idiot-prufs

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

Archive for the tag “humour”

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.

Words of Inspiration

love hurts

I have never written more beautiful or poignant words. I’m starting to get all misty-eyed.

I think I may have a bright future in inspirational writing.

Special thanks to The Phil Factor, whose post, Top Ten Tuesdays! My Top Ten Blogging Pet Peeves, gave me the nudge I needed to pursue this new path.

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.

Head Wounds, Deer Semen and Fear: A Famliy Reunion

ugly men, idiotprufs

You’re not related to these men, you should be so lucky.

So you think your family reunions are miserable?

I’m referring to those occasions that include grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, second cousins, creatures who claim to be cousins, but who you could swear are really albino trolls, in-laws, out-laws, felons, significant others, insignificant others, the cast of that creepy movie The Others.

Do you have that one guy who doesn’t seem to belong with any particular family, but always shows up around the holidays. He wears an eye-patch, has a peg leg, and refers to everyone as Matey.

Does the mere act of thinking about your family make you sweat profusely and vomit a little in your mouth?

Does your calendar have the date of your family reunion circled with the word, Armageddon, written across it in blood?

Do you equate spending the day with the extended family with that disturbing dentist/torture scene from Marathon Man?

When you’re with your family, do you wish you could trade places with Dustin Hoffman’s character?

Did you get all the way to the closing credits of The Hills Have Eyes before you realized it wasn’t a home movie?

Do you read Oliver Twist and think: lucky bastard?

Does having your family around you, have the same effect on your brain as a sweaty 300 lb construction worker, pounding on your skull with a jack hammer, while he lustily puffs cigar smoke in your face and curses at you in Portuguese?

Do you have an uncle whose motto is: you can never use too much lighter fluid, unless you’ve plenty of gasoline?

Whenever he leaves a place, do things seem to be on fire that weren’t before he got there?

Is he one of the things that is on fire?

Do you have an uncle who shows up in full blood soaked camouflage, wreaking of a masking scent made from deer semen?

The disturbing part: he hasn’t even been hunting, he just like the way it looks.

Does the emergency room of your local hospital put extra people on duty the day of your family reunion, to deal with the sudden influx of contusions, broken bones, severe burns, food poisoning, alcohol poisoning, bite wounds–some animal, some human, some unidentifiable, and one that appears to be from a bigfoot–stab wounds, gunshot wounds, arrow wounds, one particularly gruesome wound seemingly caused by a medieval mace, and several cases of acute mental distress?

Do you get tetanus and rabies shots before the reunion, not as a precaution, but because you just know.

On your way to the family reunion, do you stop at a convenience store and casually browse, in the futile hope that masked robbers will burst into the store and rob it. You hope the robbery will go sideways and devolve into a protracted hostage situation that stretches into the night? (Or at least until about 6pm, the approximate time your family reunion ends.)

Alas, you have ill fortune, the store is robbed, but the robbers are highly proficient and a hostage situation never materializes. You are shot in the leg, but you know that that’s not an acceptable reason for missing the family reunion, a gunshot wound was bound to happen at some point in the day anyway.

Even when you do have what any rational human being would consider an acceptable reason for missing the family reunion, you still get the following phone call from your aunt and the family enforcer, Barsinister Hag.

Note: She claims her name isn’t Barsinister Hag, but by the sheer nature of her being, it must be.

Barsinister Hag: why you weren’t at the family reunion?

You: I had bayonet wound in the face.

Barsinister Hag: Is that all? You could have stopped by to say hello to your grandmother.

You: It was bleeding quite a lot.

Barsinister Hag: Everybody else made time.

You: I lost a pretty big chunk of my brain, and quite a few memories.

Barsinister Hag: You seem to remember me just fine, how do you explain that?

You: Fate is cruel and hateful.

Barsinister Hag: You’ll pay for this betrayal.

You: Even more than the time I said you had chunky thighs, and you had a hobo attack me with a hammer?

She angrily hangs up and the next day you are attacked by a hobo with an ax.

Is your family worse than that?

Is it?

family reunion

No. Stick it in my face, this has to be convincing.

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.

Bees and Calligraphy

bee calligraphy nerd

In my spare time I like to improve my yodeling.

First a few personal facts regarding the differences between bees and calligraphy:

  1. I have never been stung in the face by calligraphy.
  2. I have never gotten a D on an art project written in bee.

Good things about bees:

  1. If you don’t happen to have any Crazy Stinging Amazonian Bastard Ants, Africanized killers bees will work in a pinch.
  2. It is hysterical when a bee stings a mime.
  3. Pollination. Bees pollinate a vast array of plants, helping to propagate many types of fruits and flowers. I’m also pretty sure Donald Trump’s hair is some sort of hive.
  4. They make honey, that sweet nectar byproduct without which Pooh bear would have never gotten his head caught in a honey pot, in that adorable image by A. A. Milne.  If it weren’t for that image, I’d have nothing tattooed to my left butt cheek.

Good things about calligraphy:

  1. Because of calligraphy, nib manufacturing is still a thriving business in Bangladeshian sweat shops.
  2. Without calligraphy wedding invitations would have to be written in silly fonts.
  3. Anything written in calligraphy looks super classy; like William Shakespeare threw up on a piece of paper. (It’s how the entire first act of Much Ado About Nothing was written.)
sonnet shakespeare

Super classy. Created by William Shakespeare after a night of pounding tequila shots.

Note: This blog has often been referred to as the Shakespeare of humor blogs–sometimes by poet laureates, occasionally by scholars, but mostly by people when I lie about things people have said. I’ve also won the Pulitzer Prize–twice.

Honestly, it’s closer to those five-line poems with a strict AABBA rhyme scheme, that seem to focus on an odd man from a small island off the coast of Massachusetts.

Bad things about bees:

They sting you in the face.

You could be a small child innocently playing in your grandmother’s backyard. Playing in a manner so innocent, its very nature demands the use of the word angelic.

Your could then have your childhood bliss shattered in a moment when bee stings you in the face.

You might retreat into your grandmother’s house sobbing because a bee has just stung you in the face.

Instead of receiving the consoling you need, your aunt–who is evil–snidely tells you, “bees only sting you if you bother them.”

Years later you have your revenge at a family picnic when your aunt is stung by a bee. You confidently inform her, “bees only sting fat bitchy women.” She is not amused.

Note: The Stephen King classic, Cujo, was based on my aunt. While she’s not as hairy as the titular character, she does drool considerably more. You might think that’s mean, but you don’t know her.

Bad things about calligraphy:

They make you learn it in Art class.

When I was in school we didn’t get to use the calligraphy pens with the replaceable ink cartridges; we had to use the old-style calligraphy pens that you had to dip in ink wells. This was problematic.

I tended to get ink blots on my assignment, which hurt the final grade. I also got ink on my desk, on my hands, on my face, on my clothes and weirdly on my left butt cheek. (It was a precursor to the Winnie the Pooh tattoo.)

It was also problematic for the girl in the desk in front of me.

It wasn’t that she had difficulty containing her ink use; it was that my difficulty in containing my ink use, on one occasion spread to her flaxen blonde hair.

Which then became problematic for me, in a loud and somewhat abusive tone.

I threw around more ink than a pissed off octopus.

In conclusion, I want to thank Becky for not using my suggestion of bees and calligraphy; it has allowed me to share more embarrassing moments from my past.

Addendum:


Nantucket. The small island off the coast of Massachusetts is Nantucket. Evidently there once was a man from there.

octopus ink

Man, this calligraphy is difficult.

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.

 

Crazy Stinging Amazonian Bastard Ants

nerd idiotprufs ants

The Crazy Stinging Amazonian Bastard Ant. How would like to get a package of these?

In a recent post, But Seriously, I described of my use of Crazy Stinging Amazonian Bastard Ants when dealing with critics. When I receive criticism I feel is unwarranted, I drop a package in the mail to the criticizer. The package contains a colony of the ants in question. The label on the package reads: shake roughly before opening. (The only thing Crazy Stinging Amazonian Bastard Ants hate more than critics is to be shaken roughly.)

Note: For criticism to reach the Crazy Stinging Amazonian Bastard Ant level, it has to really hurt my feelings; if I exhale a feeble whimper followed by a pained, why, upon receiving the criticism, you’re getting ants in the mail.

It would seem there some people out there who don’t believe that Crazy Stinging Amazonian Bastard Ants are real. People who all suddenly seem to be experts on Amazonian wildlife and entomology. People who say they’ve done their own research and can’t find any evidence of the existence of such an insect.

Hey people, Google doesn’t know everything.

These people claim that no self-respecting taxonomist would give an ant such a silly name.

Things are often given weird or inappropriate names. Have you ever seen a person and immediately thought to yourself: that person’s parents misnamed him; his name should be Rat-Bastard Morgan instead of Piers.

Note: My deepest apologies to Piers Morgan and his family, that was entirely uncalled for, but I really like that joke.

They also say that ants don’t sting: they bite.

Nature provides us with many oddities and exceptions: mammals don’t lay eggs, but the duck-billed platypus does. Birds don’t swim under water, but penguins do. Humans don’t shed their skin like snakes, but Hugh Hefner does. The list goes on and on.

Note: No apologies for Hef: he’s a reptile.

Let’s say for the sake of argument, the name Crazy Stinging Amazonian Bastard Ants, is in fact a product of my fertile if not slightly warped mind.

Who’s to say such an insect doesn’t already exist. There have been over 400 hundred new species of plants and animals discovered in the Amazonian rain forest in recent years, including a monkey that purrs like a kitten and a vegetarian piranha.

Note: the vegetarian piranha was classified as Piersus Morganus, the monkey they called Ted.

Perhaps one of those 400 hundred discoveries is an insect whose sheer nature and attributes demand it be classified as a Crazy Stinging Amazonian Bastard Ant.

Just the other day I read an article about a researcher on the Amazon River who discovered a previously unknown water fowl. The water fowl was infested with a previously unknown type of tick. The tick bit the researcher and infected him a previously unknown and highly infectious disease.

The disease would have incubated within his body over a period of months and the researcher would have unwittingly unleashed a devastating epidemic upon the populace.

Half the population would have suffered from the following symptoms:

  • Nausea.
  • Dizziness.
  • A rash on their butts in the shape Mickey Rooney’s face.
  • A rash on their faces in the shape of Mickey Rooney’s butt.
  • Dry mouth.
  • Itchy scalp.
  • Dry itchy mouth and or scalp.
  • All cheese will taste like wire.
  • All other food will taste like cheese, but the nasty kind like Limburger.
  • Migraines.
  • Chipmunks will throw pine cones at their heads.
  • Migraines from chipmunks throwing pine cones at the heads.
  • They would become obsessed with Kayne West and Kim Kardashian, droning on endlessly about their wedding and how beautiful and perfect their lives are.

The other half of the population would have become depressed and suicidal, mostly due to the fact that the first half of the population were droning on endlessly about Kanye West and Kim Kardashian, their wedding and how beautiful and perfect their lives are.

Luckily the researcher was bitten by a common snake and died straight away.

The point being: for all you critics out there doubtful of the existence of Crazy Stinging Amazonian Bastard Ants, you might just receive a package in the mail containing a hive of Raging Bolivian Biting Wasps. Remember to shake it roughly.

Addendum:

I know there are some of you out there who are doubtful of the monkey that purrs like a kitten and the vegetarian piranha. Do you think I just make this stuff up?

nerd monkey idiotprufs

Ted, the monkey that purrs like a kitten.

 

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.

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