?”

“This is serious,” he snapped.

“Selfishness is a serious problem, Jim,” I admonished him.

“I can’t be operating a crane out there with people running around all hopped up on drugs.”

“Do people still use the phrase hopped up?”

“Are you going to do something or not?”

“Where’s Rick?” I asked. “He’s loud and obnoxious and loves to yell at people.”

Rick was the foreman, he was loud and obnoxious and loved to yell at people.

“He called off today,” Jim told me.

Note: It’s so rare that you’re in want of a person who is loud and obnoxious and loves to yell at people, but one time that you are, he’s not around. I once asked the owner why he made Rick the foreman. He told me that Rick was too stupid to do anything useful, but he was good at yelling at people, so he made him the foreman. Just another reason the Pittsburgh steel industry is thriving, in Japan.

I got on the radio and called the paint supervisor, to inform him of the situation.

“Deal with it, I’m in the truck yard,” he said tersely.

I reminded him that I mainly dealt with readings, measurements, recording data and that type of thing. What I didn’t deal with were problems that could lead to me being stabbed in the side of head.

“Deal with it, I’m in the truck yard,” He said again. My abilities of persuasion were obviously lacking.

I approached the person in question. He was a little guy with glasses. He looked like Mr. Peabody, if Mr. Peabody were a crackhead and not a cartoon dog. He was sweating profusely and his eyes were darting back and forth.

Mr. Peabody (probably not on crack)

“We won’t be needing you for the rest of the day, so you can go home now,” I told him, hoping that he would just acquiesce and leave.

“Why?” He demanded.

“We just don’t need you.”

He leaned into me, and growled in a slow deep voice, “is it because of the leprechauns?”

I gaped like an idiot.

“It’s the leprechauns isn’t it?” He persisted.

“No. It has nothing to do with the leprechauns.” I spoke slowly. “It’s more that you smoked crack on your break.” I felt at that point that honesty wasn’t going to make the situation any worse.

“Is that what the leprechauns told you?” He screamed. “The leprechauns lie!” Then he produced a razor blade from his pocket.

Evidently honesty could make things much worse.

He then gave me a very strange look and asked in a near whisper, “are you a leprechaun?”

You’re never really prepared for the first time someone asks you if you’re leprechaun. The public schools are woefully inadequate in such preparation. Knowing how to diagram a sentence or use the Pythagorean theorem, are useless abilities when you’re about to be cut.

So I said the only thing my agile brain could produce: “I’m not even wearing green.”

Luckily for me, by this time attention had been drawn to the situation, and there were several guys that had gathered around to help.

The police arrived shortly and took the guy away without incident.

But the next time someone asks me if I’m a leprechaun, I’ll be prepared.

My true identity.

idiotprufs: the Blog That’s Just too Big For One Tagline

drunken monkey

An avid reader of idiotrufs, and quite possibly the author.

Are you sick of taglines? Too bad.

I’ve decided to rotate taglines starting with what seemed to be the favorite from the previous list: Read by four out of five drunken monkeys–written by the fifth.

I deeply appreciate the comparison to a drunken monkey.

Some more taglines for your consideration, amusement or scorn.

idiotprufs: the blog that’s had the hiccups since 1987.

idiotprufs: what happens when everything goes horribly wrong.

idiotprufs: the blog that taught Michael Jackson how to moonwalk, but had nothing to do with all that other weird stuff.

idiotprufs: the blog that was really freaked out by the flying monkeys from the Wizard of Oz.

idiotprufs: whatever stupidity happens to tumble from my brain.

idiotprufs: illegal in 38 states–frowned upon in the rest.

idiotprufs: the blog that doesn’t check to see if the milk has gone bad before it chugs it straight from the container.

idiotprufs: the blog that vomits far more often than it ought to.

idiotprufs: the real reason the dodo bird is now extinct.

idiotprufs: the blog that would have been burned at the stake in the Middle Ages.

idiotprufs: the blog that is often referred to as the juggernaut of the blogging world by people who are prone to hyperbole, and frequently imaginary.

idiotprufs: the blog that lost its virginity, but then immediately found it again. (It was right where it had left it.)

idiotprufs: the blog that giggles uncontrollably every time it meets someone from Intercourse, Pennsylvania.

idiotprufs: where brain cells go to die.

idiotprufs: the blog that has unsettling fantasies about Wolf Blitzer dressed in nothing but bicycle shorts and a monocle.

idiotprufs: the blog that can’t find Ecuador on a map…of Ecuador.

idiotprufs: the blog that thinks North Iowa is a state.

idiotprufs: the blog that plans to name its firstborn after a Muppet.

gonzo muppet

Gonzo: the probable name of idiotprufs’ first born (boy or girl).

idiotprufs: the blog that can do anything it wants because no one is paying attention anyway.

idiotprufs: the blog that wore alligator skin boots to its job interview with Peta, and got thrown out of the building.

idiotprufs: the blog that has been accused of smashing its neighbors garden gnomes with a shovel.

idiotprufs: the blog that thinks its neighbor shouldn’t make accusations that he can’t prove.

idiotprufs: the blog that doesn’t wait 60 minutes after eating before it goes swimming.

idiotprufs: the blog that tore the labels off its mattress with an arrogant disregard for the law.

idiotprufs: the blog that once brazenly robbed a group of mimes at gunpoint, but got away with it because nobody talked.

idiotprufs: the blog that is way too proud of the previous mime joke.

idiotprufs: the blog that took two years of Spanish in high school, but still can only count to ten.

idiotprufs: a clear sign that the end is near.

idiotprufs: the blog that is used as currency in prison.

idiotprufs: the blog that was once rejected as a cast member of Big Brother, because it just wasn’t slutty enough.

tidiotprufs: the blog that is badgered nightly by Mickey Mantle’s ghost, spitting sunflower seeds on it.

idiotprufs: the blog that still can’t find Waldo, regardless of how persistently it tries.

idiotprufs: the blog that wept like a baby when it saw Brian’s Song.

idiotprufs: the blog that it’s creator refers to as “the babe magnet.”

idiotprufs: the blog that believes Bigfoot is real, but has serious doubts about Donald Trump’s hair.

idiotprufs: also predicted by the Mayans, but John Cusack has no plans to make a crappy movie about it.

idiotprufs: what Sir Isaac Newton was actually thinking about right before that apple fell on his head.

idiotprufs: the tenth level of Hell in Dante Alighieri’s Inferno before the editing.

idiotprufs: the only one of Aesop’s fables that didn’t have a moral.

idiotprufs: oh the humanity.

idiotprufs is stilled freaked out by flying monkeys.

idiotprufs is still freaked out by flying monkeys.

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.

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

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.

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.

 

The Big Family Picnic: The Aftermath

idiotprufs nerds

A lovely family having a picnic. This is not your family.

The holiday weekend has past, and the big family picnic over.

Your local emergency room has been taken off high alert and much of their staff has been given a well deserved vacation.

Once again your family has overtaxed their staff, frayed their nerves and extinguished their stock of gauze, sutures and eye patches.

Once again they’ve treated various members of your family for the following injuries, ailments and assorted issues:

  • Contusions.
  • Abrasions.
  • Cuts.
  • Lacerations.
  • Puncture wounds.
  • Broken bones.
  • Bone bruises.
  • Minor burns.
  • Severe burns.
  • Indian burns–you have an uncle that’s a jackass.
  • Food poisoning.
  • Alcohol poisoning.
  • Lead poisoning.
  • Radiation poisoning.
  • Smoke inhalation.
  • bite wounds–some animal, some human, some unidentifiable, and one that appears to be from a Bigfoot.
  • Stab wounds.
  • Gunshot wounds.
  • Crossbow wounds.
  • Ax wounds.
  • One particularly gruesome wound seemingly caused by medieval mace.
  • Asphyxiation in one individual who appears to have been strangled with a garter snake.
  • One garter snake bite.
  • Several cases of acute mental distress.
  • One case of a crippling fear of barbecue implements.

Once again your uncle brought his trunk full of games/weapons:

  • Horse shoes.
  • Horse whips.
  • Croquet mallets.
  • Croquet balls.
  • The little hoops you knock the croquet ball through, that can be used to puncture human skin.
  • Lawn darts–your family is the reason lawn darts were made illegal in the State of New York and why a similar measure concerning bocce balls is currently making it’s way through state legislation.
  • Bocce balls.
  • Softballs.
  • Softball bats.
  • Vampire bats.
  • Dueling pistols.
  • Unexploded ordinance.
  • A board with a nail through it–this has the dual purpose of breaking open pinatas and killing barn rats.
  • A big stick with a jagged point that your uncle refers to as his eye-poking stick.

Once again your aunt has brought a cauldron of potato salad with way too much eye of newt in it. It results in stomach cramps, vomiting and explosive diarrhea. Also, your cousin grows a tail.

The same aunt accosts you because you told her daughter that if she ate a dragonfly she would turn into a dragon.

Note: Have you ever eaten a dragonfly? You don’t know this isn’t true.

As Memorial Day fades in your rear view window and July Fourth looms on your horizon, your only hope is that all the injuries–apart from some of the more radical skin grafts–heal before the next big family picnic.

Your family seems horrible. I’m just saying.

 

idiotprufs, nerds

But the plastic lawn darts just don’t get proper skin penetration.

But Seriously

the critic

You’re just not serious enough.

My blog has recently received a criticism that I feel necessitates a response.

Note: when I write that my blog has received a criticism, what I mean is I’m choosing to focus on one criticism from the myriad of criticisms I have been inundated with. Criticisms of a variety and amount, they compel the use of the words myriad and inundate.

I have a meticulously constructed an eight step process for dealing with criticism.

  1. Dismiss it initially with a forced chuckle.
  2. Allow it to slowly creep back into my thoughts.
  3. Push it to the dark recesses of my brain where it will exist as a tiny glowing ember.
  4. Consciously ignore the fact that the glowing ember is growing into a substantial blaze.
  5. Remain in a state of denial as the blaze turns into a raging inferno.
  6. White-hot seething rage.
  7. I suddenly realize that I’m just being silly and relax.
  8. The next day I drop a package in the mail to the criticizer. The package contains a colony of Crazy Stinging Amazonian Bastard Ants. The label on the package reads: shake roughly before opening.

Note: Crazy Stinging Amazonian Bastard Ants hate to be shaken; they especially hate to be shaken roughly.

What was the criticism that triggered this post?

This blog isn’t serious enough.

Ridiculous. Here are some of the serious topics this blog has tackled:

  • The growing garden gnome menace.
  • How to deal with unruly neighbors without leaving evidence.
  • How to destroy evidence.
  • The plight of our nation: the great mime scourge.
  • How to remove white face paint from your hand.

Note: I am by no means advocating that anyone slap a mime in the face. Violence is wrong.

  • The horror of being attacked with a dead weasel.
  • The horror of being attacked with a Justin Bieber doll.
  • The less horrific nature of being attacked by Justin Bieber himself.
  • The ongoing feud between Justin Bieber and Beaker the Muppet.
  • The embarrassment of being beaten up by a piece of felt.
  • How French fries cause cancer in lab rats.
  • How everything causes cancer in lab rats.
  • Why it sucks to be a lab rat.
  • Why bulls have names like: Destroyer, The Mauler and Widow-maker.
  • Why bull-riders have names like: Bucky, Earl, and that guy who used to have testicles.
  • Why rodeo clowns smell like hay, manure and quiet desperation.
  • Boy bands and why badgers hate them.
  • The ongoing search for the existence of Bigfoot.
  • Lady Bigfoot, her breasts and the ongoing search for their existence.
  • What to do if someone accuses you of being a leprechaun.
  • Why crack cocaine is bad, and prompts others to accuse you of being a leprechaun.
  • Why crack cocaine causes others to brandish a weapon as they make wild accusations.
  • How crack cocaine can lead to your arrest.
  • Why people hate raccoons and their creepy little people hands.
  • The end of the world on December 12, 2012.
  • Other crap the Mayans got wrong.
  • Why Tom Cruise thinks we have aliens inside of us.
  • Other possible titles for Katie Holmes autobiography.
  • The discovery of a unicorn lair in North Korea
  • Other things that weird little dictators believe in.
  • The correlation between great literature and monkeys throwing feces.

A veritable cornucopia of pure seriousness.

I think I’ve made my point.

Addendum

Another critic accused this blog of being almost funny. This person’s opinion almost matters.

His opinion walks right up to the edge of mattering, but just doesn’t quite get there.

His opinion sticks its toes in the ocean of mattering, but decides the water is too cold and probably filled with parasites and medical waste.

Instead of taking a nice swim, his opinion decides to go cliff diving.

His opinion almost remembers to wear a parachute, but not quite.

His opinion ends its existence impaled on a jagged rock.

It’s a pity…almost.

idiotprufs, wile e coyote,

Opinions and gravity just don’t mix.

 

 

 

Punch an Idiot in the Face Day

jack elam you sure ask a lot of questions
happy face idiot
wifes feet dont smell enough
cartoon scientists pictures
punch an idiot in the face day
bug eyed cartoon characters
job interview with gator boots
school counselors dumb
my idiot neighbor

A few weeks ago this cluster of search terms appeared on my stats page.

Several random thoughts immediately leapt into my brain.

Note: there’s a lot of room in my brain for random thoughts to leap, stretch out, or do an entire gymnastic floor routine; it’s pretty vacant up there.

Thoughts such as:

  • What kind of questions does Jack Elam ask, and why are there so many of them?
  • How badly do your wife’s feet have to smell for it to be enough?
  • How do you know my neighbor, and how do you know he has a happy face?
  • Wow, this blog certainly attracts some weirdos (but not you).
  • Punch and idiot in the face day? Is that a real thing?

After doing an extensive amount of research–Google–I discovered that “punch an idiot in the face day” does not exist.

Bitter disappointment.

Then I had another thought: just because something isn’t, doesn’t mean it can’t be.

So after once again doing an extensive amount of research–Wikipedia–into the process of initiating a ballot measure in the great Commonwealth of Pennsylvania, I came to a conclusion: it’s a lot more work than I am willing to do.

Just a few of the things required:

  • A petition containing signatures equal to 10% of the last local, general election vote for governor. (Governor? I thought Pennsylvania had a potentate.)
  • These signatures must be real people and not characters from Warner Bros. cartoons.
  • If your real name happens to be Elmer Fudd, there is an enormous amount of extra paperwork involved.
  • If your real name happens to be Elmer Fudd, you have my deepest sympathies.
  • None of the signatures can be from dead people, this is not Illinois.
  • Petitions must be submitted by the 13th Tuesday before the election. Petitions may be circulated for (at most) 7 weeks, and circulation may not begin before the 20th Tuesday prior to the election. Initiated measures may be submitted at primary, municipal, or general elections.
  • You must understand the previous requirement and be able to cite it verbatim while juggling running chain saws.
  • Election officials must submit successful initiatives to voters at the next primary, general, or municipal election occurring not sooner than the 13th Tuesday after the initiative was filed.
  • The successful initiatives mentioned in the previous requirement, must be submitted in triplicate with the third set written entirely in Egyptian hieroglyphics.
  • Every fifth word of every document must be written in a silly font.
  • Pointing out to any official, that the two previous two requirements contradict each other, will result in the immediate disqualification of your ballot initiative.
  • You will also be slapped in the face and poked in the eyes Three Stooges style.
  • The Pennsylvania election code requires you to obtain the following items: holy water, a cross, a wooden stake and a clove of  garlic.
  • Sorry, that’s the Transylvania election code.
  • You must be able to find Harrisburg on a map of Pennsylvania.
  • You must be able to find Pennsylvania on a map of the United States.
  • You must be able to find Pennsylvania Avenue on a Monopoly Board.
  • You must purchase a lot of maps and board games.
  • Petition circulators must attest to the validity of petition signatures in a notarized affidavit.
  • You have to know what an affidavit is.

See what I mean, and this just the first page.

Then I had another thought–I’ve been on fire with thoughts lately–I need to think like a politician: I just need to convince a bunch of willing dupes to pursue my vision, let them do all the work, then take all the credit when the initiative passes.

Brilliant.

I will keep you updated.

jack elam at idiotprufs

Hello, I’m Jack Elam, and every day is punch an idiot in the face day for me, idiot.

 

 

 

Exploding Vacuum Cleaners and Other Acts 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.

Accidents happen. Things catch on fire. Things explode. Things tip over, catch on fire, and explode. It’s inevitable really.

It shouldn’t be a big deal.

Evidently it is a big deal to some people.

It’s a big deal to people who have no sense of humor.

It’s a big deal to people who have a tendency to be ill-tempered.

It’s a big deal to people who have a tendency to say angry hurtful things.

It’s a big deal to people who have no sense of humor, a tendency to be ill-tempered, and to say angry hurtful things.

It’s a big deal to people who have high-pitched, squeaky, cartoon-rodent like voices.

It’s a big deal.

There were valuable lessons learned the day of the exploding vacuüm cleaner and 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.
  • When the high-pitched whining sound starts making the neighbors dog bark, don’t ignore it
  • If you’re thinking to yourself, this thing sounds like it’s about to explode, it probably is.
  • 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 with the squeaky-voiced owner of the vacuüm cleaner.

Squeaky-voiced Owner: Why is my smoke alarm going off?

Fire-starter: Probably because of all the smoke in the room.

Squeaky-voiced Owner: Why is the room full of smoke?

Fire-starter: It probably came from the carpet fire.

Squeaky-voiced Owner: Why is the carpet on fire?

Fire-starter: It must have spread from the vacuüm cleaner.

Squeaky-voiced Owner: Why is the vacuüm cleaner on fire?

Fire-starter: It caught on fire after it exploded.

Squeaky-voiced Owner: Why did it exploded?

Fire-starter: Act of God?

Squeaky-voiced Owner: It sounds more the act of an idiot.

Fire-Starter: I turned it on and it just burst into flames.

Squeaky-voiced Owner: It just burst into flames?

Fire-starter: Crazy isn’t it? There should be a clearly defined label that reads: Warning, use may cause detonation.

Squeaky-voiced owner: You must think I’m the biggest moron on the face of the planet.

Fire-starter: Not the whole planet.

Squeaky-voiced owner: (Silent staring, and in a really creepy frightening way.)

Fire-starter: You know, if you cleaned more often, I wouldn’t have to.

Squeaky-voiced owner: (Censored for filth and because it was really hurtful.)

Fire-starter: That’s not a real word, and a human isn’t physically capable of doing it.

Squeaky-voiced owner: Let’s find out.

 

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

You think this is scary? Just let me near your vacuum cleaner.

Drew Barrymore gets it.

Post Navigation

Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 3,469 other followers

%d bloggers like this: