idiotprufs

what the hell else are you gonna do with your time?

Vogon Poetry, Now Fourth Worst in the Universe

hitchhiker's guide

Do not let this Vogon read you his poetry.

Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy is quite clear on the point that Vogon poetry is the third worst in the universe:

“Vogon poetry is of course, the third worst in the universe. The second worst is that of the Azgoths of Kria. During a recitation by their poet master Grunthos the Flatulent of his poem “Ode to a Small Lump of Green Putty I Found in My Armpit One Midsummer Morning” four of his audience died of internal haemorrhaging and the president of the Mid-Galactic Arts Nobbling Council survived by gnawing one of his own legs off. Grunthos was reported to have been “disappointed” by the poem’s reception, and was about to embark on a reading of his 12-book epic entitled “My Favourite Bathtime Gurgles” when his own major intestine, in a desperate attempt to save humanity, leapt straight up through his neck and throttled his brain. The very worst poetry of all perished along with its creator, Paula Nancy Millstone Jennings (Paul Neil Milne Johnstone) of Redbridge, in the destruction of the planet Earth. Vogon poetry is mild by comparison.”

It is my endeavor to make it the fourth worst poetry in the universe:

There happened a witch who lived on a hill,

of diminutive size, but enormously shrill.

Unpleasing her countenance: all icky and warts,

when wickedly she cackles, how it twists and contorts. 

Her stench so loathsome like eggs and arm pit,

one whiff and you vomit in your mouth just a bit.

Small animals would flee, never again to be seen.

At least they weren’t trampled, as they well could have been.

Her sisters she’d gather, all cellulite and hate.

They would cackle and hiss and brag of the children they ate.

And eat they did much in their murky morass,

they had thick chunky thighs, like a hippo’s fat ass.

“We will taunt, we will curse, as well we see fit,

with toil and trouble and all that other Shakespearean shit.”

Their husbands did cower in a bleak silent hell,

for their wives weren’t just ugly, they’re mean just as well.

But for these poor ladies, all their efforts did fail.

In the end it’s the hero who will always prevail.

Now the creatures just hide in a dark and dank place,

chugging Coors Light and shoving fudge in their face.

Does this tale have a moral, I don’t know it just might,

but probably not: I’m not very bright.

And now Vogon poetry is the fourth worst in the universe. Thank you.

Have a happy towel day and please:towwel day

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Rise of the (Coffee) Machines (Short Story) – by Oliver Giggins

When the apocalypse came and the robots rose up, it wasn’t begun by a military program. It wasn’t due to a prototype, or a mistake.

In fact, robots had been common place for years. So no one batted an eye-lid when a coffee-chain brought on robots as cleaning staff. Why should they? Robots don’t need paying and don’t complain.

But then they didn’t see…

You see, there are some things Man was not meant to know. Some things Man was not meant to do. Some things Man should never have contemplated.

One of them was programming robots to “clean the cafe up” without giving any of those terms a proper definition.

It didn’t take long before the cleaning robots realised the quickest way of controling rubbish was atomising customers on entry.

And they may have been right as from that point on, the place was spotless.

Needless to say, eventually the…

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Donner Party Disappointment

donner party

They seem like a fun bunch.

Absolutely the worst party I’ve been to in my life.

It was in a horrible location: a difficult to navigate snow-covered mountain pass more suited for ox-drawn wagons than a proper a vehicle. Seriously, rent a hall.

The only music they had was some old guy with a fiddle who couldn’t play it properly because he’d lost several fingers to frostbite.

Everyone was just dour. There was a lot of wailing and weeping–it was a real mood killer.

They ran out of hor d’oeuvres almost immediately; the food was the biggest disappointment.

It was a terribly planned party–I left early.

Don’t get me wrong, I prefer it to a family get-together at my aunt’s house, but I’d rather be stripped naked, chained to the back of a jeep, and dragged through a field of broken glass, than go to a family get-together at my aunt’s house.

I just hope things picked up after I left.

Addendum:

The Donner Party is sometimes referred to by historians as the Donner-Reed Party.

But I’m certain Donner-Reed would throw a fantastic party.

donna reed

“I throw fantastic parties.”

Barrel Shopping for Niagara Falls

barrel for going over falls

A barrel like this would be great…but I prefer something in color.

In a recent post I discussed my plans to go over Niagara Falls in a barrel.

Now that I’ve made the decision to go over Niagara Falls in a barrel there are few slight logistical wrinkles that need to be ironed out.

First and foremost: I need a barrel. I have several vital requirements for the barrel I choose for my journey over the falls:

  1. It must be watertight enough to endure the 681,750 gallons of water that travel over the falls per second, without filling with water and killing me horribly.
  2. It has to be sturdy enough to endure the 2,509 tons of force created by the 681,750 gallons of water that travel over the falls without losing structural integrity and killing me horribly.
  3. It must be able to withstand the 167 foot drop without bursting on impact and killing me horribly.
  4. It must be spacious enough for me to comfortably fit into. (I don’t like to be cramped almost as much as I don’t like to be killed horribly.)
  5. It must fit into the trunk of Mercury Marquis. (I have bungee cords.)

My search for a suitable barrel has been less than fruitful.

It’s startling just how unhelpful the employees of Walmart are when comes to barrel shopping.

You wouldn’t believe the slack-jawed looks I get when I ask them where they keep their barrels for going over waterfalls in–they gape at me like I’m a moron.

The people at Ace Hardware are even less helpful. Their little jingle: “Ace is the place with the helpful hardware folks” is a blatant and disgusting lie. It should be: “Ace is the place where smug judgmental pricks named Rob question your mental stability.”

I went to web site of the deceivingly named Crate & Barrel–completely useless unless you plan to go over Niagara Falls on an overpriced chaise lounge.

(I did however find a delightful celosia black hand-knotted area rug.)

It appears in order to find a suitable barrel for going over Niagara Falls, I’m required to have one custom made.

Going over Niagara Falls in a barrel is turning out to be more difficult than I had imagined, but I will soldier on.

More updates to come.

liquuor barrel

What a great barrel; I just have to empty it of the Jack Daniels inside–it’s a plan!

Addendum:

It’s been recently suggested by some of my Aunt’s that I should die horribly, preferably by my own hand, so this could work out well for them.

School District Adds Even More Bats

Millcreek bat

Millcreek, Pennsylvania–The Millcreek School District made national news last week when it armed its 500 teachers with 16 inch novelty baseball bats as a defense against school shooters.

“It was largely meant to be symbolic,” Millcreek School District Superintendent William Hall said, “of course you’re going to die in a hail of bullets if you try to stop an armed gunman with a toy bat…but symbolism is important in any life or death situation.”

But now the Millcreek School District has upped the ante: they have replaced the 16 inch black novelty bats with giant black Transylvanian vampire bats.

big black bat

“I don’t know if it will keep potential gunmen out the school,” one teacher said, “but I’m not going back in there.”

“It’s the perfect solution,” Superintendent Hall said, “People are afraid of bats and people are afraid of vampires–I’m just stunned no one has thought of it before…I’m thinking about putting a bat on every school bus.”

Several students have been bitten and have described the simple act of attending school as terrifying.

“Welcome to Erie County,” Superintendent Hall said in response.

When asked if he would be arming his own office with a vampire bat the Superintendent replied, “are you crazy–those things are #!@$ing freaky.”

Addendum: in a note of clarification, Superintendent Hall informed us when he said people were afraid of vampires, he wasn’t referring to those sissy Twilight vampires that wax their chests and use too much hair product; he was referring to a proper Bela Lugosi vampire.

dracula

“You sissy Twilight vampires are really hurting our image.”

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. (Incidentally, Fruits and Flowers is the name of the clown act.)
  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 Bangladeshi 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 other people have said. I’ve also won the Pulitzer Prize–twice.

Bad things about bees:

They sting you in the face.

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

You might have that childhood bliss shattered in a moment when a bee stings you in the face.

You might retreat into your grandmother’s house in a state of distress 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.

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.


octopus ink

Man, this calligraphy is difficult.

Out Of Leftfield #8: The Zombie Apocalypse Begins (Short Story) – by Oliver Giggins —

THE DEAD CONTINUE TO COME BACK TO LIFE: IT’S WEEK TWO OF A ZOMBIE APOCALYPSE. ORIGINAL HEADLINES ARE GETTING TRICKY, OKAY? by Ed Manwalking The dead have been coming back to life for just over a week and, already, civilisation is beginning to crumble. Nerds of all types have ground entire cities to a […]

via Out Of Leftfield #8: The Zombie Apocalypse Begins (Short Story) – by Oliver Giggins —

Read Well or Hurl Feces

reading monkey

It’s good to see you’re reading.

Reading informs you, it improves your memory, it increases your analytical abilities, and it exercises your mind.

Reading is like doing a big pile of mental squat thrusts, without the searing pain in your side and the inevitable vomiting.

The ability to communicate through the written word is one of the most significant ways in which humans are separated from the lower primates.

It ranks just ahead of our ability to remove unwanted body hair, and just behind our general reluctance to settle disputes by scrabbling up a tree and hurling our feces.

Note: I feel I should point out that hurling feces can be a very effective tool in certain situations I have a few aunts with uncanny accuracy.

Imagine some of the ways lacking the ability to read and write well can be detrimental to your happiness:

  • The annoying pile of traffic tickets that results because you think the stop sign reads: Floor It, Cowboy.
  • The comic hilarity that is Marmaduke, is nothing more to you than a bunch of confused scribbles about a big clumsy dog.
  • When you tell people you read Playboy for the articles, you’re only lying slightly if can actually read.
  • Instead of being vessels for whimsical Eastern wisdom, fortunes cookies are just bits of baked crap.
  • Limericks. What kind of life is it without the ability to read limericks?
  • Rather than informative advertisements, billboards are giant mocking reminders of your inability.
  • The ability to read the subtitles, transforms French films from completely indecipherable to mostly indecipherable.
  • Those embarrassing visits to the emergency room because you misread the words “do not” in the warning on a can of Raid, which reads: Do not spray directly into face.

Did you know that Ken Edwards of Glossup, Derbyshire, England ate 36 cockroaches in one minute, to set the world record? Now you do, because you have the ability to read.

Just moments ago, you probably had never heard of Ken Edwards of Glossup, Derbyshire, England. Now you possess a powerful bit of information.

A piece of information that can be used as a conversation starter, to jumpstart a dinner party that has hit a lull, or simply to amaze and impress your friends.

The next time you meet an attractive woman, but you’re unsure of how to break the ice; just bust out this little fact about Ken Edwards of Glossup, Derbyshire, England. If she doesn’t blast you in the face with pepper spray–you’re in.

Your ability to read and write has armed you with the tools you need to thrust forward in life with bold confidence. Rare will be the occasion you will need to rely upon scrabbling up a tree and hurling your feces to settle a dispute.

If Ken Edwards of Glossup, Derbyshire, England had spent a little more time reading, perhaps he wouldn’t have to shovel fistfuls of cockroaches into his mouth to get attention.

idiotprufs reading

Ken Edwards, champion cockroach eater/ladies man.

 

Caretaker Rick: Rat-Bastard

cemetery

Rick is a sniveling greedy squinty-eyed rat-bastard. The only remotely positive thing you can say about his existence is that it alloys a person to employ the phrase, sniveling greedy squinty-eyed rat-bastard, which fun to say, but difficult to work into casual conversation.

Rick is the type of person who enjoys lounging in his backyard as he hurls insults at squirrels. He also hurls rocks, but his aim is dreadful. Rick thinks squirrels are smug.

Rick is the type of person who rummages through the Goodwill box searching for a gift for his girlfriend’s birthday, and then replaces what he’s taken with empty beer cans, spent lottery tickets, and cigarette butts he’s scrounged from the floor of his jeep.

Rick is thieving, untidy, chain smoking, alcoholic, degenerate gambler.

Rick sucks.

Rick is the caretaker of The Shady Oak Pine Hill Cemetery For Dead People And For People Who Aren’t Quite Dead But Who Are Doing Poorly…Provided They Have The Means To Afford One Of Premium Plots.

It was called Pine Hill Cemetery before Rick took over, but he felt the name needed some punching up.

Caretaker of a cemetery is a fortuitous job for Rick; the most amenable way to deal with Rick is as a dead person or at the very least, terminally ill. (Even those who ardently cling to life, gladly embrace death after one or two interactions with Rick.)

The thing about Rick is that he is almost completely stupid. If there is something stupid to be done: Rick does it. If there is something stupid to be said: Rick says it.

He is a walking human catastrophe from which you just can’t look away.

There are so many great stories about Rick to be told.

More to come.

insulting squirrel

“Screw you, Rick.”

Zoo Guy Emerges From Hibernation — gooferie

Erie “Zoo Guy” Scott Mitchell has emerged from his months-long hibernation just in time to oversee the zoo’s spring re-opening. “I’m fully rested and ready to go” said Mitchell as he emerged from the red panda exhibit where he spent the last three months. Mitchell admits that there were some breaks in his hibernation, as […]

via Zoo Guy Emerges From Hibernation — gooferie

Erie School District to Arm Teachers with Lacrosse Sticks — gooferie

Inspired by the Millcreek School District’s decision to issue miniature baseball bats to its teachers, the Erie School District is now providing lacrosse sticks to its teachers for classroom defense. “We saw what Millcreek did, and we are taking it a step further,” said ESD spokesperson Kate Schellenbach. “Baseball bats are OK, but we feel […]

via Erie School District to Arm Teachers with Lacrosse Sticks — gooferie

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