idiotprufs

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

Archive for the tag “satire”

Purple Pilgrims

pilgrims

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

As a child you learn many lessons:

  • Regardless of how far your garden hose sprays, you’re still too close to the hornet’s nest.
  • You don’t want to discover the quantitative value for the phrase “mad as a hornet” at any point in time.
  • Regardless of how sturdy it seems, an umbrella is not an adequate substitute for a parachute.
  • Your cousins lie.
  •  You can be lying in a crumpled heap, several bones broken, some of them relatively important, and the first thing any adult will think to say is: “look at what you did to my umbrella.”
  • Even though most varieties of snakes are not venomous, you still don’t want them to bite you.
  • Convincing your cousin to let a snake bite him so that you find out whether or not it’s venomous, seems like a good idea, but it will really piss-off your aunt.
  • Did I mention cousins lie.
  • Never utter the phrase “sticks and stones will break my bones but words will never harm me,” to someone who is in possession of sticks or stones. In the jungle that is playground justice, you will be pelted with a barrage of sticks and stones.
  • When adults say cheaters never prosper, they’re full of it. Cheaters prosper all of the time, mostly because they’re cheating.
  • Do not ever, under any circumstance, ask a girl if she’s going to be as fat as her mother when she grows up.
  • Definitely don’t ask her that question if she’s holding sticks or stones.
  • Don’t melt play-doh on the stove. (What seems like a scientific experiment to you, is just wanton destruction to your mother.)
  • Ditto with crayons.
  • Don’t purposely try to set off the smoke alarm just to see how loud it is. It’s loud.
  • Thinking your mother won’t hear the smoke alarm because she’s in the shower, is a big mistake.
  • Artistic creativity is not always welcomed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It turned out the mural was going up on the wall for a big parent-teacher thing that night. She’d left that bit of information out of the instructions.

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

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

Addendum:

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

floppy watches

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

My Top Ten Previous Lives and Other Nonsense

Napolean

I may have been Napoleon in a previous life.

I’ve noticed when people talk about reincarnation or previous lives, they’ve always been someone famous or influential or important. They’re always Napoleon or George Washington or the guy who invented the ShamWow.

Why is it that no one has ever been a fifth century banana slug or Igor the twelfth century serf who mucked out stables, and was killed by a runaway manure cart?

After much deliberation I’ve come up with my top ten previous lives:

TEN

Big stupid dinosaur–Jurassic Period.

NINE

Small clever dinosaur, eaten by a big stupid dinosaur–Jurassic Period.

EIGHT

Big stupid dodo bird that jumped from a cliff in a fruitless attempt to fly–whenever the hell we lived.

dodo bird

Look at those tiny ineffectual wings, no wonder we’re extinct.

SEVEN

Mayan who first met Francisco Hernandez de Cordoba, and thought to himself: these Spaniards seem nice, I’ll introduce them to my people, nothing bad could come from that–sixteenth century, near the time of the fall of the Mayan Empire.

SIX

Wendall Newton, Sir Isaac Newton’s stupid cousin who laughed when the apple fell on Isaac’s head. Later ate the apple and choked, it had a worm in it–seventeenth century.

FIVE

Pierre, Marie Antoinette’s advisor and later headless corpse. He advised her: just tell them to eat cake–eighteenth century.

FOUR

Adolph Hitler, but not the infamous one; just another boy born in Germany with a very unfortunate name–early twentieth century.

THREE

Raccoon who was shot, but later gained fame as Fess Parker’s hat–mid twentieth century.

TWO

Big stupid tuna fish caught in a net. Later became part of a casserole that Edwina Fornwaller took to a pot-luck dinner. It was dry and not well received–late twentieth century.

ONE

Bigfoot. Spent time lurking just out of sight, and being captured in grainy indistinguishable photographs–whenever.

fess parker

Here I am on Fess Parker’s head. Don’t I look awesome?

Poop Flinging Monkeys and Origami Condoms

monkey throwing poop

He’s right-handed–make a note of that.

A few weeks ago I wrote a post entitled, What the Hell is Going on, detailing the National Institute of Health’s spending of $3.8 million to make monkeys alcoholic. (The amount spent on monkey rehab is still unreported.)

The Daily Mail has now reported another list of bizarre NIH spending:

$2.4 million dollars to develop an ‘origami’ condom.

I’ve always felt the biggest problem with condoms is that they’re not in the shape of a swan. They’re just too easy to use; stopping to remove the condom from its package, and apply it without losing the ‘moment’ is just too simple; why not also have to fold it into shape of dragon.

$939,000 dollars to determine that male fruit flies prefer younger female fruit flies.

Researchers have determined that this is caused by drop in hormone levels as female fruit flies age, but we know that’s a load of crap.

When you have a 24 hour lifespan, that midlife crisis hits you fast and hits you hard. It’s about noon, you’re flying around a waste basket containing discarded apple cores, when it hits you: my life is half over and I haven’t even had lunch yet.

You buy an unpractical sports car, start dressing inappropriately for your age, you get a couple of piercings and a tattoo that reads: forever young.

You dump your twelve-hour old wife for a nubile six-hour old.

You’re balding, you have a paunch, your behavior is embarrassing, and tomorrow you’ll be dead.

I believe my assessment to be more accurate, and it cost $939,000 less.

$592,000 dollars to determine that chimpanzees with the best poop flinging skills are also the best communicators.

I think I can write without fear of contradiction: if you address someone by slapping a fistful of your feces in their face, you will have effectively gained their undivided attention.

However, be prepared for that person to subsequently communicate their feelings…violently.

$117,000 to learn that most chimps are right-handed.

Couldn’t the researchers from the previous study have just made of note of which hand the chimps were throwing their feces with; if you’re going to do something as important as throwing your feces, you’re not going to do it off-handed.

$325,000 to learn that marriages are happier when wives calm down more quickly during arguments with their husbands.

This is like doing a study to determine that fire is hot.

The real question is why do wives in some marriages calm down more quickly during arguments. I’m willing to bet it’s because husbands in those marriages, during arguments, don’t say things like:

  • I don’t know why you’re acting so crazy.
  • I think you’re overreacting to that remark about your acting crazy.
  • Can’t this wait until the game’s over.
  • Who cares what your friends think; it’s my opinion that matters.
  • Who care if those jeans make you look fat, if I wanted a skinny wife, I would have married your sister.

This study also showed that marriages were completely unaffected when the husbands were the ones who became calm more quickly. This just proves two things that everybody already knew:

  1. Women just want men to understand why they’re upset and empathize with them.
  2. Men don’t care; we just want to drink beer and watch football without all the noise.

$832,000 went to learn if it was possible to get uncircumcised South African tribesmen into the habit of washing their genitals after having sex.

Note: is this what the couples in the previous study were arguing about? Because that would make sense to me.

Let’s be clear about this.

This wasn’t an attempt to get uncircumcised South African tribesmen into the habit of washing their genitals after having sex.

This was a study to learn if it was ‘possible’ to get uncircumcised South African tribesmen into the habit of washing their genitals after having sex.

Let me save you $832,000: yes it’s possible.

Anything is possible. It’s possible to be struck by lightning. It’s possible or win the lottery. It’s possible that I’ll grow to like mimes.

Note: You’re thinking that last one isn’t possible. If you gave me $832,000 to like mimes; I would like me some mimes.

And how do they know uncircumcised South African tribesmen don’t wash their genitals after sex? It feels like something creepy has been going on there.

Note: perhaps uncircumcised South African tribesman would be more conscientious of genital hygiene if they didn’t have to fold their condoms into the shape of a chrysanthemum. Chrysanthemums are freaking hard. Read more…

Just to Reiterate: Get the Hell Out of the Way

waiting in line

Is she talking about her gout again? Kill me now.

I know I’ve touched on the subject of checkout line etiquette on more than one occasion.

And I know what you’re thinking: why are you beating a dead horse?

It’s dead.

It’s been dead.

Just stop it.

You’re embarrassing yourself.

Would you beat Seabiscuit?

Seabiscuit’s a dead horse.

Seabiscuit was an underdog that overcame adversity.

Seabiscuit’s story was inspirational and heartwarming.

How dare you.

I’d wager that you didn’t even cry at the end of the Old Yeller.

Are you made of stone?

Old Yeller was a faithful and trusted companion.

Monster.

Anyway, recent events have led me to believe that I need to revisit the subject of checkout line etiquette. First generally and then specifically.

Just a few thing you shouldn’t do in a check-out line, generally:

  • Haggle over the validity of a ten cent coupon for meatless vegan sausage. I mean what’s the point, it’s just awful. Go put it back on the shelf and calmly leave the store.
  • Suddenly realize, moments after the cashier has rung up your total, that you’ve forgotten something vital; something that you absolutely mustn’t leave the store without or your wife will give you that “how useless are you” speech. Retreat to the back of the store to retrieve the overlooked item. Take an eternity because you have trouble locating the item. Return fifteen minutes later with your item and an apologetic grin. (If the item you return with is meatless vegan sausage, you will be beaten sadistically.)
  • Try to pay with a personal check if don’t have any identification. How long have you been alive on this planet?
  • Try to pay with cash only to find you’re a little bit short. Then instead of putting something back (because everything you’re getting is absolutely vital, even the meatless vegan sausage) you rummage through all your jacket pockets to find that all you have are some loose Tic Tacs and an assortment of Canadian coins. (Obviously if you’re in Canada this is not a problem; Tic Tacs are widely used as currency there.)
  • Juggle running chain saws.
  • Lick the face of the person next to you and scream, “I have Ebola.”
  • Get in the express line with a cart full of items. Then lick the face of the person next to you and scream, “I have Ebola.”
  • Mime. (Miming should never be done anywhere for any reason.)
  • Loudly sing Justin Bieber songs.
  • Quietly sing Justin Bieber songs.
  • Be Justin Bieber.
  • Punch a mime in the face. (Sorry. This one’s acceptable and sometimes necessary.)

And now, something you shouldn’t do in a check-out line, specifically:

Don’t wait until you’ve been completely checked out, and all your items bagged, to start a personal conversation with the cashier.

We don’t care that your gout has been acting up.

We don’t care that your child’s soccer coach won’t put him in the game. Your kid sucks-deal with it.

We don’t care that your niece is in a loveless marriage. She shouldn’t have married her second cousin; we know it’s legal, but still.

We don’t care that your gynecologist was arrested. He should have never been in that opium den to begin with. Do you really want a gynecologist who frequents opium dens anyway.

But mostly, we couldn’t give a rodent’s behind who you think should have been eliminated from Dancing With The Stars. There was a brief fleeting moment when we cared, but that was just a mass hallucination, and it passed.

If you believe the people in your general sphere of being, so desperately need to know your opinion, then call them later. Text them. Instant message them. Hell, open up your kitchen window and scream as loudly as you can in their general direction-I don’t care. Just get the hell out of the way.

Thank you.

Addendum:

If you’re upset because you’ve never seen Old Yeller, and now I’ve ruined it for you, I have only one thing to say: Rosebud was a sled.

rosebud

At least I didn’t reveal that Bruce Willis’ character in Sixth Sense was dead the entire time.

Smoking: What are You Waiting For?

Recently I jokingly asked someone if they could recommend a brand of cigarettes, because I needed a hobby, and I planned to take up smoking. This was met with a glassy-eyed stare, and an earnest lecture against the evils of smoking.

I felt it was time to revisit an old post extolling the many reasons people should start smoking.

Note: so many of my jokes are met with glassy-eyed stares, I could use them to hypnotize people.    

smoking face

See how happy you could be.
(image source: wpclipart.com)

The plight of tobacco executives in our country.

With the combination of class action lawsuits and the implementation of restrictive legislation, the poor tobacco executives in our country have taken a terrible beating over the past several years. It has resulted in a precipitous tumble in their social standing; they have gone from being filthy stinking rich, to being only extremely well off. If we don’t take immediate action, where will it end?

The fate of our tobacco executives if we don't take immediate action.image source: andertoons.com

The fate of our tobacco executives if we don’t take immediate action.
(image source: andertoons.com)

The word emphysema is really fun to say.

It’s a word that just rolls off your tongue.  Em-phy-se-ma: one syllable just flows into the next. Try saying it once. Try saying it several times in a row. Try saying it quickly. Try saying it quickly several times in a row (unless you have emphysema: you might pass out).

The great thing about emphysema is that once you have it, it never goes away. And emphysema will affect nearly every aspect of your life; so you will have no trouble working it into daily conversation:

  • The doctor diagnosed me with emphysema.
  • I’m taking this medicine for my emphysema.
  • I’d love to play with my grandchildren more, but I can’t because of my emphysema.
  • I climbed two flights of stairs and collapsed in a sweaty quivering mass due to my emphysema.
  • I won at scrabble when I played the word emphysema. Thank goodness I can still play board games.

Not only will you have fun with the word emphysema, but so will your friends and family, long after you’re gone:

  • What a nice funeral. I guess the doctor said he would have survived the pneumonia if hadn’t been for the emphysema.
  • He certainly died young, but his quality of life wasn’t very good with the emphysema.
  • Remember that time he coughed up a piece of lung and we all laughed for hours; crazy thing that emphysema.
In a twist of irony, you win a scrabble tournament playing the words healthy alveola.image source: snapdesign.com

In a twist of irony, you won a scrabble tournament playing the words, healthy alveoli.
(image source: snapdesign.com)

You need to know what they’re talking about.

You’ve seen them huddled together, enjoying their cigarettes, with their furtive glances and secretive whispers.

They’re outside of the bar, the restaurant, the bank. They’re outside any and every place of business. They assemble in the wind, the rain, and the snow. They assemble regardless of scorching heat or an F5 tornado. Nothing deters them.

What can they be talking about? It must be of incredible importance. They must be solving the puzzles of the universe.

You’ve tried approaching them, but without a cigarette in your hand, they just regard you with disdain and disgust.

It’s been eating at you; you need to know what they’re talking about.

Note: It’s a little known fact that Albert Einstein developed both special and general relativity, while huddled with a bunch of coworkers outside of a patent office, in a brutal German snowstorm.

Get lost, we're doing something important. We're developing a cure for cancer or emphysema. Hey, emphysema, that's fun to say.image source: sodahead.com

“Get lost, we’re discussing important things. We’re discussing a possible cure for cancer or emphysema. Hey, emphysema, that’s fun to say.”
(image source: sodahead.com)

To stick it to that know-it-all the Surgeon General

You’re a rebel and you don’t appreciate anybody telling you how to live your life. You certainly don’t need some preachy Surgeon General constantly yapping at you about lung cancer, heart disease, or 32 known carcinogens.

There are tons of dangerous activities out there that the Surgeon General has said absolutely nothing about:

  • Poking yourself in the eye with a stick.
  • Dropping a brick on your toes.
  • Insulting the wife of a tattoo laden biker dude.
  • Juggling knives.
  • Attempting to re-attach your fingers with a sewing needle and some thread following some ill-advised knife juggling.
  • Hitting yourself repeatedly in the face with a hammer.

Why don’t hammers come with an explicate warning from the Surgeon General; you don’t have to hit yourself in the face more than five or six times with a hammer, to do some real damage.

If we’re going to make any real changes, it’s up to all of you out there to light up and start puffing away.

I’d start smoking today if my jaw wasn’t wired shut.

I'm launching a law suit; those irresponsible executives at Black & Decker, need to learn.image source: wpclipart.com

I’m launching a lawsuit; those irresponsible executives at Black & Decker, need to learn.
(image source: wpclipart.com)

How to Appreciate Poetry in a Right and Proper Way

 

bullwinkle

Bullwinkle, appreciating the hell out some poetry.
image source: eclbake.com

Every now and again, when I’m feeling intellectually illiterate or a bit lowbrow (anyone who has read this blog to any extent can understand how frequently that may be) I will resolve the feeling by appreciating poetry.

I just head to my closet, yank out my poetry sack, pull out a big wad of poetry, and appreciate the hell out of it.

Note: my poetry sack also serves as a repository for random unmatched socks.

When appreciating poetry in a right and proper way, there are a few things that are key:

Comprehension

If you can even remotely understand the meaning of a poem, it isn’t a proper poem. Poems tend to be vague or nebulous. Poets like to throw around a dizzying menagerie of random imagery, designed to confuse and disorient. If you’ve just finished reading a poem and you haven’t vomited in your mouth a bit, it isn’t proper poetry.

Symbolism

When a poet writes a poem about a leaf being blown from a tree, falling to the ground, and being trampled underfoot, he’s not actually writing about a leaf being blown from a tree, falling to the ground, and being trampled underfoot.

The leaf represents hopelessness, and the futility of a life marred by series of tragic events. The leaf being blown from the tree represents a life spiralling into an alcohol fueled abyss of despair. The leaf being trampled underfoot represents the crushing weight of an uncaring world and inevitable grip of death.

A morbid bunch–poets.

Emotional Response

Poems are written to evoke an emotional response from its readers. Once after reading a collection of poems by Sylvia Plath, I spent hours curled-up on the floor in the fetal position as I sobbed uncontrollably.

An excerpt from Daddy, one of Sylvia Plath’s best known poems:

If I’ve killed one man, I’ve killed two——
The vampire who said he was you
And drank my blood for a year,
Seven years, if you want to know.
Daddy, you can lie back now.
There’s a stake in your fat black heart
And the villagers never liked you.
They are dancing and stamping on you.
They always knew it was you.
Daddy, daddy, you bastard, I’m through.

Holy Crap! Right?

Note: I don’t want to paint the picture that all poets are emotionally distressed alcoholics with father issues– but the really good ones are.

But Limericks Are Fun
Limericks are short humorous poems with a strict meter and A-A-B-B-A rhyme scheme. They tend to revolve around a man with an odd ability, from a small island off the coast of Massachusetts.
Sonnets
Sonnets are fourteen line poems that rose to popularity in the 13th century. They tend to be written by William Shakespeare and lovelorn teenage boys who are trying to impress teenage girls who are way out of their league.
Haiku
Haiku is not proper poetry, let’s all just stop pretending that it is.
Epic Poems
These are lengthy poems that generally involve deeds of heroism. A few examples of epic poems: Divine Comedy by Dante, Paul Revere’s Ride by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow and Horton Hears a Who by Theodor Seuss Geisel.
Dr. Seuss
Don’t be fooled by this charlatan, while he may be the brilliant author of dozens of classic children’s books, he is not and has never been a medical professional.
Emily Dickinson vs. Angie Dickinson
Be sure that you know the difference. You don’t want to be chatting up a girl who is gushing over her love of Emily Dickinson when you say, “I know, she was smoking hot in Big Bad Mama.” Seriously– it ends badly.

angie Dickinson

This is not Emily Dickinson.
Image source: Tao of Poker

Interesting Fact
The Baltimore Ravens, the NFL franchise in Baltimore, is named after Edgar Allan Poe’s The Raven.
Note: if I had named the NFL franchise in Baltimore after an Edgar Allan Poe poem, I would have called them the Baltimore Conquering Worms. How much cooler would that have been?
A Moment of Braggadocio
On an essay I wrote in college, explicating The Tyger by William Blake, I received a grade of 99 percentile. Take that doubters who question my literary chops. (And that came on the heels of my high school English teacher openly doubting if I could successfully write my own name. True story.)
You Are Now Ready
You are now ready to pull out your own poetry sack, and start appreciating the hell out of poetry.
Final Note
I don’t want any whiny comments from people who love Haiku, write Haiku, read Haiku, or though the certifying of some bizarre clerical error at the hospital, have been named Haiku. It was just a joke…mostly.

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.

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 dozens 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.

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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