idiotprufs

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

Seriously, I Don’t Want to Dance

the office dancing

Do you really want David Brent as a role model?

It would seem not everyone got the message the first time this post was published. So here it is again–soak it in.

Why is this world polluted with people who are determined to make me dance? Loud, pushy, abrasive, overbearing, manipulative, overlords of what is or is not judged to be enjoyable. People who won’t take no for an answer. People who believe they have a better grasp of what’s in my brain than I do.

What I say: I don’t want to dance.

What they hear: I pretend I don’t want to dance, but secretly, it’s my deepest yearning. If it weren’t for debilitating fear and self-loathing, I’d be out on the dance floor right now, living the dream.

What I say: seriously, I don’t want to dance.

What they hear: if only there were some loud, pushy, abrasive, overbearing, manipulative, overlord of what is or is not judged to be enjoyable, to goad and badger me into doing what I’ve secretly always wanted to do anyway.

What I say: get away from me you drooling half-wit.

What they hear: grab my arm like a slack-jawed oaf, and physically drag me onto the dance floor.

I am not responsible for anything that happens from that moment forward. I am certain the person who coined the phrase, “justifiable homicide” was just some poor fellow who earnestly didn’t want to dance.

Note: I’m sure when his jaw is no longer wired shut, the person described in the scenario above, will apologize to me.

Let’s make one thing clear: just because you like a certain thing, it doesn’t follow that every other human should also like that thing. Loads of different people like loads of different things.

Jeffrey Dahmer quite enjoyed killing people, hacking them up, eating them, and stowing the leftovers in his freezer. I can write with a relative degree of certainty, most human beings wouldn’t much care for that.

I have never once thought to myself: killing people, hacking them up, eating them, and stowing the leftovers in my freezer, seems like a horrific and frankly evil thing to do…but Jeffrey Dahmer thought it was a lovely thing to do. Perhaps I’m looking at this all backwards. I’ve got plenty of room in my freezer, and there are several acquaintances in my sphere of influence I could readily live without (mostly the few who try to make me dance).

If only the local learning annex offered some course on beginner cannibalism. It’s all scrapbooking this and scrapbooking that, down at that place.

And I don’t need to be the center of attention to enjoy myself–in fact, it’s preferable not to be.

Just because I’m not standing on a chair, singing Love Shack at the top of my lungs, juggling shot-glasses, while I wildly thrust my hips into the air in a suggestive manner, doesn’t mean I’m not enjoying myself.

I don’t see life through the same self-absorbed prism as you.

You imagine I’m thinking: if only I could summon the courage, that would be me on that chair.

When I’m really thinking: if only I could summon the courage, I would kick that chair from under that jackasses feet. That would make me smile.

Also, don’t tell me to smile.

I smile plenty.

I smile when it’s appropriate.

I smile when I’m happy, when I’m with my friends, when something good happens.

I smile when a jackass falls from his chair and shot-glasses cascade across his face.

Note: sometimes I summon the courage.

People who go around smiling for no apparent reason are mental. I am not mental (fingers crossed).

crazy smile

This is how you appear to the rest of the world.

Being a naturally quiet person or an introvert is not a problem that needs to be fixed–just leave me be.

For Shame Christmas Haters

I’ve recently encountered some individuals who said they hate Christmas or they can’t wait for the Christmas season to be over.

What is the matter with you people, don’t you know it’s the most wonderful time of the year? Andy Williams told us so in song form. Are you going to contradict Andy Williams? Andy Williams was a national treasure you heartless goons.

I had a friend (not the one with genital chiggers) tell me he couldn’t wait for Christmas to be over: the obligations, the expense, the forced family get-togethers with people he really didn’t care for.

It’s a crying shame.

But I had another friend (the one with the genital chiggers) tell me how much he loved Christmas: the decorations, the songs, the eggnog (the best of all nogs), the gifts, and the general spirit of giving.

I wanted to shake his hand, but he had been doing a crazy amount of crotch itching due to the genital chiggers. I told him there was a powder he could get, but he said he had used the powder and the chiggers thought it was Christmas, formed a big circle and sang Christmas carols like the Whos in Whoville.

Speaking of the Whos in Whoville: don’t you Christmas haters remember when the Grinch’s heart grew three sizes when he finally understood the true meaning of Christmas?

Note: if your heart grows three sizes, you have a pretty severe medical condition–you’re probably going to die. You should definitely seek medical help as quickly as possible.

But that’s not the point.

Don’t you Christmas haters remember when Scrooge McDuck awoke on Christmas morning to discover the spirits had done it all in one night and he hadn’t missed Christmas. He took a bag of toys and a turkey to the Cratchit’s home.

It does seem strange: a duck eating a turkey. Some kind of weird fowl cannibalism going on there. Still, Scrooge kept Christmas from that point forward and he kept it well.

Note: if you’re a young couple about to have twins, I implore you to name them Ignorance and Wont. They’ll hate you for it, but it’ll be a great conversation starter every Christmas.

Don’t you Christmas haters remember when Jimmy Stewart’s character thought he had killed Lee Marvin’s character, but it was in fact, John Wayne’s character who had killed Lee Marvin’s character and…

Sorry, that’s the wrong Jimmy Stewart movie. That’s from The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance, a great movie, but not very Christmassy.

Don’t you Christmas haters remember when George Bailey realized he was the richest man in Bedford Falls because he had friends and family and had made a difference in so many lives? Do you not remember that! It was so freaking heart warming!

Look at how happy Jimmy Stewart is. It’s as if he’s just shot Lee Marvin.

And don’t all you Christmas haters remember when Charlie Brown asks, “Isn’t there anyone who knows what Christmas is all about.”

Linus replies, “Sure, Charlie Brown, I can tell you what Christmas is all about.”

Linus then moves to center stage and says this:

And there were in the same country shepherds abiding
in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night.

And, lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them,
and the glory of the Lord shone round about them:
and they were sore afraid.

And the angel said unto them, Fear not: for, behold,
I bring you good tidings of great joy,
which shall be to all people.

For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour,
which is Christ the Lord.

It’s only one of the most iconic moments in television history.

I hope all you Christmas haters shoot your eyes out.

Seriously, get this checked out.

Erie Zoo To Release Lions Onto Presque Isle

gooferie

In spite of the annual Presque Isle deer hunt held every year, the park’s deer population continues to increase. “The peninsula is a fragile ecosystem.’ says park ranger Pat Dexter.

“The park can really only handle a deer herd of about 15 to 20 head, and right now there are over 100 deer out there.”  Dexter said that the annual winter hunt has failed to significantly reduce the deer herd to a sustainable number. “The problem is that we are not getting enough hunters applying for the deer hunt here.” he told us. “On one hand they love the easy close range shot at a deer that’s very accustomed to people. On the other hand there is the very real concern that their fellow hunting bros will call them sissies for shooting tame deer.”

To solve this problem Dexter approached Scott Mitchell of the Erie Zoo. “We brainstormed,” said Dexter…

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PennDot Defends Sinkhole

sinkhole in Pittsburgh

Just a typical day of commuting on Pennsylvania roadways.

National news was made earlier this week when a Port Authority bus fell into a sinkhole in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania.

While the incident has been the butt of many jokes and has been turned into the subject of countless memes, it hasn’t been a laughing matter to PennDOT officials. “I don’t see what the big deal is,” said Ron Smith, a longtime PennDOT official who has nearly all of his fingers, “technically this sinkhole is only the fifth largest pothole in the great Commonwealth of Pennsylvania.”

When the veracity of that claim was challenged, Ron Smith the longtime PennDOT official who still has at least eight of his toes, pulled out photographic proof. “See this picture: it’s of a pothole in Lancaster County that swallowed up five Amish buggies, horses and all,” he declared defiantly. “Do you see the small Amish boy standing by the hole weeping–he’s fatherless now.”

Surely that’s the biggest pothole in the great Commonwealth of Pennsylvania, you’re probably thinking: not even close.

“There’s a pothole near Altoona,” continued Ron Smith the longtime PennDOT official who’s blind in one eye, but you can’t really tell, “that’s so big, they’ve turned it into a skate park.”

When queried as to why the potholes aren’t just fixed, Ron Smith the longtime PennDOT official who lost most of his body hair in a freak hot tar accident, replied derisively. “Don’t you think we’ve tried? We lost five good men trying to fill a pothole out near Scranton. Those were five quality PennDOT workers who put in two to three solid days of work a month.” He paused for a moment of reflection. “They had to bury empty caskets.”

“Doesn’t that screw-up traffic?” He was asked.

“Of course it does,” Ron Smith, the longtime PennDOT official cackled with laughter as two of the final three teeth fell from his mouth, “but that’s not PennDOT’s problem.”

When asked how long Satan had been running PennDOT, he became very quiet and replied solemnly, “a very long time.”

Addendum

It was later learned from Ron Smith, the longtime PennDOT official who has a freakish amount of thick and robust nose hair despite the hot tar incident, that there was a pothole in Erie County so large, it was filled in with water and made an honorary Great Lake–people waterski there.

lake erie

Waterskiing in a pothole near Erie, Pennsylvania.

Pet Rhinoceroses

pet rhino

Sure it’s adorable, but it’s a handful.

So your pet rhinoceros has turned out to be more of a handful than you had anticipated.

You’ve horribly underestimated how large rhinoceroses tend to get.

A full grown rhinoceros can knock over a Honda Civic with relative ease. Even when the owner of the Honda Civic and his loudmouthed wife are in the Honda Civic. A rhinoceros can flip over a Honda Civic with just the flick of its horn.

Your neighbor owns a Honda Civic.

Full grown rhinoceroses will eat a lot. And even though it seems illogical, they crap more than they eat.

Rhinoceroses like to crap on rose bushes.

Your neighbor has rose bushes.

Rhinoceroses are angry creatures and they hate garden gnomes; if they see a garden gnome they will stomp on it until it is pulverized.

Your neighbor has garden gnomes.

Did I mention a rhinoceros can puncture the side of a Honda Civic with its horn? It can–and it’s hilarious.

“It’s tipping the car over. It’s tipping the car over,” your neighbor’s loudmouthed wife will scream in horror.

Insurance companies seem reluctant to respond to alleged rhinoceros damage.

You know when you laugh so hard your side hurts and you pee a little: that’s what happens.

Despite all of the positive things I’ve just detailed, you should probably avoid getting a pet rhinoceros.

Get something smaller and more manageable, like a gorilla.

Gorillas just throw their crap at your neighbor and his loudmouthed wife–it’s hilarious.

Just a little rhinoceros damage–it’ll buff right out.

Hamot Ramps Up Ad Campaign

gooferie

Despite criticism of some recent advertisements UPMC Hamot vows to continue their aggressive local advertising campaign. “I realize some folks were upset with our new giant billboard in the airport’s baggage claim.” says UPMC Hamot spokesman Morris “Mo” Munney. “But we really just want to welcome visitors to Erie – and slip a little money to the airport of course.” As for their Hamot Stroke Center ad which encourages stroke victims to call 911 and insist on being taken directly to Hamot, Munney says “We need them to choose our first class facility while they can still speak.”

When asked what’s next in Hamot’s plan for billboard placement Munney revealed a new partnership with local funeral homes. “We have some very tasteful placards that will be placed above caskets.” he told us. Gooferie has obtained a first look at the proposed billboard which will be rolled out in local funeral…

View original post 57 more words

Driving Tips and Justified Vehicular Homicide

idiotprufs

You seem frustrated.

Let’s say you’re driving down one way street. You’re alert to your surrounding and obeying all the traffic laws, like the conscientious motorist that you are.

You begin to slow down because in front of you is a pair of pedestrians walking toward you down the middle of the street.

Surely they’ll move out of your way; you’re the motorist and they’re pedestrians in the middle of the street.

But they don’t move out of the way. You have to come to a complete stop.

As they get closer you can see that it’s a teenage couple. The girl has a look of complete oblivion on her face and the boy (or Smug Little Bastard as you refer to him) is just staring at you with a cocky look on his smug little bastard face.

You have to sit stationary for an interminable amount of time as you wait for them to slowly make their way past you and out of your way.

Now I’m not suggesting it should be legal to run over people like that with your vehicle…but it should be legal to run over people like that with your vehicle.

I’m not saying it wouldn’t be frowned upon. I’m not saying you wouldn’t receive stern looks of disapproval, but it should be legal.

You should at least be able to nudge them out your way with your bumper.

You’re also driving a company vehicle and you’re not sure how your employers would feel about their vehicle being used in such a manner.

Although, you are certain if they saw the look on Smug Little Bastard’s face, they’d give you the green light.

And if you are this young lady, what the hell are you thinking? Smug Little Bastard just lead you hand in hand into oncoming traffic. Get as far away from this dude as fast as you can. Your future with Smug Little Bastard is bleak.

Bleak is not a word I bandy about lightly.

Bleak!

You’re going to wind up in some ramshackle hut with Smug Little Bastard, a bunch of screaming brats, and a family of rabid opossums. And the opossums will be tolerable ones.

Also, at some point it may become legal to run somebody over who walks smugly down the middle of the street. If my ballot initiative passes in the next election, it will be legal to run somebody over who walks smugly down the middle of street.

So watch yourself.

falling down house

At least the opossums are happy. (Relatively happy.)

A Quick PSA for Loud-mouthed Pricks

loud mouth

“Act just like me–I’m cool.”

I have a quick message for all the fun loving people loud-mouthed idiots out there who think I should behave the way they do.

Stop It!

Just because you want dance on a table, juggling shot glasses, butchering the lyrics to Love Shack at the top of your lungs, as your testicles dangle from your pants, doesn’t mean that I also want to do that.

I don’t want to see that happening.

I don’t want to be within the proximity of that happening.

I don’t even want the knowledge of that ever occurring.

I assume as a male of the species you have testicles–I don’t need proof.

And I know what’s in my own mind.

If I say I don’t want to pound shots of tequila–I don’t want to pound shots of tequila. I know you think it’s not a party until you’ve vomited on someone’s shoes, but not everyone appreciates having to clean chunks out of their shoelaces.

And for the love of all that is good and merciful, stop trying to make me sing karaoke. We defeated Japan in World War II and they gave us karaoke–let’s just call it even.

Also, why do we excuse boorish behavior based on the fact that it’s habitual.

If a person acts like a jerk once or twice, he’s being a jerk. However, if a person has a pattern of acting like a jerk it’s simply sloughed off as a personality trait.

If Timothy acts like a giant prick today–then Timothy is being a giant prick.

But if Timothy acts like a giant prick on a daily basis, multiple times a day with a seemingly limitless reservoir of giant prickness–then that’s just Tim being Tim.

Wrong!

Timothy is a giant prick! Period!

It’s like saying: sure Theodore Bundy was kidnapper, rapist, necrophile who confessed to torturing and murdering over thirty young women, but that was just Ted being Ted.

And stop describing your giant prick behavior as: “just keeping it real.”

You’re really a giant loud-mouthed prick.

Thank you for allowing me to get that off me chest. I feel much better now.hush now

Things Couldn’t Possibly Get Worse

couldn't get worseThere has never been a phrase so inviting of it’s own contradiction than the phrase “things couldn’t possibly get worse.”

The mere utterance of the phrase is a virtual guarantee that things are about to go horribly wrong.

Example:

You’re hiking through the woods with a friend. You’re beginning to think you’ve lost your bearings and you’re uncertain of where you are. You having increasing suspicions that your friend’s cartography skills were exaggerated.

You transition from being uncertain of where you are to complete certainty you are lost. Nighttime is approaching, a thunderhead is gathering overhead, you’re friend has just stepped in a giant pile of bear crap, (which as much as it amuses you, is a tad alarming) and you’ve come to the conclusion that you’re friend’s cartography skills were wildly exaggerated.

As the first streak of lightning burns across the sky you’re friend turns to you and says, “well, things couldn’t possibly get worse.”

Without saying a word, you reach down and retrieve a stick from the forest floor. You study the stick for a moment, then pull out a jackknife and whittle the stick into a fine point.

You turn to your friend, pause for a moment as he anticipates what you’re going to doing, then you jab you’re friend in the eye with the stick.

“Things are worse now aren’t they,” you say triumphantly.

Your friend is a little angry, but you were just trying to prove a point…plus, it really irritated you when “Mr. Map Expert” referred to the contour lines on his topographical map as squigglies.

You crash through the forest in the darkness and pouring rain for an interminable amount of time, hopelessly lost and almost certain you’re being stalked by either a bear or bigfoot.

Luck finally smiles upon as you come across a country road and there’s a vehicle approaching. Your friend jumps into the road, waving his hands in an effort to gain the driver’s attention.

Your friend mistimes his leap into the road and is struck by the car. As it turns out, being blinded in one eye seriously reduces your depth perception.

Luck is a fickle bitch.

“I guess things couldn’t get worse,” you finally concede to your friend as he lies in the road in a whimpering mass.

The words have barely left your lips when a bear lurches from the trees and mauls your friend. Bigfoot just watches.

After a lengthy recovery period and extensive physical and mental therapy, your friend is fine.

On plus side, with all the scars on his face and the eyepatch, he looks like a real badass.

You’d tell him that, if you were still on speaking terms.

Badass with eyepatch

See how badass your friend now looks. And not even a thank you.

Pompous Loudmouthed Jerk

Everyone knows someone who’s overbearing and obnoxious? That guy who’s ego is so enormous, it actually has small moons orbiting it. His head is so bloated it affects the tides.

He’s also a bully; he likes to denigrate people and is constantly belittling others.

He’s a pompous loudmouthed jerk.

I know somebody like that–I’m sure you do too.

And on occasion that guy points his petty tiny-brained aggresion in your direction.

How do you deal with it?

I have a solution that is guaranteed success: shoot him in the face with a crossbow.

It’s so simple. It’s so elegant. It works.

Regardless of what you’re doing or saying, regardless of your focus, once you’ve been shot in the face with a crossbow, that becomes your primary concern.

I know what you’re thinking: if I shoot somebody in the face with a crossbow, won’t there be ramifications? I don’t know exactly what happens when you shoot somebody in the face with a crossbow, but I probably won’t get invited to parties anymore and I could even lose my job.

Maybe. Maybe not.

If your job is shooting people in the face with a crossbow, you’re golden. If your job is anything else, there may be an issue, but you can always find another job.

And do you really want to go to parties where pompous loudmouthed jerks are allowed free reign with no chance of being shot in the face with a crossbow? Of course you don’t–nobody wants that.

I hope this post has been an aide to you; I know it’s helped me.

Just one of the small moons orbiting the Pompous Loudmouthed Jerk’s bloated ego.

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