idiotprufs

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

Archive for the tag “comedy”

Putting One Thing on Top of Another Thing

blocks,

An example of my capabilities.
(image source: wpclipart.com)

“Do you understand?” He was gaping at me the way someone would who had just tried to explain calculus to an ape. And not one of those clever apes that knows sign language, but one those apes on the nature channel that’s eating its own poop.

“Seriously?” I responded.

“Yeah,” he spat the word at me in the most condescending arrogant voice he could conjure. “Did you understand what I just explained to you?”

Note: in fairness to him, the most condescending arrogant voice he could conjure, turned out to simply be his voice.

Allow me to go back to the beginning and explain: I am referring to an experience I had as a temporary worker. When you’re a temporary worker, there are certain things that are presumed:

  • You possess the education of a 12th century manure mucker, your biggest aspiration is to one day be allowed to use a shovel.
  • You need everything explained to you at least a dozen times.
  • You need everything explained in a tone that one would use when explaining to a small child why he shouldn’t eat all the fingerpaint, and vomit into the fish tank.
  • You need everything explained to you in monosyllabic language. (Ironically, the word monosyllabic is exactly the type of word that should never be used when explaining something to a temporary worker.)
  • You need everything explained to you with accompanying diagrams. These diagrams should be drawn in crayon if possible.
  • All diagrams should be drawn in non-threatening colors such as forest green or navy blue. Bright colors confuse and disorient temporary workers (fuchsia makes us crazy).

I was busy with the important task of opening bottles of juice and dumping the juice into a barrel; there was a problem with the labeling and the juice needed to be re-bottled. (Evidently, even non-peon workers make mistakes.)

Note: I’ve promised not to divulge the name of the famous juice company where this happened. I will not welch on that promise. If I were do that I’d be a welcher. I don’t want to be someone who welchs. Was that last bit subtle enough?

I was interrupted from my duties by Rat-Faced Guy, (not his actual name) who informed me that he needed my assistance.

He dragged me over to a line where juice was being packaged in small cans. As cases of these cans progressed down the line, a machine would lift every other case and then fling the cans into the air, spilling them across the floor. Evidently, that’s not how the machine was designed to operate.

Rat-Faced Guy (probably not his name) explained to me that the malfunctioning machine would be shut down, and I would step in to take its place. As the cases came down the line in pairs, it would be my job to pick up the first case of juice, and place it on top of the second case of juice. Then I would have to do that again and again, until the machine was operating properly again.

It was at point that Rat-Faced Guy (potentially his actual name, when I say Rat-Faced Guy, people seem to know whom I’m referring to) asked me if I understood.

“So, you’re asking me if I understand putting one thing on top of another thing?” I asked him.

“Yeah.” He looked at me with his beady eyes, his wispy mustache twitching nervously.

“What if, instead of putting the first case on top of the second, I put the second case under the first case?” I proposed.

Rat-Faced Guy (probably his actual name) looked at me incredulously. “Why would you do that?”

“I’m a visionary,” I told him. “I’m like Henry Ford, Steve Jobs, or Thomas Crapper.”

“Just do it the way I told you,” squeaked Rat-Faced Guy (almost certainly his actual name).

For the next two hours, I stood in one spot, and successfully put one thing on top of another thing.

Perhaps now they will trust me with something challenging such as putting one thing next to another thing.

The sky’s the limit.

Addendum:

I know what you’re thinking: Thomas Crapper, a visionary? The toilet guy? Yes. Thomas Crapper, the toilet guy, was a visionary. Consider what it was he proposed. Try to imagine the first time he discussed it with his friends:

Thomas Crapper: You know how outhouses are filthy and disgusting places, riddled with rats and snakes.

Friend #1: Horribly dirty things, outhouses.

Thomas Crapper: And you know how we put them a certain distance from our homes because of the stench and the disease and the vermin.

Friend #1: Yes.

Friend #2: Ha, vermin’s a funny word.

Thomas Crapper: I’m thinking about moving that inside the house.

Friend #1: That’s insane.

Thomas Crapper: Maybe put it in a small room near the bedroom.

Friend #1: That’s just crazy talk. Is this because we keep making fun of your name? Because if it is we can stop.

Friend #2: Ha, Crapper is a funny name; I’m not stopping.

Thomas Crapper: We could even put it in the same room that we bathe.

Friend #1: Now you’ve gone off the deep end. Next you’ll be telling us about a machine that will allow men to fly.

Thomas Crapper: Well, there are these two brothers named Wilbur and Orville, and they have an idea.

Friend #2: Ha, Wilbur and Orville, those are funny names.

idiotprufs, rat cartoon

An uncanny likeness to Rat-Faced Guy, and possible outhouse resident.
(image source: wpclipart.com)

Origami Chrysanthemums are Hard

condom

Just your average boring penis-shaped condom.

Several months ago in a post, Poop Flinging Monkeys and Origami Condoms, I detailed some of the bizarre spending habits of the National Institute of Health. Not the least of which was a 2.4 million dollar grant for the development of an origami condom.

The inventor of the origami condom, Daniel Resnic, claimed that his silicone-based condom was designed to increase sensation, and solve the age old problem that most condoms can’t be folded into the shape of a chrysanthemum.

Alas, Daniel Resnic has been accused of fraud, and ordered to repay the funds.

It’s been alleged that Mr. Resnic misspent millions of taxpayer dollars on trips to Costa Rica, lavish parties at the Playboy mansion, full-body plastic surgery, a condo in Provincetown, Mass., and patents for numerous “get-rich-quick” schemes.

Whether or not one of those “get-rich-quick” schemes involved convincing the National Institute of Health to give him a 2.4 million dollar grant to develop a condom that can be folded into the shape of a chrysanthemum remains undetermined.

Regarding the oddities of some of his expenditures, such as full-body plastic surgery, Mr. Resnic replied, “Do you really think you can fold your penis into the shape of a chrysanthemum without massive plastic surgery…origami chrysanthemums are hard.”

It is rumored that it was an employee of Mr. Resnic who turned over hundreds of pages of documents supporting allegations of fraud.

Note: in an unconfirmed and unsubstantiated rumor–and likely a product of my faulty imagination–it’s reported that the initial scrutiny of Mr. Resnic was brought to bear when the director of the NIH, upon using Mr. Resnic’s origami condom, was unable to unfold his penis from the shape of a chrysanthemum. Origami chrysanthemums are hard.

However, Mr. Resnic claims the employee who turned over the documents, is himself guilty of misusing grant funds. He has demanded the employee, “Make restitution to my company of the stolen monies ($487,377.32) at one dollar ($1.oo) /week, by personal check, sent by U.S. mail, until the funds are recovered.”

When asked why he would choose a payment method that would take nearly 10,000 years to complete, he simply replied, “Are you kidding? That’s how long it’s going to take to get my penis untangled. Seriously, origami chrysanthemums are hard.”

origami flower

Origami chrysanthemums are hard.

Update: Bigfoot Sightings at Speed’eez Sports Bar and Grill

idiotprufs

A photo of Bigfoot at Speed’eez Sports Bar and Grill (as always, Bigfoot ducked just out of sight as the picture was taken).
(image source: goerie.com)

North East, Pa.–It’s been a year since the first reports of Bigfoot sightings in the small town of North East, Pennsylvania. Specifically that the mythical creature was spotted frequenting Speed’eez Sports Bar and Grill.

It seems his presence has dramatically increased in recent weeks, as his wife, Lady Bigfoot, has left him. Evidently she grew weary of his nights of cavorting at Speed’eez, downing 32 ounce mugs of Yuengling Lager, and gorging himself on Buffalo wings, while she was back in the forest, flipping over dead logs looking for grubs.

“Do you know how much effort it takes to keep your home tidy when you live in the forest?” Lady Bigfoot demanded. “There are bugs everywhere and raccoons get into everything.”

According to reports, Lady Bigfoot’s failing patience was finally exhausted when Bigfoot came home with suspicious blonde hairs stuck to his fur. He claimed the hairs were from a border collie, but that only lead to additional and somewhat disturbing questions.

Reportedly, in the wake of Lady Bigfoot’s departure, Bigfoot’s mood has become dour, and he has grown ill-tempered. “He’s always bitching and moaning about something,” one patron of Speed’eez commented, “but you can’t really say anything…he’s so freaking huge.”

The list of things that irritate Bigfoot is myriad and growing:

  • The way squirrels smell when they’re wet.
  • The unnerving noise chipmunks make when they’re having sex.
  • Every song the B-52s have ever recorded.
  • How everyone refers to him using the generic term Bigfoot. His given name is Rupert; why does nobody use it?
  • The inexplicable way Lady Bigfoot always shaved her armpits but absolutely nothing else.
  • The creepy way rabbits chew their food.
  • Girls named Traci that dot the I with a smiley face.
  • When the Jersey Devil pops by unannounced, and you just can’t get him to leave.
  • Justin Bieber (to be fair, all of animal kingdom hates Justin Bieber, especially badgers).
  • When people mistake him for a bear; bears are uninformed and dull-witted creatures.
  • That idiot Poe; he always laughs a bit too loudly at those Jack Link’s messin’ with Sasquatch commercials.
  • Chiggers.
  • The way nobody can take a picture of him that doesn’t turn out blurry and out of frame.
  • Those morons from The Animal Planet, they’re always crashing through the forest, making a racket. Seriously, his number is listed, just give him a ring.
  • The way deer just crap anywhere they want.
  • At parties, unicorns crash around with absolutely no regard for where they’re sticking those horns.
  • The way bartenders get pissed when he tips them with grubs and tree bark.
  • When hippies come out to the woods, sit around a campfire, smoke pot, and recite really bad Haiku.
  • Hippies.
  • Haiku.
  • Bigfoot hunters that think they know so much about him. They’ve never once sat down with him, had a beer, and talked. He has opinions; he’s not a bear.

However, in recent days Bigfoot’s spirits have been buoyed by the arrival of friends. Yeti has made the trip from the Himalayas, and The Skunk Ape has arrived from Florida.

But with the arrival of Bigfoot’s friends, a few problems have arisen.

“The only thing ‘Abominable’ about Yeti are his manners,” one of the bartenders related. “If have to listen to him tell one more story about how much a yak can crap, I’m going to lose it.”

“Of course The Skunk Ape smells horrible,” said a patron named Bob, “but what’s worse…he hogs the jukebox and plays nothing but Steve Perry solo stuff.”

Tensions came to a head when Poe accused Bigfoot of giving him deer ticks. Later that evening Poe was found in the street, stomped into the pavement, and covered with giant foot prints. The other patrons seemed to be okay with it.

The local authorities instituted a ban on all mythological creatures while an investigation is conducted.

“I can’t believe this happened right before St. Patrick’s Day,” one exasperated leprechaun commented.

poe beaten up

An artist’s rendition of Poe. Oddly, this was before the attack.

 

 

Horton Hears a Chigger

chigger

You found this on your what?

So the other day these search terms popped up consecutively on my stats page:

feeling ill images

chiggers on testicles

Which comes first?

Are you feeling ill, and then you discover it’s because you have chiggers on your testicles?

Or, do you discover that you have chiggers on your testicles, and that makes you feel ill?

home alone

Not only was Kevin left home alone, but he’s also discovered chiggers on his testicles.

As I was pondering this, the progression of search terms changed to this:

feeling ill images

horton hears a who

chiggers on testicles

How different would Theodor Geisel’s story been if Horton hadn’t heard a Who on a speck of dust, but had discovered chiggers on his testicles?

Would he have been as protective of them?

Would he have been equally harassed and ridiculed by kangaroos and monkeys?

What if Vladikoff the Vulture had tried to fly away with them?

And what if the monkeys and kangaroos had tried to boil them in Beezle-Nut oil?

Just something to think about.

Think about testicles.

horton hears a who

I think I can hear something, and it’s making me itch in an unspeakable place.

 

 

Are Sea-Monkeys Better Than Your Extended Family?

Sea-Monkey family

What a lovely family.

It’s the question people have been asking themselves for ages: are Sea-Monkeys better than my family?

Don’t be ridiculous, it’s not even a question; of course Sea-Monkeys are better than your family.

Sea-Monkeys aren’t constantly shoving pictures of their potato-faced baby at you; forcing you to comment on how cute their potato-faced baby is.

Sea-Monkeys don’t get angry when you use the phrase “potato-faced” to describe their baby.

Note: turnip-faced doesn’t seem to be any more agreeable than potato-faced. Your family appears to have a bizarre bias against root vegetables that Sea-Monkeys don’t possess.

Sea-Monkeys don’t show up to family picnic all liquored-up on Genny Cream Ale, and vomit into your aunt’s potato salad.

Sea-Monkeys don’t get all pissy when you comment that your aunt’s potato salad was bound to be involved with vomit at some point before the day was over.

Unlike your aunt, Sea-Monkeys aren’t overly sensitive about their chunky hippo thighs.

Note: unlike your family, Sea-Monkeys tend to be very fit; it’s probably all the swimming they do, coupled with their general reluctance to shovel fatty foods into their fat gaping yaps.

Sea-Monkeys are never arrested for public indecency and peeing on a police car.

Sea-Monkeys never violate probation. (Probation officers can be so touchy about public indecency and peeing on a police car.)

Unlike your cousin, Sea-Monkeys don’t dump mustard in the fish tank.

Note: to a Sea-Monkey, mustard in the fish tank is less of a condiment and more of a toxic spill.

As brine shrimp, Sea-Monkeys are bottom feeders. (Sorry, this entry is from the list of how Sea-Monkeys are similar to your family.)

You never get a call from the police at four in the morning because your Sea-Monkey has set fire to something…again.

Note: to be fair, it is difficult to start a fire inside a bowl of water. Still, your bone-head uncle could do it, and burn off his eyebrows in the process.

Sea-Monkeys don’t put curses on their nieces and nephews. (Sea-Monkeys rarely dabble in the black arts.)

Sea-Monkeys don’t dispose of rancid broccoli by it flushing down the toilet. Sea-Monkeys know that flushing a bowl of broccoli down the toilet will clog the pipes. Sea-Monkeys know that clogging the pipes with broccoli will create a waterfall of disgusting toilet water that will flow down the kitchen wall of their downstairs neighbor. Sea-Monkeys don’t do that; they’re not that stupid.

Sea-Monkeys never, ever, piss-off the downstairs neighbor.

I want to give a nod to Diane Henders for dredging the memory of the “broccoli fiasco” from the deepest muck filled depths of my brain. Dredging the deepest muck filled depths of my brain requires heavy equipment and several permits that require acts of bribery to obtain. Nice job.

And Finally…

When you refer to someone as a “miserable squinty-eyed back stabbing rat-bastard” you’re almost never talking about a Sea-Monkey.

sea monkey

You must admit, this Sea-Monkey is the spitting image of one of your aunts.

Dear Critic

the critic

Dear critic,

I want to extend my deepest apologies to you. I know that I have failed you, as a blogger, and as a man.

I understand that my blog is not what you desire it to be.

But know this: I feel your pain.

Every time I stumble upon a blog about a person dealing with their battle with depression, I think to myself: why aren’t you blogging about pumpkins, or carving pumpkins into jack-o-lanterns, or pumpkin pie, or any type of pastry? How dare you blog about something that is important to you?

Every time I come across a blog about photography, I think: why so many pictures? Mountains, rivers, trees, children at play, it nauseates me? Why aren’t you blogging about foot fungus or calligraphy? Why aren’t you blogging about foot fungus, written in calligraphy? Shame.

I recently found a blog devoted strictly to the music of the Beatles. I know what you’re thinking: what about the Spice Girls? When are Scary, Sporty, Baby, Ginger, and Posh going to get their due? I have always felt that Victoria Beckham doesn’t get nearly the amount of press she deserves. You can suck up to Sir Paul McCartney all you want; he isn’t going to be your friend.

And when I find a blog about food, I think: why aren’t you blogging about your collection of toenail clippings? And if you don’t have a collection of toenail clippings, why not? All you need are toenail clippers and a mason jar. Get your priorities straight.

When I discover a blog about politics, I think: why aren’t you blogging about mimes…strike that, mimes suck.

You took me to task for not commenting on the Charlie Hebdo incident. You felt that, I, as a humor blogger (as lighthearted and funny as mass murder is) had a duty to stand up for freedom of speech. But isn’t freedom of speech also the right to choose what not to write about?

Note: Sorry, I was starting to make a serious point there. I will now counter it with a goofy image of baby chicks in jester hats.

Silly Chicks

That’s better.

And finally, when I come across a blog devoted to criticizing other blogs, I think: well done, you are doing yeoman’s work. Keep it up, you make the sun shine brighter.

So dear critic, in the future I will strive to do better.

Best regards,

idiotprufs

P.S. Oscar Wilde once wrote that sarcasm is the lowest form of wit and yet the highest form of intelligence. If it the case that sarcasm is beyond your grasp: piss off.

Victoria Beckham

Don’t worry Victoria, we’ll get your face out there.

 

 

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?

Is There a Klingon Word for Non Sequitur?

klingon

A typical Klingon driver: uninsured and irresponsible.
(image source: startrek.com)

How many times has this happened to you?

You approach a stoplight as it’s about to turn red. Being a responsible driver, you slowly apply the break and come to a complete stop.

Suddenly you hear the screeching of tires behind you. You brace yourself for what you know is coming. You hear the sound of crunching metal as you feel the shock of your vehicle being struck from behind.

You stumble from your vehicle, slightly shaken, trying to rub the pain from back of your neck. As you survey the damage, you see the driver of the other vehicle stomping toward you from the corner of your eye. “Are you okay?” you ask as you turn to face him.

“Rah arg bah,” he bellows into your face. A blast of hot putrid breath startles you and sends you reeling. You try to steady yourself as you wipe the spit from you face. A sinking feeling comes over you with the realization that you’ve just been rear-ended by a Klingon.

“Do you have insurance?” you ask apprehensively, aware of the fact that Klingons are notoriously irresponsible drivers.

“Mok tuk bah,” he sneers derisively as he jabs his crooked Klingon finger in the direction of the stoplight.

“Listen mister, that light was clearly about to turn red.” You call him mister hoping that he’s male; it’s so hard to tell with their weird wrinkled faces.

“MOK TUK BAH,” he screams at you with even more force.

“So that’s how it’s going to be,” you calmly reply, again wiping the spit from your face. This time his spit seems to contain chunks of something that was recently alive. You vomit in your mouth a little.

A lengthy argument ensues. Tensions flare. In the heat of the moment you say something unfortunate about the virtue of his Klingon mother being defiled by Captain Kirk. You soon discover–at ridiculous odds– that this is the one phrase that translates directly from English to Klingon.

You find yourself staring at the end of a menacing Klingon weapon of war.

You swiftly make an attempt to apologize. You now discover the phrase “I’m sorry” in Klingon roughly translates: stab me repeatedly.

As you lie on the pavement bleeding to death, you wonder if a better grasp of the Klingon language could have helped you avoid this grisly end.

To reiterate my initial question: How many times has happened to you? It hasn’t…ever…and it never will. Klingons are a fictitious race from a fictitious planet invented in the mind of Gene Roddenberry.

However, there is a Klingon language; a language that people endeavor to learn and speak.

Why would a person endeavor to learn and speak a language spoken by a nonexistent race? I decided to ask a person who makes a habit of publicly speaking Klingon.

The following is a verbatim recalling of that conversation–apart from the bits that are a result of my faulty memory–with Klingon speaking Ed.

Note: His real name isn’t Ed. I’ve changed the name to protect the innocent. The innocent being myself; Ed’s a few sandwiches short of a picnic.

Me: So, what’s up with this whole speaking Klingon thing?

Ed: Isn’t it obvious why I speak Klingon?

Me: I dunno, have all the normal ways in which you repel women begun to fail?

Ed: MOK TUK BAH.

Me: Nope, (wiping the spit from my face) you’re as repellent as ever.

Ed: Klingon is the language of a noble warrior race.

Me: Of course it is. It just seems to me that it would be more useful to learn a language you may encounter on this planet, such as French.

Ed: French is hardly the language of a noble warrior race.

Me: Point taken. What about Spanish, a lot of people speak that language?

Ed: No way, Mexican food gives me gas.

Me: Does it? I’m curious, is there a Klingon word for non sequitur?

Ed: I don’t know what that is.

Me: You don’t know what a non sequitur is, or a girlfriend who isn’t imaginary.

Ed: What’s your point?

Me: My point is: speaking Klingon doesn’t seem very useful.

Ed: Not useful? People don’t screw you when you speak Klingon.

Me: Really, you speak Klingon and people screw with you constantly.

Ed: That’s not true.

Me: Yes it is.

Ed: Name one time.

Me: Well, I’m pretty much screwing with you right now.

Ed: I don’t think so.

Me: It feels like I am.

Ed: Klingons are hyper-aware of their surroundings.

Me: You do realize you’re not a Klingon?

Ed: Of course I do; I’m more of an idiot savant.

Me: Well, you’re half-way to an idiot savant.

Ed: MOK TUK BAH.

I wiped the spit from my face as I watched him storm away in a huff.

Note: Klingons never storm away in a huff.

So the next time you get rear-ended at a stoplight, rest assured, it won’t be a Klingon. If you’re lucky it won’t even be someone who speaks it.

klingon driver

Freaking Klingon drivers.

Physically Fit to be Tied

image credit: TMZ

image credit: TMZ

“Are you physically fit?” bellowed the man on the television screen as he jabbed a muscular finger in my direction.

“I don’t know,” I exclaimed, a bit startled by the suddenness of the question.

“Are you physically fit?” he persisted. This man was loud, muscle bound, and so deeply tanned that where ever he was, he must have been near the surface of the sun.

“You’re getting older,” he continued.

I am getting older, I thought, nearly every day.

“Do you even know what it means to be physically fit?”

I had to admit that I really didn’t.

“Of course you don’t know what it means, you’re a tiny pathetic weed of a man.”

I still didn’t know what it meant, was a little insulted, but wished that someone would tell me.

“Well I’m going to tell you.” He seemed to be reading my mind. “Physical fitness is the ability of the body to function with vigor and alertness, and with ample energy to engage in leisure activities. Endurance and cardio respiratory integrity are the overt signs of physical fitness.

Well this was absolutely no help at all.

My body functions with vigor and alertness, in as much as I seldom fall asleep when I don’t want to. I have endurance; I can run over one-hundred feet before the searing pain in my side renders my unconscious. As far as cardio respiratory integrity goes, my heart’s been beating for my entire life and hasn’t stopped yet, how much more integrity do you need?

Ample energy for leisure activities? Any activity that requires an amount of energy that can be characterized as ample, isn’t leisurely at all.

Here are a few activities that I don’t consider leisurely: running, jogging, speed walking, walking normally over long distances, walking slowly up an incline, lifting heavy objects, carrying heavy objects, lifting then subsequently carrying heavy objects, rock climbing. Rocks should never be climbed, if you’re trying to get somewhere and there is a rock in the way, go around it or blow it up. Why do think Alfred Nobel invented dynamite? They didn’t name that award after him because he wasted his time scrabbling up and down rocks.

It was at this point that the man on the screen began doing squat-thrusts. There has never been a time in the history of mankind that it was necessary to do a squat-thrust.

I decided to change the channel. Eventually I found a man reclined in a hammock, sipping a drink through a straw as waves washed a sun soaked beach in the background.

Now that’s a leisurely activity; one for which I have ample energy.

idiotpruf

Goofy has the idea.
image source: wondersofdisney.com

Just a Few idiotprufs

Wile E. Coyote

Wile E. Coyote, idiotprufs legend.

Idiot: a dolt, a dullard, a mentally deficient person, the guy who drives down the road with his seatbelt hanging from the door making sparks on the road.

idiotpruf: Any lesson learned as the direct result of an overt act of idiocy, or the observation of an overt act of idiocy. An act that proves that you are in fact an idiot.

Example: If you don’t want to be mocked by other motorist; don’t drive down the road with your seatbelt hanging from the door making sparks on the road.

I’ve been compiling a list of idiotprufs based on my own acts of idiocy, from observing the acts of idiocy of others, and from stories I’ve been told.

Just a Few idiotprufs

  • Regardless of how far your garden hose sprays; you’re still too close to the bees nest.
  • Being asked,”and what did we learn today,” as bee stingers are being pulled from your face, is the epitome of adding insult to injury.
  • Don’t try to remove a hornet’s nest from your garage by burning it out; you will wind up with half a garage, and a hornet’s nest.
  • You never want to find out the quantifying measure for the phrase, mad as a hornet.
  • Firemen like to say snide things as they hose down the side of your garage.
  • Regardless of how sturdy an umbrella seems, it is not an adequate substitute for a parachute.
  • You can be lying in a crumpled mass in the dirt, broken bones (some of them relatively important) jutting through your skin, and the first thing an adult will think to say is “what in the world did you think would happen if you jumped off the roof?”
  • Never try to pound a nail into something above your head using the dull side of a hatchet; misusing a hatchet in this way might cause its head to pop off.
  • A hatchet head only has to fall a foot or two to cause a considerable amount of damage to a human skull.
  • Head wounds bleed a lot.
  • If you don’t want to be bitten by the big brown snake; don’t poke at it with a stick.
  • Snake bites bleed a lot.
  • The average household vacuum cleaner is not designed to pick up paperclips; attempting to do so may cause the average household vacuum cleaner to explode and catch on fire.
  • A burning vacuum cleaner may also ignite the carpet.
  • A burning carpet will set off every smoke alarm in the house.
  • Smoke alarms are loud.
  • Melting Play-Doh in a frying pan seems like a brilliant scientific experiment to a child.
  • That child’s mother: not so much.
  • Burning Play-Doh will set off a smoke alarm.
  • Smoke alarms are loud.
  • One errant sock in the laundry can turn an entire load of whites into a load of pinks.
  • “Hey, you know that pink sweatshirt you love so much?” is not a good way to tell your roommate that you’ve turned the laundry pink.
  • A healthy dose of bleach will turn anything white.
  • A healthy dose of bleach will also give you a pile of really white rags.
  • “Hey, you know that really white sweatshirt full of holes you love so much?” is not a good way to tell your roommate that you’ve used too much bleach on the laundry.
  • A car that has been run out of motor oil, is less of automobile, and more of giant metal traffic clogger.
  • Asking your girlfriend, whose car has been run out of motor oil, if she knows why it’s called a dipstick, is a really bad idea.
  • When your girlfriend asks, “how stupid do you think I am?” she is not looking for a quantifying answer.
  • The phrase “some day we’ll look back at this and laugh” doesn’t always apply.

Seriously, I literally have hundreds of these.

I’m finding that everybody has some, do you?

Addendum

The actual word idiot-proof is a misnomer; there is nothing a true idiot can’t screw-up when given the chance.

idiotpruf

Exactly.

Post Navigation

Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 5,572 other followers

%d bloggers like this: