idiotprufs

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

Archive for the tag “comedy”

Was That a Screeching Brazilian Stink Monkey?

Screeching Brazilian Stink Monkey?

I have a phobia.

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

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

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

My friends tell that I’m crazy.

Am I crazy. Am I really?

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

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

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

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

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

  • Dizziness.
  • Dry mouth.
  • Itchy rashes shaped like Lake Titicaca.
  • The inability to say Lake Titicaca without giggling uncontrollably.
  • Your left ear will fall off at really inconvenient times.
  • Nausea.
  • More nausea.
  • Vomiting.
  • Even more nausea.
  • Squirrels will steal your mail.
  • Sleeplessness caused by nausea.
  • Random baboon attacks. (They’re obviously in cahoots with the screeching Brazilian stink monkeys.)
  • You develop hair like Donald Trump’s…on your butt.
  • The theme to Gilligan’s Island will get stuck in your head.
  • Coma.

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

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

lake titicaca

That red line is particularly itchy.

A Few Quick Thoughts About Groundhog Day

idiotprufs groundhog day punxsutawny phil

Phil and his throng of his adoring fans.

Groundhog Day

Groundhog Day is a day when thousands of people gather in small town in rural Pennsylvania, to applaud a groundhog as a celebrity and a prognosticator, and to wait with bated breath for that groundhog to notice or not notice his shadow. It is a day of great pomp and circumstance.

The Other 364 days of the year
The other 364 days of the year, a groundhog is a giant rodent, and poking its head from a hole, would be cause for the same rural Pennsylvanians to reach for their 12-gauge.

groundhog phil

Hey, where did the party go?

Things That Makes Bulls Angry

Being held for public indecency.

Traffic at the intersection of routes 28 and 85 in Rayburn Township, Pennsylvania, was shut down by a pair of cows having amorous relations. According Trooper John Corna, troopers “kept trying to shoo them off the highway, but that just got the bull mad and it started to escalate.”

Of course it made him mad, wouldn’t it make you mad if you were trying to have an intimate moment with your lady friend, and a man started shooing you?

Well, it really ticks off bulls.

In a previous post about bull-riders, I detailed a few things that bulls hate. I may have left that list a tad incomplete. So in the interest of completion, (pun intended) more things that make bulls angry:

  • Bull-riders.
  • Rodeo clowns.
  • Circus clowns.
  • Circus Peanuts. (the candy, not the legume) Bulls hate anything loaded with saturated fat and preservatives.
  • Circus peanuts the legume. Bulls hate anything that is too salty.
  • Peanuts the comic strip. They find Charlie Brown to be too wishy-washy.
  • Ronald McDonald. Not only does he remind them of rodeo clowns, but he also sells millions of hamburgers.
  • Any grown man that wears too much make-up and brightly colored striped socks.
  • Boy George.
  • Boy-bands.
  • Boy-bands that wear clown make-up.
  • Boy-bands that wear clown make-up, and interrupt them mid-coitus.
  • People who use the term coitus.
  • Obnoxious motorists who honk their horns at them while they’re trying to have an intimate moment with their lady friend.
  • Motorists who can’t seem to figure out how a 4-way stop works, even with their “superior” human brains…and who interrupt them while they’re trying to have an intimate moment with their lady friend.
  • State troopers who keep yelling “shoo” at them while they’re trying to have an intimate moment with their lady friend.
  • Any person who yells “shoo” at them while they’re trying to have an intimate moment with their lady friend.
  • The word shoo.
  • Shoes.
  • Homophones.
  • Homo sapiens.
  • Homo sapiens with branding irons.
  • Branding irons.
  • Bulls hate pretty much everything about branding irons.
  • Matadors.
  • All men in goofy outfits.
  • The musical Cats.
  • Musicals.
  • When people burst into song for no apparent reason.
  • When people burst into song for no apparent reason, while they’re trying to have an intimate moment with their lady friend.
  • And finally: idiots who try to milk them.

If I have left anything off the list, I apologize.

It’s really irritating when you want to finish something, but can’t; just ask the bull.

bull

“Say shoo to me one more time.”

The Mysterious Case of the Vanishing Big Mac

mystery

The trip was brief.

The controversy has endured.

Four Big Macs were purchased. Four Big Macs were present in the take-out bag. Four Big Macs were removed from the take-out bag. One person claims to have never gotten a Big Mac. Three others claim to have eaten only one Big Mac apiece.

Accusations have flown. Accusations still fly.

That fateful night:

The names have been changed to…screw it, these are the actual names.

Lance: Give me my Big Mac.

Matt: You ate it.

Lance: No I didn’t.

Matt: Yes you did.

Lance: I think I would remember eating a Big Mac.

Matt: Evidently you don’t.

Lance: Hey Al, you ate my Big Mac didn’t you?

Al: (Al grunts something inaudibly as he consumes his Big Mac, and drools on himself.)

Me: Well I didn’t eat it.

Lance: One of you ate my Big Mac!

An hour later, sitting on Matt’s front porch.

Lance: I can’t believe you guys ate my Big Mac.

Matt: You ate the Big Mac!

Lance: Look at me, I have no sesame seeds on me. If had eaten a Big Mac, I would have sesame seeds all over me.

Me: Maybe the seeds fell off.

Lance: What about the lettuce? What about the secret sauce? There’s not a drop of secret sauce on my face…I can’t believe you guys ate my Big Mac.

Years later:

Lance: Remember that night you guys ate my Big Mac.

Matt: YOU ate the Big Mac!

Still more years later:

Lance: I really wanted that Big Mac that you guys ate that night.

Matt: (Says nothing in an act of silent frustration.)

More recently:

Lance: One of you ate my Big Mac that night.

Matt via email: There’s no dispute, Lance wolfed it down in two bites.

Lance: That’s not how it went down.

Like Amelia Earhart’s strange disappearance into the Bermuda Triangle; the years have offered no answers, only more questions.

So if you’re ever traveling on that mysterious stretch of road, and you have take-out, be wary.

The Absolutely Indispensable Guide for Christmas Gifts that Avoid Stabbings

bad gift

“You said you liked me au natural.”

All you want is to give the perfect gift for Christmas. The gift that will brighten a child’s face. The gift that shows thoughtfulness and caring. The type of gift that will result in moments that will be cherished forever.

What a load of crap that is!

What you really want is to give a gift that won’t screw things up too badly. A gift that won’t leave hurt feelings. A gift that won’t result in a stab wound in the side of your head.

Note: that knife-wielding aunt of yours is stunningly spry for a lady with such chunky thighs.

Note to the note: that Thighmaster was a terrible gift idea.

Since I’m practically an expert at screwing things up badly—I mean, I am shockingly good at it—I am going to assist you in what gifts not to give.

Don’t give your goth cousin a bottle of skin bronzer. Her pale, nearly translucent skin, is her choice. It is not a result of her inability to tan naturally. Her flesh will not burst into flames if it’s exposed to real sunlight. It’s Holy water that makes her flesh burst into flames.

Don’t give your still single aunt a copy of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein, because the only way she’ll find a man is if she constructs one herself. She will not find it as amusing as you do.

Don’t give your girlfriend, and I cannot stress this too strongly, a self-help book of any kind with the phrase “for dummies” in the title. Just don’t.

Don’t give the guy your cousin is dating this book, when what he really needs is a book about better decision making.

bitches

Don’t give your aunt a jar of anti-wrinkle cream and bottle of wart remover. The gifts won’t be appreciated, regardless of how badly they’re needed.

Don’t give your uncle, who likes to hunt, that bottle of scent-masking spray he’s been asking for. The first thing he’ll do is try it out, and nobody wants to sip eggnog while they sit next to someone who wreaks of deer urine.

Note: Sure, your uncle generally wreaks of urine, but he splashes on that deer stuff like it’s cologne.

Don’t give the same uncle that book of vegetarian recipes; he’s just going to use its pages to start the fire he uses to roast the woodchuck he hit with his pickup truck on the way to the Christmas party.

Don’t get your vegan cousin that Chia Pet. It looks entirely too much like bean sprouts growing out of tofu, and eventually he’s going to try to eat it. He’ll be rushed to hospital, and your entire family will blame you.

Don’t get your aunt and uncle that home drug testing kit. While it may be applicable, your cousin carries a blade, and she will catch up to you.

Don’t get your wife a rat trap.

Note: I have no joke for this. One year my uncle bought my aunt a rat trap for Christmas. True story.

Don’t give anybody, anything that has Justin Bieber on it. Why: because it has Justin Bieber on it. Enough said.

Don’t give any of your aunts or uncles this book:

problem child

Don’t avoid this gift because you fear recrimination. Avoid this gift because it’s just too late.

Don’t get your boss this mug; he may not have a sense of humor about it.

boss coffee cup

Why does everybody laugh at me when I drink coffee?

And finally, don’t give your grandmother that DVD of Deliverance; home movies can be so tedious.

You are now prepared for gift giving this Christmas season.

Addendum

If John Wayne Bobbitt had listened to me when I told him kitchen knives were a terrible Christmas gift for his wife Lorena, perhaps their marriage wouldn’t have become so severed. (Ha! I used the word severed.)

knife

A set of kitchen knives from Bed Bath and Beyond. It was the beyond that got John Wayne Bobbitt in trouble…she cut his penis off.

 

Purple Pilgrims and the Death of Artistic Choice

pilgrims

The way Pilgrims are supposed to look…if you have no creativity.

As a child you learn many lessons:

  • Regardless of how far your garden hose sprays, you’re still too close to the hornet’s nest.
  • You never want to discover the quantitative value for the phrase “mad as a hornet.”
  • Regardless of how sturdy it seems, an umbrella is not an adequate substitute for a parachute.
  • Your cousins lie.
  • You can be lying in a crumpled heap, several bones broken, some of them relatively important, and the first thing any adult will think to say is: “look at what you did to my umbrella.”
  • Even though most varieties of snakes are not venomous, you still don’t want them to bite you.
  • Convincing your cousin to let a snake bite him so that you find out whether or not it’s venomous, seems like a good idea, but it will really piss-off your aunt.
  • Did I mention cousins lie.
  • Never utter the phrase “sticks and stones will break my bones but words will never harm me,” to someone who is in possession of sticks or stones. In the savage jungle of playground justice, you will be pelted with a barrage of sticks and stones.
  • When adults say cheaters never prosper, they’re full of it. Cheaters prosper all of the time, mostly because they’re cheating.
  • Don’t melt Play-Doh on the stove. What seems like a voyage of scientific discovery to you, is just wanton destruction to some people.
  • Burning Play-Doh emits a noxious smoke.
  • Smoke alarms are startlingly loud.
  • Melting crayons on the radiator is fun, until your mom finds them.
  • And finally: artistic creativity is not always welcomed.

It happened when I was a first-grader at R.R. Rogers Elementary School in Jamestown, NY.

Our class was making a Thanksgiving Day mural from construction paper. We were broken into groups, my group was tasked with making the Pilgrims.

We immediately found there to be a dearth of orange construction paper, the color used to make the Pilgrims’ faces and hands.

I made a command decision: we’ll use purple construction paper for the Pilgrims faces and hands. “It’ll be avant-garde,” I said.

Note: I’ll bet you don’t think a six-year old would use the word avant-garde. It’s my story, and I’ll tell it the way I want.

Tracy the tattletale strongly objected and ran to inform the teacher, (Tracy was such a conformist) but as a renown tattletale, the teacher simply told her to hush, and just work with the others.

Note: not only was our group saddled with Tracy the tattletale, we also had Keith the paste-eater. It was a nightmare.

We completed our project and handed it in with a great sense of pride and accomplishment.

Our teacher was displeased. It’s difficult to overemphasize just how displeased she was.

“They’re purple,” she shrieked, as if we were a bunch of colorblind idiots.

“We know they’re purple,” we told her, “we’re not kindergarteners.”

As it happened, the mural was going up on the wall for a big parent/teacher thing that night. She’d left that bit of information out of the instructions.

Note: on the heels of Halloween, and our pumpkin making spree, she should have known we’d be low on orange construction paper, which brings me to another important lesson learned: when at all possible, deflect blame.

It was the end of the day, and there was no time to do anything about it, so up they went.

In the end the parents were simply amused by the purple Pilgrims; it seems adults really don’t expect a lot from six-year old children.

Addendum:

I wonder if Salvador Dali’s teacher criticized him for drawing everything all floppy.

floppy watches

At least he didn’t have the gall to make Pilgrims purple.

Ray-Ray is a Pretty Boy

news

You may have noticed I enjoy writing posts based on bizarre news stories.

For example:

  • The guy who attacked his ex-girlfriend’s current boyfriend with a dead weasel. (In the guy’s defense: it’s hard to attack someone with a live weasel.)
  • The off duty cop who allegedly assaulted his girlfriend because she attacked him with a Justin Bieber doll. (In the cop’s defense: it must have been horrifying to have that smug little face flying at him.)
  • The Bigfoot hunter who filed a police report claiming Bigfoot pelted his RV with rocks. (In Bigfoot’s defense: the man was obviously an obsessed stalker.)
  • The man who was arrested for trespassing while behaving bizarrely and licking a toad. (In the man’s defense: it’s difficult to lick a toad and not behave bizarrely.)
  • The Japanese restaurant that serves a curry that is designed to taste and smell like human feces. (In the restaurant’s defense: there is no defense, it’s just horrifying.)
japanese curry

I wasn’t joking about the curry.

And in recent news.

Oakland Raiders linebacker, Ray-Ray Armstrong, is facing third-degree felony charges for–you’re gonna love this–taunting a K-9 service dog on the field prior to their game with the Pittsburgh Steelers.

The Raiders player barked at the dog, lifted his shirt and pounded his chest as he taunted the dog according to Chief Deputy Kevin Kraus.

Isn’t that just fantastic?

Kraus said the player also told the deputy holding the K-9 to “send the dog.”

“The dog was going crazy,” Kraus said. “The deputy was trying to control the dog the best she could.”

k9

In the K-9 involved offered no comment, but simply got in his vehicle and drove away.

The sheriff’s office notified the Steelers, the NFL, and the Raiders of the investigation.

They also notified Ray-Ray’s mom, and were assured he would receive a whoopin’.

The Raiders signed Armstrong in October 2014 after the St. Louis Rams cut him for committing an excessive number of penalties…and for his propensity to lift his shirt, pound on his chest, and taunt random animals.

The Ram’s organization cited one particularly disturbing incident involving Ray-Ray, a parrot named Petey, and a chest pounding, obscenity laced tirade aimed at the parrot.

Ray-Ray claimed that it was the parrot who started it.

“Ray-Ray is a pretty-boy,” was the parrot’s only comment.

Armstrong could face serious charges as “taunting a police animal” is a third-degree felony in the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania.

Note: as a current resident of Western Pennsylvania I feel qualified to address this: we couldn’t care less if you want to taunt a police dog. As long as you don’t care if a police dog chomps you in the man bits.

german shepeard

See what happens?

A few other things that are third-degree felonies in Pennsylvania.

  • Carrying a gun without a permit
  • Terroristic threats.
  • Taunting a police animal.
  • Taunting a German Shepherd.
  • Taunting a German.
  • Taunting a shepherd.
  • Taunting sheep.
  • Pretending you like a police animal, then acting all aloof the next time you see it.
  • Attacking someone with a Justin Bieber doll.
  • Attacking someone with Justin Bieber.
  • Attacking Justin Bieber with a dead weasel.
  • Taunting Justin Bieber. (I’m just kidding, this is encouraged.)
  • Taunting Bigfoot.
  • Licking a toad. (But only if toad hasn’t given its consent.)
  • Licking Bigfoot and taunting a toad. (Bigfoot never objects to being licked…make of that what you will.)
  • Reckless burning or exploding. (I’m not making this one up.)
  • Reckless burning, exploding optional.
  • Making long and pointless lists.

The Allegheny County Sheriff’s department is currently investigating the incident.

The unfortunate thing for Ray-Ray (apart from his name) is there were about 50,000 witnesses.

If only he had taunted Justin Bieber instead.

oakland raiders

Alleged dog taunter, and recipient of an imminent whoopin’.

I’ve Been so Busy…and Invertebrate

She turned me into a banana slug...I got better.

She turned me into a banana slug…I got better.

You may have noticed my recent absence from the blogging world.

You probably didn’t notice it right away. It just suddenly dawned on you one day that a persistent irritant had disappeared. Like when you suddenly realized the itching had stopped because that annoying rash had finally gone away.

But you’re not rid of me yet. You can get all the restraining orders and pepper-spray you want, but I’m not going anywhere.

Take that, Beth.

Note: the previous line was for comedic effect only. I am not following or harassing a woman named Beth in any manner that could be construed as a violation of any court order.

Note to the note: my lawyer advised me to add that last note.

You see, I’m like herpes: you will never truly be rid of me. I’ll always be there lurking, just waiting to show up and ruin your weekend.

It’s been a rough few months.

Anyway, I’ve been preoccupied recently.

Miming

I’ve taken up the silent art in an elaborate scheme to infiltrate the world of mime and sabotage it from the inside.

I planned to work tirelessly to become the world’s most prolific and prominent mime.

Upon reaching the pinnacle of miming, I would embark on a downward spiral of debauchery and scandal that would permanently stain the miming world.

Unfortunately I was unable to bring my plan to fruition; it seems miming is way harder than it looks. Also, I’ve discovered I’m allergic to white face-paint, berets, and being punched in the groin by small children. (They have little fists of steel.)

I do however plan to go forward with the downward spiral of debauchery and scandal.

Note: the previous line was for comedic effect only. I have no intention of committing any acts that could be considered debaucherous or scandalous. (My lawyer is so freaking priggish.)

Juggling Chainsaws

My attempt at learning to juggle chainsaws was going along swimmingly…until suddenly it wasn’t.

Learning To Write With My Left Hand

Upon falling victim to an unforeseeable and unpreventable accident–again my lawyer’s words–I have lost all use of my right hand.

Well…that’s not strictly true; it makes a interesting paperweight.

Would it be so difficult to print the words, NOT TO BE USED FOR JUGGLING OR ANYTHING COOL, somewhere on a chainsaw?

Note: perhaps I should have learned how to mime chainsaw juggling.

chainsaw hand

Where’s the warning, Husqvarna?

I Spent Several Weeks As A Banana Slug

If you’ve read this blog in the past, you will know that my aunts are a great big gaggle of witches.

You will also know that I have on occasion angered them. Maybe it was something I said. Maybe it was something I did. Perhaps it was something I wrote in this blog about their chunky thighs, potato-faced children, or their general tendency to be evil hags.

But usually it’s my mere existence that sets them off.

Anyway, they turned me into a banana slug.

It’s ridiculously hard to use a keyboard when you’re a banana slug. You get brilliant ideas, but you just can’t execute them.

On the upside, banana slugs have voracious sex lives. There is nothing in this world sexier than a banana slug…to another banana slug.

Take that, Beth. You’re no banana slug.

banana slug

Sexy!

I’ve Had No Good Ideas

I’m just kidding; I’ve never had any good ideas.

I promise I will post again soon, and it will be my usual level of crap.

hand

It’s also useful for scaring small children after they’ve punched you in the groin.

10 Things That Should Happen in the NFL but Probably Won’t

nfl

#10

Gisele Bundchen announces split from Tom Brady, she claims his game balls aren’t the only things “under-inflated.”

#9

The red challenge flag to be replaced with a confetti canon filled with angry bees.

mike tomlin

“I wish I had a confetti canon full of angry bees.”

#8

The two-minute warning is now marked by the release of 200 frenzied honey badgers onto the field.

#7

Every team’s official mascot is a monkey in a cowboy hat on a unicycle.

#6

The ghost of Otto Graham starts at quarterback for the Cleveland Browns. Even though his form is ethereal, he still gets sacked multiple times in a bitter defeat.

#5

A new rule that stipulates the team losing at halftime must dress as rodeo clowns for the second half.

#4

Jim Brown trades in his trademark Kufi cap for a beanie with a propeller.

Jim Brown

“Was that Otto Graham I just saw?”

#3

Referees are replaced with blindfolded mimes. (The Patriots still get the majority of the calls.)

#2

The Super Bowl halftime show: Pope Francis battles Justin Bieber in a knife fight to the death. (Neither one of them sings.)

#1

The Buffalo Bills win the Super Bowl as a record cold snap grips Hell.

Bill win Super Bowl

“This is Jim Cantore reporting live from Hell.”

I Apologize for this Post in Advance

Crabman

The Crabman would never serve this.

A Tokyo-based eatery opened last month with the house specialty of “poo-flavored curry.”

Not poo-flavored as in Winnie the Pooh, because that would just be weird. They’re serving feces-flavored curry.

What the hell is going on?

To be fair, the dish doesn’t contain any actual feces, just natural ingredients like green tea, bitter gourd and cocoa powder that, when combined, looks and tastes similar to human defecation.

When asked how they know the curry tastes similar to human defecation, one of the waitstaff just hung his head and muttered that he was bitterly underpaid.

To enhance the illusion, the crap-flavored curry is served in a porcelain bowl meant to resemble a bedpan — yeah that’s it.

japanese curry

What the hell is going on?

Evidently the poo-flavored curry is the brainchild of executive chef Ken Shimizu, who designed the dish to remind people of his other line of work: as a male porn actor who has…wait for it…eaten feces in some of his films.

Seriously, what the hell is going on?

ken shimuzu

This is the man I want preparing my food. (Also, the least disturbing picture of him I could find.)

Note: I for one am astounded that no one has previously tried to combine fine dining with fetish-porn. The two go together like…

Note to the note: every joke I came up with for the previous line was unusable…horrifyingly unusable.

Unfortunately for Ken (How many different ways could this sentence end?) his restaurant’s own market research has determined 85 percent of people would never order the dish based on the description of the meal.

A quick question to the other 15 percent: What The Hell Is Going On?

Reportedly one customer couldn’t stomach the meal and vomited into his bowl, immediately giving Ken an idea for a new dish.

Final note: I made-up that last part, but you believed it didn’t you? Again: my apologies.

Pooh

Reportedly not on the menu.

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