idiotprufs

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

What’s Wrong With Me?

feeling ill I’m not feeling right.

Something is a bit off.

I seem to be suffering from some mysterious medical condition.

The symptoms are myriad:

  • Nausea.
  • Runny nose.
  • Headaches in my stomach.
  • Stomach aches in my head.
  • Squirrels steal my mail and replace it with half eaten nuts.
  • Everything smells like fear.
  • Everything tastes like pine cones.
  • Pine cones taste like pickled beets (but they smell like fear).
  • The sound of Justin Bieber’s voice makes me weep uncontrollably.
  • I have a rash on my butt in the shape of Piers Morgan’s face.
  • I have a rash on my face in the shape of Piers Morgan’s butt.
  • My left eyeball pops out of its socket at really inconvenient times.
  • Itchy scalp.
  • Dizziness.
  • Chills.
  • Tremors.
  • Tremors 2.
  • Any movie involving giant mutant worms.
  • Sleeplessness.
  • Sleeplessness from incontinence.
  • Sleeplessness from continents, especially Europe.
  • Sleeplessness because Elvis’ ghost visits me nightly and gripes endlessly about how Mary Tyler Moore Hogged all the screen time in Change of Habit.
  • The compulsion to make ridiculous lists.
  • Paranoia.

In my quest for answers I’ve read several books authored by a world renown doctor.

Unfortunately, upon reading these books, I’ve discovered them to be no help at all. Not only did these books not reveal any insights regarding my condition, I now have an incredible craving for green eggs and ham, and an intense desire to write in poetic meter.

This is bad.

It’s very bad–So very bad, you see.

“Egad it’s so very bad,” I said to me.

It’s sad when things are bad,

would you not agree?

I would be so glad to not be sad.

I’d be a happy lad, so full of glee,

and live so happily.

Do you see how infuriating that is?

After doing some follow-up research, I’ve found the author of these books, Theodore Seuss Geisel, to be a complete fraud, and not a medical professional of any kind.

Note: in another shocking turn of events, I’ve discovered the renowned author and child care expert, Dr. Spock, wasn’t really a Vulcan. When will the misinformation and subterfuge end?

doctor spock vulcan

Dr. Spock was born in New Haven, Connecticut. Frankly, that’s not even close to Vulcan.


But this spurred an epiphany: my condition has been caused by stress and anxiety; the stress and anxiety that results from living a lie.

A horrible lie.

A horrible horrible lie.

Horrible!

I have written in the past about a certain tattoo. A tattoo on my left butt cheek. A tattoo of Winnie the Pooh with his head stuck in a honey pot. I’ve referenced it often.

It’s a lie.

I haven’t any tattoos of lovable cartoons charters on or around my buttocks.

I apologize to anyone my lies may have hurt.

I apologize to A. A. Milne.

I feel so ashamed.

Hopefully now that the truth is out, the healing can begin.

Thank you for your patience.

ADDENDUM:

Sometimes when Elvis’ ghost visits me, he brings me peanut butter and banana sandwiches. They taste like pine cones and they smell like fear.

horton hears a who

Horton can hear a Who, but he can’t help you diagnose the cause of your explosive diarrhea.

Just a Bit of Advice

bat crazy

If you’re a person who is deeply offended by being told you’re acting bat-shit crazy–stop acting bat-shit crazy.

I know this seems like a profundity that is so pure, so simple, and so obvious, that it hardly warrants mentioning…but evidently it does.

So stop it!

Thank You

newhart

Errant Cannon Fire from Niagara Deflates World’s Largest Rubber Duck

I am overjoyed at how many people thought this really happened.

gooferie

frdTragedy struck at Erie’s Tall Ships Festival this morning when a cannon from the Niagara misfired and shot a cannonball into the world’s largest rubber duck, deflating it within minutes.

Witnesses say the giant duck was floating about 30 yards from the Niagara when the shot was fired. “It’s a shame,” said festival patron Ernie, no last name given. “I’m awfully fond of that rubber ducky.”

Repairs are already underway as workers have gathered over 100 rolls of duck tape to patch up the hole.

The owners of the duck, Big Duck LLC, plan on sending the bill to the Niagara League. They will also submit an invoice for damages.

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How to Appreciate Poetry in a Right and Proper Way

 

bullwinkle

Bullwinkle, appreciating the hell out some poetry.

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.

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
I once wrote an essay in college, explicating The Tyger by William Blake, on which I received a grade of 99%. Take that doubters.
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.

Physically Fit to be Tied–And a Bit Older

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 me 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)

The Great Mushroom Fiasco

 

Seemingly innocent fungus.

Seemingly innocent fungus.

There are those rare events in human history so extraordinary, they must be recorded for future generations.

Stories that must be told and retold.

Sometimes exaggerated, but mostly not.

The Great Mushroom Fiasco was such an event.

Brenda: Would you like to try some of the pasta sauce I just made?

Dan (with uncertainty): I don’t know.

Kirby (with certainty): Absolutely not.

Brenda (taken aback): Why not?

Kirby: Really?

Dan: Sometimes your culinary creations (pausing to select his words judicially) don’t turn out quite right.

Kirby: The phrase “catastrophic failures” springs to mind.

Brenda: Maybe I’ve had a few minor set-backs.

Kirby: You’ve had minor set-backs, the way the maiden voyage of the Titanic was a minor set-back.

Brenda: Yes, I’ve had a few little accidents.

Kirby: You’ve had a few little accidents, the way Chernobyl was a little accident.

Brenda: Not all the things I make turn out badly.

Kirby: Not all of the Hindenburg’s flights turned out badly, but when things do go wrong–oh the humanity.

Brenda: Now you’re just being ridiculous.

Kirby: Remember the time you boiled eggs and forgot to put the water in?

Brenda: (Silence)

Kirby: The eggs exploded all over the kitchen, and set off all the smoke alarms.

Brenda (grudgingly): I remember.

Kirby: You can’t boil things without the water; it’s the water that actually does the boiling.

Brenda: I understand how things boil.

Kirby: The evidence would suggest otherwise.

Dan (remembering): There were bits of egg on the ceiling.

Kirby: Do you recall the time you made the lasagna and forgot the noodles?

Brenda (defensively): It happens to people.

Kirby: But it doesn’t happen to people. The process of making a lasagna, requires that you construct it in layers, several of which are noodles.

Brenda: I know how to make a lasagna.

Kirby: Again, the evidence would suggest otherwise.

Dan (sighing): It was just a big pan of meat sauce and cheese.

Brenda: (glaring at Dan with disapproval.)

Kirby: Or the time you made potato salad and it made everyone’s tongue itch. I didn’t even know that was a thing that could happen.

Dan: The potato salad was weird.

Brenda: I don’t know why that happened.

Dan: What about the brownies? (Dan excitedly jumps into the fun.)

Kirby: That’s right. You made brownies and they fused to the pan. You broke a spatula and bent several forks before you finally threw the entire thing into the backyard.

Dan: Don’t forget, she also beat on it with a meat tenderizer.

Kirby (laughing): Yes she did. Even the raccoons wouldn’t touch those brownies.

Dan: Those brownies were like carbon steel; you could’ve patched asphalt…

Brenda (interrupting Dan): Enough! Are you going to try some or not?

Kirby: No.

Brenda: And what about you? (looking at Dan in a manner that indicated that he didn’t have a choice.)

Dan: Yes please.

Kirby: And that’s why I don’t have a girlfriend.

Brenda: I’m sure the reasons you don’t have a girlfriend are numerous.

Kirby: That hurts a little.

Brenda (turning to Dan): I promise you’re going to like this.

(Brenda serves up the pasta with a healthy helping of sauce. Dan spears some with his fork and carefully studies it.)

Kirby: It’s like taking off a bandage: you have to just go for it.

(Dan pokes the morsel into his mouth, chewing cautiously at first. A look of surprise spreads over his face as his chewing gains momentum.)

Dan: This is really good.

Brenda (addressing Kirby): See. Would you like to try some now?

Kirby: No thanks. I’ll just stand here and wait for the other shoe.

Brenda: What other shoe?

Kirby: The one that’s certain to drop.

Dan (innocently): What kind of mushrooms are these?

Brenda: They’re wild mushrooms. I know how much you like wild mushrooms; when I saw them, I immediately thought of you.

Dan (slight concern): I didn’t know you knew anything about wild mushrooms.

Brenda: Oh, I don’t know anything about wild mushrooms.

Dan (more than slight concern): Then…how did you know that these mushrooms weren’t poisonous?

Brenda: Because they were growing in a field.

Dan (very concerned): So?

Brenda: Mushrooms that grow in a field are never poisonous…right?

Dan (sarcastically): Absolutely you’re right. And if you find mushrooms in a field, and a crow flies overhead at noon and caws three times, the mushrooms aren’t poisonous either.

Brenda: Really?

Dan: No you idiot! There are a lot of poisonous mushrooms that grow in fields.

Kirby: And there it is.

Brenda: There’s what?!

Kirby: The other shoe clunking to the floor.

Dan (ignoring Kirby): Where exactly did you find them growing.

Brenda: In a pasture on a…

Dan: On a what?

Brenda: On a big pile of cow poop.

Kirby: That is fantastic.

Dan: That is not fantastic. In fact, it’s not good at all. What did they look like?

Brenda: I don’t know, I’m not a mushroom expert.

Dan: And that is why you don’t go around all willy-nilly, picking wild mushrooms and dumping them into pasta sauce.

Brenda: But you use wild mushrooms all the time.

Dan: I AM AN EXPERT! Now what did they look like?

Brenda (flustered): I don’t know, Dan. I guess they looked like tiny penises.

Kirby: May I point out something very important?

Dan (impatiently): What?

Kirby: The alarming frequency with which your name seem to crop up in the midst of the words tiny and penis.

Dan: No it doesn’t.

Kirby: It just did twice. In fact, Brenda said she immediately thought of you when she saw the tiny penis-shaped mushrooms?

Brenda: Because he likes wild mushrooms.

Dan: Yeah. Because I like wild mushrooms.

Kirby: I’m just saying it’s a little peculiar.

Brenda: You’re not being helpful.

Kirby: It wasn’t my intention to be helpful. It seldom ever is.

Brenda: Then try to be helpful.

Kirby: Okay. Dan, have you given any thought to what you’d like on your gravestone?

Brenda: Really? That’s you being helpful?

Kirby: How is that not being helpful?

Brenda (turning back to Dan): You could have your stomach pumped.

Kirby: Ooh. Having your stomach pumped is really unpleasant.

Brenda: And how do you know That?

Kirby: It has to be.

Brenda: Have you ever had your stomach pumped?

Kirby: No.

Brenda: How can you say that something is unpleasant, if it’s never happened to you?

Kirby: I’ve never been hit in the face with a brick, but I can say with a relative degree of certainty, that the experience would not be pleasant.

Dan (agitated): Is having your stomach pumped more unpleasant than dying? Is it? Is it more unpleasant that dying?

Kirby: Calm down, you don’t need to have your stomach pumped. All you have to do is make yourself throw-up.

Dan: That’s a good idea.

Kirby (turning to Brenda): See. Helpful.

Brenda: You think you know everything.

Kirby: I know not to eat penis shaped poop mushrooms. (Quickly changing gears.) You know, you could wind-up in the Weird Stories section of the Sunday paper: Person Poisoned By Penis Shaped Poop Mushrooms. It has built-in alliteration.

Brenda: That isn’t funny.

Kirby: Not for you.

Brenda (dialing her phone): I’m going to call my friend Linda, she’s a nurse, she’ll know what to do. (Talking into her phone.) Linda. It’s Brenda. I think I just poisoned Dan. (Indistinct chatter from the phone.) No. Not on purpose. (More indistinct chatter.) I made pasta sauce with wild mushrooms (More chatter.) No. I didn’t forget the pasta again. (A lot of chatter.) It does happen to people. (Even more chatter.) They looked liked tiny penises. (laughter followed by indistinct chatter) His name does not crop up around the words tiny and penis all the time. (Chatter.) Well, after he ate it, he went to the bathroom to throw-up. (More laughter followed by more chatter.) What do mean, more than usual? (Final chatter.) Okay. Bye.

(Sounds of vomiting emanating from the bathroom.)

Brenda: She said if he throws-up he’ll be fine.

Kirby: Physically maybe, but the psychological scars: they’re going to linger.

(Dan emerges from the bathroom, covered in sweat, eyes bloodshot, and face ashen.)

Dan (hoarsely): It’s done. I need a drink to get this taste out of my mouth.

(Dan walks to the refrigerator, opens the door, pulls something out, and stares at it in silence for a moment.)

Dan (puzzled): What’s this?

Kirby: Wow. That appears to be to be a bowl full of tiny penis shaped mushrooms.

(Dan and Kirby look at Brenda for an explanation.)

Brenda (confused): I guess I didn’t use those after-all. I must have used regular mushrooms. That’s good news right?

Dan (agitated): It’s just freaking fantastic.

Kirby: This is like the gift that just keeps on giving.

Brenda: This better not wind-up in some blog post that makes me look like an idiot.

Kirby: Don’t worry–that would never happen.

A must for Brenda's kitchen.

A must for Brenda’s kitchen.

Deliverance: Not the Only River Tale to End Badly

rafting

“Paddle faster you idiots.”

“Don’t worry, it’ll be refreshing,” my friend assured me. I had strong doubts as I stood on the shore and watched the river’s water heave and surge past. My trepidation fueled less by the tenacity of the water, more by the fact that what I did in the water could be described less as swimming and more as a labored attempt to avoid drowning. In pit of my stomach, I could feel that this rafting trip was about to turn ugly.

Rivers that are used for rafting are separated into five classifications. Class one rivers are basically flat, smooth waters that can be easily navigated. Class five rivers are rapidly descending, treacherous waters that require considerable experience to navigate.

Class one rivers are for tiny little girls and wimps. Class five rivers are for studly men who like to the laugh in the face of the Grim Reaper. We chose a class three river, we were average men who like the laugh in the face of the Grim Reaper but only when the Grim Reaper is at a distance and busy with somebody else at the time.

The trip was going well, we had successfully navigated our way through several sets of rapids without major incident. It was then that the guide told us to bring our rafts to shore where he informed us that this was the part of the trip where we could walk back upstream and go back through the last set of rapids.

“What,” I asked casually, attempting to mask the alarm in my voice, “do you mean without the raft?”

“That’s right, you’re just going to jump in the water and go,” the guide said with an annoying amount of confidence.

“Are you certain that’s safe?”

“Absolutely, these are very deep rapids.”

“It’s safe because deep water is harder to drown in?”

“Yes…I mean, no. When it comes to rapids, deeper is safer.” I could detect a timbre of irritation creeping into his voice.

“Okay, I understand…I’m curious, what are your thoughts concerning skydiving without the parachute?”

I could tell by the dagger filled stare that was shooting my way, that is was time to stop asking questions. This was the man whom I would depend upon to pull semiconscious body from the water should the need arise.

One by one, like lemmings, we climbed onto the top of a small boulder and leapt into the river.

I made through the first two mini-rapids without a problem. It was the third set of rapids where a sudden surge of water lifted my body for a moment then pulled me under the surface. Murky river water shot up my nose at approximately 2000 mph, ricocheted off the bottom of my brain, then poured into my lungs.

Not wanting to be filled with murky river water, my lungs immediately expelled the water back through my mouth and nose with considerable force. My eyes, feeling left out, began to water profusely. I was now spinning out of control and my arms were flailing around like a crazed marionette.

This was the moment I chose to invent a new game. I call the game “Whack your face against the rock.” I invented this game approximately two seconds after the guide yelled, “Hey, don’t whack your face against the rock.”

“Are you okay?” the guide chortled, unable to mask his amusement. I signaled to him with a thumbs up…well, it was a single digit.

As I slowly spun out of the rapids and crawled to shore, gasping for air and coughing simultaneously (something that I had previously thought to be physically impossible) my friend asked, “Are you going to go again?”

“No,” I replied. “I think that I’m refreshed enough.”

river raft

The IOC is considering whack-your-face-against-the-rock for the 2020 Olympics.

Meet Some More New Neighbors

I have been made to realize that previous “Meet the New Neighbors” list was woefully incomplete. So here it is: more things that you just don’t want to hear come out of your new neighbor’s mouth.

  • Can you help us out with bail for our nephew? We can pay you back once we get the meth lab up and running.
  • You’ll have to excuse my wife, she has a form of voluntary Tourette’s syndrome. Your home is lovely, and your wife doesn’t at all have the appearance of a fat slutty whore.
  • This seems like a nice quiet neighborhood where we can await the return of the mothership.
  • I love this big spacious backyard, it’s perfect for burying the evidence…er, planting a garden.
  • I don’t see any cinder blocks in your front yard; where do you keep all of your old appliances?
  • I’m going to paint my entire house hot pink, with giant flaming skulls on the side. Man is the property value around here going to soar.
  • We really needed to find a bigger home; we were running out of room. I’ll tell you, swamp rats really multiply fast.
  • We had to move from out last neighborhood; all our neighbor’s homes kept burning down. Nobody knew why. Billy, put down those matches and come meet the new neighbors.
  • We’re the Mitchells, and this is our son Dennis. Sorry about that welt on your forehead, Dennis is a crack shot with that slingshot of his.
  • You’re going to love living next to us. We’re quiet as church mice; we’re really into mime.
  • It’s okay, you can shake my hand, leprosy isn’t nearly as contagious as most people think.
  • This is our son Damien, some people think he’s the antichrist, but really he’s just mischievous. But seriously, if you see him on a tricycle, back away.
  • The witness protection people put me here because I whacked like fifty people, and then I ratted out the family to stay off death row…Oh crap, I wasn’t supposed to tell you that…My name is Ed, and I’m an accountant.
  • I’m Paris Hilton and I’ll be doing a reality show in the home next to yours. It’s going to be called, “I’m Better Than You Because I’m Rich And Skinny, And Just A Tad Slutty.” It’s going to be great.
bad neighbor

“I’m really into topiary.”

Vacuum Cleaners Explode–Don’t They?

It’s happened to everyone hasn’t it? Throughout the course of your life at some point or another, you are going to set somebody’s carpet on fire.

Accidents happen. Things explode. Things catch on fire –it’s inevitable really.

It shouldn’t be a big deal.

But evidently it is a big deal to some people.

It’s a big deal to people who have no sense of humor.

It’s a big deal to people who have a tendency to be ill-tempered.

It’s a big deal to people who have a tendency to say angry hurtful things.

It’s a big deal to people who have no sense of humor, a tendency to be ill-tempered, and to say angry hurtful things.

It’s a big deal to people who have high-pitched, squeaky, cartoon-rodent voices.

It’s a big deal.

There were valuable lessons learned the day of the exploding vacuüm cleaner and the great carpet fire:

  • The average household vacuüm cleaner was not designed to pick up paperclips.
  • Attempting to pick up paperclips with an average household vacuüm cleaner might cause it to explode.
  • When the vacuüm cleaner you’re using begins to make a high-pitched whining sound, don’t ignore it.
  • When the high-pitched whining sound starts making the neighbors dog bark, don’t ignore it
  • If you’re thinking to yourself, this thing sounds like it’s about to explode, it probably is.
  • An exploding vacuüm cleaner sends a thick cloud of smoke and dust into the air like a mini-volcano.
  • Commenting to the vacuüm cleaner’s owner that it looked really cool when it exploded, like a mini-volcano, does not help the situation.
  • An exploding vacuüm cleaner creates an enormous mess while simultaneously removing your ability to clean up that enormous mess.
  • An exploding vacuüm cleaner might also burst into flames.
  • A burning vacuüm cleaner will probably set the carpet on fire.
  • A carpet fire will probably set off the smoke alarm.
  • Smoke alarms are obnoxiously loud.
  • A blaring smoke alarm will bring the vacuüm cleaners owner running into the room.
  • A contentious conversation might result with the squeaky-voiced owner of the vacuüm cleaner.

Squeaky-voiced Owner: Why is my smoke alarm going off?

Fire-starter: Probably because of all the smoke in the room.

Squeaky-voiced Owner: Why is the room full of smoke?

Fire-starter: It probably came from the carpet fire.

Squeaky-voiced Owner: Why is the carpet on fire?

Fire-starter: It must have spread from the vacuüm cleaner.

Squeaky-voiced Owner: Why is the vacuüm cleaner on fire?

Fire-starter: It caught on fire after it exploded.

Squeaky-voiced Owner: Why did it exploded?

Fire-starter: Act of God?

Squeaky-voiced Owner: It sounds more the act of an idiot.

Fire-Starter: I turned it on and it just burst into flames.

Squeaky-voiced Owner: It just burst into flames?

Fire-starter: Crazy isn’t it? There should be a clearly defined label that reads: Warning, use may cause detonation.

Squeaky-voiced owner: You must think I’m the biggest moron on the face of the planet.

Fire-starter: Not the whole planet.

Squeaky-voiced owner: (Silent staring, and in a really creepy frightening way.)

Fire-starter: You know, if you cleaned more often, I wouldn’t have to…

Squeaky-voiced owner: (Censored for filth and because it was really hurtful.)

Fire-starter: That’s not a real word, and a human isn’t physically capable of doing it.

Squeaky-voiced owner: Let’s find out.

 

There was one more important lesson learned: the phrase “some day we’ll look back at this and laugh” does not always apply.

You think this is scary? Just let me near your vacuum cleaner.

Drew Barrymore gets it.

Lucky the Leprechaun Busted

idiotprufs, luck the leprechaun

The troubled leprechaun.

Golden Valley, Minnesota–In a shocking turn of events, longtime mascot of Lucky Charms cereal, Lucky the Leprechaun, was charged with driving while under the influence, resisting arrest and attempted bribery, according to Minnesota state police.

Upon pulling him over, he was found with several empty bottles of Irish whiskey, and a half-eaten box of Lucky Charms cereal. “I guess Lucky Charms cereal is like crack to leprechauns,” the arresting officer said, “no wonder they’re ‘magically delicious.”

“Don’t you know who I am?” The leprechaun kept yelling according to the arresting officer. Then he offered the officer three wishes and ‘all the Lucky Charms he Could snort’ if he would let him go.

It would seem that it was Lucky’s trouble had started with his pot of gold and an ill-advised wager. Apparently he had bet his entire pot of gold on the Carolina Panthers to win the Superbowl.

Police said it was a colleague who had prodded Lucky into the wager.

“That idiot Cap’N Crunch,” Lucky would rant. “It’s all about Cam Newton, It’s all about Cam Newton, he kept telling me.”

“He was a lot of trouble,” one of the booking officers reported. “Every time we tried to take his mug shot, he would disappear right before the camera flashed, then he would reappear and laugh hysterically…it was really annoying.”

At the bail hearing Lucky plead his case before the judge. “There’s so much pressure being an internationally known cereal mascot. Everyone expects you to keep up a certain image: clean cut and wholesome. But have you read the literature? That’s not how leprechauns are. We’re tricksters who like to smoke and drink and tell stories. Honestly, I hate kids: they’re loud and annoying and for some reason, they’re always sticky. Why the hell are they always so damn sticky?

He paused for a moment to compose himself.

“And the other cereal mascots really get on my nerves. That wimp the Trix Rabbit is always popping in unannounced, griping that he never gets any Trix because Trix are for kids. Just take some you pathetic fur ball, they’re just kids, what are they gonna do? That giant nosed freak Toucan Sam, flying around and crapping all over my carpet…you shouldn’t have to lay down newspaper when friend comes around. And don’t get me started on Tony The Tiger; he’s obnoxious, he smells and I’m pretty sure he has chiggers…does any of this sound “lucky” to you?” He then began to weep uncontrollably. His tears were green.

The judge released Lucky into the custody of General Mills pending trial.

A spokesman for General Mills said, “We certainly hope Lucky can straighten out his personal life. If not, were looking into gnomes.”

Note: Authorities are still unclear as to how a naked Justin Bieber wound up in the trunk of Lucky’s car; they both claim to have no memory of what happened the night before.

idiotprufs, leprechaun

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