idiotprufs

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

Archive for the tag “humour”

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?

Strangers in a Strange Land: The Amarillo Trilogy Part 1

I’m reposting this in honor of Super Bowl weekend:

Frank Reich

Thanks for nothing, Frank.

This the tale of how four young men from western New York came to watch the greatest comeback in NFL playoff history–the Buffalo Bills overcoming of a 32 point deficit against the Houston Oilers–in less than hospitable surrounding; a seedy bar in Texas.

It was noon Texas time, and we were scrambling to find a place to watch the game. We finally stumbled upon a hole-in-the-wall on the outskirts of Amarillo.

We walked into a shadowy bar that if I’m not mistaken, was the setting for Texas Chainsaw Massacre. The atmosphere was dark and murky and we could feel the eyes of the other patrons on us, heavy with suspicion and contempt. The occupants of one table in the back were a particularly grizzled bunch that were reminiscent of the bar scene from Dusk Til Dawn.

Yeah...that looks right.

Yeah…that looks right.

We made our way to the front and took a seat at the bar, where the bartender was describing to the bar’s manager, events from the night before: a handful of fights, a couple of stabbings, limited gun-play.  She would go on to describe it as a typical Saturday night.

Note: I’m not making that up.

As the bartender checked our driver licenses, she eyed us warily.

“Westfield, New York…is that anywhere near Buffalo?”

We told her that it was in fact about sixty miles from Buffalo.

“You’re not Bills fans are you?” She asked with just a touch of petulance in her voice.

We informed her that two of us, Lance and Al, were in fact Bills fans. I told her that I was a Pittsburgh Steelers fan, and one of us, Matt, was actually a Houston Oilers fan (we assumed if things got ugly, Matt would be stabbed last).

“Well, you boys will be okay…as long as the Bills lose,” she said jokingly…but not really.

Note: After hearing that I was a Steelers fan, the manager explained to me in great detail why Texans hate the Pittsburgh Steelers and their fans. The visual aids he used were disturbing.

The game began and the Oilers dominated for the entire first half, taking a 28 to 3 lead into halftime.

With every touchdown the Oilers scored, the mood lightened, the other patrons around us became friendlier and the guys from the back table even seemed magnanimous.

They began to ask us friendly questions:

Does it snow a lot where you live?

It snows tons.

Have you been to Niagara Falls?

Many times.

Are Canadians as polite as people say?

Mostly.

Can you get good chicken wings around there?

Larry’s Cantina in Westfield, New York has the best wings anywhere.

Why don’t you talk like your from New York?

What do you mean?

If you’re from New York, why don’t say things like, “yo” or “yous guys”?

First, we’re not from Yonkers. Second, you’re thinking of Rocky Balboa, a fictional character from Philadelphia.

We were all having a good time, the fear of imminent bodily harm had subsided.

The second half began with Houston scoring another touchdown, increasing their lead to 35 to 3, and things were downright jovial.

Then something odd happened: as Houston kicker, Al Del Greco, was kicking off, the wind shifted the ball in the tee, resulting in a squib kick that went only a few feet, and everything began to change.

Frank Reich began to throw touchdown passes,Warren Moon began to throw interceptions, and the mood in the bar began to shift.

With every play Lance and Al whooped and hollered and slapped high fives, much to the disgust the others around us. At one point Buffalo receiver, Don Beebe, scored a touchdown on a play which he had clearly stepped out of bounds. The anger in the room was growing palpable. The fear of imminent bodily harm had returned with a vengeance.

As Buffalo kicker, Steve Christie, lined up to kick the game winning field goal, Lance and Al were in a state oblivious delirium, I was fearing for life, and Matt was about to experience the phrase “adding insult to injury” in a very literal way, as he was about to watch his team blow the biggest lead in NFL history, and possibly be stabbed in the side of the head.

Matt and I had the following conversation:

Me: Matt, when we came in did those guys at the back table have eye-patches and huge scars on their faces?

Matt: I don’t think so.

Me: I certainly don’t remember that big guy on the right fondling a blood stained machete.

Matt: And wearing a T-shirt that reads: Remember The Alamo: A Great Day Of Victory.

Me: We should get out of here.

Matt: Right away.

I could hear Ennio Morricone music rising in the background. You know, that music from Sergio Leone Spaghetti Westerns, the music that would play just before Jack Elam would be brutally killed (and jukebox wasn’t even plugged in).

"Oh crap, there's that music."

“Oh crap, there’s that music.”

Steve Christie’s kick sailed through the uprights giving the Bills the greatest comeback in NFL history, and we sailed out the door before weaponry could be wielded.

The Buffalo Bills had survived that day, but more importantly, so had we.

Top Ten Other Ways the New England Patriots Cheat

football underinflated

Patriots’ game ball, inflated slightly more than Tom Brady likes it.

#10

Robert Kraft offers a lifetime supply of razors to officials who ‘look the other way’ when they cover the Seahawks’ game balls with super slippery stuff.

#9

Rob Gronkowski is actually a cyborg sent back from the future to kill Sarah Conner.

#8

Tom Brady wears a piece; he’s actually bald a cue ball.

#7

They lace other team’s Gatorade with Viagra.

#6

The New England Patriots’ kicker’s balls are coated with flubber.

#5

Legarrette Blount never passes the joint to the other team.

(Technically this isn’t cheating, but it certainly isn’t polite.)

#4

Snipers.

#3

Bill Belichick had a witch doctor put an ‘interception’ curse on Eli Manning, to keep him out of the Super Bowl.

(It’s working.)

#2

They steal the other team’s playbook, and replace the plays with Venn Diagrams about ninjas.

#1

Tom Brady illegally deflates his game balls; he artificially inflates his jock strap.

addendum

When I said the New England Patriots’ kicker’s balls are coated with flubber, I did mean his testicles.

ninja irs When Russell Wilson drops back to pass, he’ll be looking for the zombie.

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

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