idiotprufs

Illegal in 38 states–frowned upon in the rest.

Hammock Time–U Can’t Touch This

hammock spring

What could go wrong here?

The signs of spring are all around you:

  • The sound of your neighbor cursing bitterly as he scrapes the ice from his car transitions to the sound of your neighbor cursing bitterly as he scrapes the bird crap from his car.
  • The neighbor gets out his mooning garden gnome that will soon be facing your kitchen window.
  • You get out your shovel that will soon be smashing a mooning garden gnome…allegedly.
  • The final remnants of where Gerald the neighbor kid wrote insults to you in the snow with his pee, have melted away. (Gerald’s impressive vocabulary is surpassed only by his apparent bladder size.)
  • You look into the purchase of an electrified fence just powerful enough to repel a small child.
  • You dig out your hammock and prepare to hang it up.

Ah yes, that sweet summertime relaxation that is your hammock.

Every year you gleefully hang your hammock as you sing a song you’ve named Hammock Time. It’s a song that you’ve cleverly invented specifically for the annual occasion.

Note: Hammock Time is just U Can’t Touch This with the lyrics ‘hammer time’ replaced with the lyrics ‘hammock time.’ But you’re proud of it regardless.

Hammock placement is vital to reap the full supine benefits of the hammock experience. You had the perfect spot for your hammock until those butchers at Penelec decided no tree, branch, hedge, or growing life of any type should come within a thousand feet of their precious wires.

tree maintenance

Just a few examples of Penelec butchery.
(Image source: gooferie)

When choosing the proper location for your hammock, there are many factors to be taken into consideration:

  • You want an area with a nice breeze.
  • You want an area with shade.
  • You need to be certain there isn’t a bird’s nest directly above you. You don’t want bird crap smacking you in the face when you’re trying to relax. You really don’t want bird crap smacking you in the face in general; it’s a simple issue of sanitation.
  • Don’t put your hammock near a hornet’s nest; hornets are ill-tempered and have a twisted sense of boundary.
  • Don’t put your hammock over a pit of vipers. If you drop something in that pit–that’s where it’s staying.
  • If you can at all avoid it, don’t put your hammock on the edge of an active volcano. It only takes one pyroclastic flow to ruin your day.
  • You need a spot that assures a modicum of privacy if you like to relax in the nude. (Just another reason to avoid hornet’s nests when placing your hammock.)
  • You don’t want to place your hammock directly above another person’s hammock if your hammock isn’t properly secured and could potentially come crashing down on the person below you. (I’m looking at you, Lance.)
  • Despite the many valuable life lessons I’m certain you learned from Gilligan’s Island, the placement of your hammock between two coconut trees is not one of those lessons. Coconut trees have coconuts. Coconuts + gravity + your face = eating through a straw.
  • Don’t put your hammock anywhere Gerald the neighbor kid can reach you. If you have to dig a moat and fill it with piranha, do it.

If you’re anything like me, you are going to enjoy a summer filled with sweet Hammock Time.

Final note: If you are anything like me, you need to change everything about yourself immediately.

idiotprufs mooning gnome

If you find this little fella facing your hammock–then it’s really hammer time.

Squatchy

bigfoot

Alleged photo of bigfoot near Bradford, Pennsylvania…or a photo of a tree stump.

I am brimming with excitement and anticipation.

I am going to venture, intrepidly into the wilderness in the search for answers.

Bigfoot: does he exist? Is he out there? If he is out there, can I find him? If I do find him will I just pee myself and runaway? I probably will.

After exhaustive research (the Discovery Channel) of Bigfoot sightings, individuals who have made those sightings, and those who hunt for Bigfoot, I have prepared a list of all the things I will need to start my search:

  • I will need a large wooded area. Luckily for me, I live in rural Pennsylvania. I also live in an area where there have been actual Bigfoot sightings over the years. Rural Pennsylvania is also good for UFO sightings, alien abductions, haunted graveyards, and roving bands of cannibals. (I’m joking about the roving bands of cannibals–the vast majority of our cannibals tend to be quite sedentary…probably from the people they eat.)
  • It is also important for the area where you’re searching to have plenty of thick brush, large outcroppings of rock and thick walls of impenetrable fog and mist. The type of things that Bigfoot can quickly duck behind before you can get a clear picture of him.
  • A camera that takes pictures that are out of focus, out of frame, and generally blurry.
  • A FLIR thermal imaging camera. They’re great for picking up clear images of indistinct blobs.
  • You need an abnormally high percentage of your wardrobe to be camouflage, including your underwear and your wallet.
  • A motion activated camera. When motion enters their field of view it triggers a sensor, which promptly caused the camera to malfunction, burst into flames, and burn down half the woods.
  • A gun rack for the back of my pickup truck.
  • A pickup truck. (Preferably painted in camouflage.)
  • Bullet hole decals for my pickup truck…bigfoot hunters are badass.
  • The ability to pepper my vocabulary with the word squatchy regardless of context: I love what you’re done to your hair sweetheart–it’s squatchy.
  • A skeptic.

It always important for a group of Bigfoot hunters to have with them a reasonable skeptic with an analytical mind. The skeptic’s job is to ground over-exuberant bigfoot hunters, to provide a measure of scientific process to the proceedings, and to be condescendingly snarky.

Skeptics say things to bigfoot hunters such as:

  • It’s highly unlikely any type of simian would reside in these woods since they lack the requisite body fat for survival in a colder climate. We’re the only ones stupid enough to be wandering around the forest at night in this freaking cold.
  • Hey, don’t drop that camouflage wallet out here, or you’ll be doing some serious hunting.
  • A shower. Just once every day or two–think about it.
  • No. I don’t think those truck noises out by the highway have anything to do with bigfoot.
  • While a putrid sulfur smell is associated with bigfoot sightings, I don’t think that’s what this smell is from. Seriously…take a shower.

Once I have compiled all the necessary equipment from the list above and found myself a suitable skeptic, I will venture into the wilderness, and I will find the truth.

I may also get lost. If you don’t hear from me, send help.

bigfoot hunters

He’s got it.

Erin Go Bankrupt

leprachaun

Tweedle McBumpers before the scandle.

In a tragic tale of misplaced trust and greed, a number of leprechauns from County Kerry, Ireland have lost their life savings to an elaborate Ponzi scheme.

While most of the leprechauns have declined to comment, one leprechaun, Tweedle McBumpers, has decided to open up about the events. “It’s tragic,” Tweedle said fighting back anger. “Most of us have lost everything. No more gold. No more pot to keep it in. You know that old phrase ‘he doesn’t have a pot to crap in’? Well that’s us. There’s nothing at the end of this leprechaun’s rainbow but despair and big vacant spot where a pot of gold should be.”

tree in irleand

The sad empty spot where Tweedle kept his pot of gold.

The culprit behind the fraud was a smooth talking leprechaun named Moneybags Potfiller. Evidently Moneybags claimed to be investing in land on the east coast of Ireland, earmarked for a golf course and resort.

When several of the leprechauns ventured to the location of the future resort to check on their investment, they found nothing but an old farmhouse owned by the widow Margaret O’Malley.

She shooed them away with a broom.

“The whole thing is just so heartbreaking,” Tweedle said, “but I guess with a name like Moneybags Potfiller, we should have seen it coming.”

leprachaun sunglasses

Moneybags Potfiller living it up on his ill-gotten gold.

Penelec Prepares for Annual “Destroyin’ o’ the Trees”

gooferie

destroytreesSpring is near, and with the change of seasons, Penelec has announced its annual tree destroying program will begin as soon as weather permits. The annual program involves cutting away branches that are near power lines.

Penelec spokesman Hy Raetz says “The trees that line our streets are just too beautiful.  People shouldn’t be outside admiring trees. They should be inside using electricity. Also, it’s probably a safety hazard.”

When asked if there was a standard procedure for removing branches, Raetz said, “The technical term is ‘directional pruning’, but we call it ‘the school bus rule’; meaning the branches should be separated from the wires by the width of a school bus.  The goal is to make it look as little like a tree as possible.”

When asked if he had advice for anyone who has a tree near a power line, Rates advised, “You should probably take a picture…

View original post 8 more words

Beware the Ides of March…and Dead Rotting Fish

ides of march

On March 15, 44 BC. Julius Caesar was stabbed to death in the Theatre of Pompey at a meeting of the senate by as many as 60 conspirators.

Note: The Theatre of Pompey was showing the remake of Footloose at the time. It was the second most disappointing part of Caesar’s day.

Upon realizing one the conspirators was his friend Brutus, he uttered the now infamous Phrase, “Et tu Bluto.”

It was at that point Brutus became enraged and screamed, “Bluto is the character from the Popeye cartoons you imbecile; my name is Brutus. How many times do I have to tell you that?” Brutus then he stabbed Caesar repeatedly.

Bluto Popeye

Bluto and Brutus are not the same. Just ask that smug tenth grade English teacher of yours.

Historians will tell you Julius Caesar’s assassination was politically motivated and the result of rising tensions between Caesar and the Senate. Historians will also tell you several Senators feared Caesar would overthrow the Senate in favor of tyranny. Historians are always blathering on about something in the past.

Well, historians are full of it.

I know the real story: everyone was just sick of Caesar forcing them to put anchovies on their salads.

Anchovies are gross.

Final Note: the word assassination has the word ass in it twice. That amuses me more than it should.

Caesar salad

A delicious plate of Caesar Salad. Because there is nothing more appetizing than dead rotting fish.

Pi a La Mode and Butterflies

butterfly

MARCH 14
National Children’s Craft Day
National Learn About Butterflies Day
Pi Day
National Potato Chip Day

I am so gad I checked the National Days Calendar today. I’d be tearing my hair out if I had missed National Potato Chip Day again. It is that magical time that only comes once a year.

And today is also National Pi Day! I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about Pi lately.

Well, to be honest, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about Pie lately. But National Pie Day is January 23rd and can’t wait that long for some delicious pastry goodness.

And pies are round, so you can use Pi to determine the circumference of your pie. I think I’ll celebrate by getting myself a nice blueberry pie and have 3.14 slices…a la mode.

But the really exciting thing about today: it’s National Learn About Butterflies Day.

So I’m going to impart some of my extensive butterfly knowledge to the fine readers of this blog.

  • Butterflies are insects.
  • Flies refer to butterflies as the “clowns” of the insect world.
  • Butterflies don’t like butter and they really hate flies.
  • Butterflies are attracted to nectar-producing flowers that have red, yellow, orange, pink, or purple blossoms. Much like many of the Kardashians. (Similar brain mass.)
  • Butterflies often have brightly colored wings with unique patterns made up of tiny scales. Much like many of the Kardashians.
  • Butterflies hate being compared to the Kardashians.
  • Butterflies hate it when you mistake them for moths. (Moths are the mimes of the insect world.)
  • Mothra is giant butterfly that routinely battles Godzilla…and occasionally a Kardashian.
  • According to a gardening website, you can make butterfly snacks. (I ate twelve butterflies before I realized the website meant snacks for butterflies.)
  • Butterflies taste horrible and they get stuck in your teeth.
  • Lepidopterophobic is what you call someone with a fear of butterflies. The word pussy also works.
  • Scientists report there are between 15,000 and 20,000 different species of butterflies.
  • Scientists spend way too much time counting butterflies.
  • Monarch butterflies will travel thousands of miles to reproduce.
  • Butterfly Tinder sucks.
  • Most caterpillars are herbivores; the rest love pulled pork.
  • Butterflies have taste receptors on their feet.
  • Despite that thing about their feet–butterflies tend to be very smug.
Mothra Godzilla

Mothra battling a Kardashian…possibly Godzilla, it’s hard to tell.

You are now practically a butterfly expert.

Now you can spend the day munching on potato chips, calculating the volume of spheres, and ruminating on your newfound butterfly expertise.

You’re Welcome.

Final Note:

You may have noticed I ignored the fact that today is also National Children’s Craft Day.

Yes. Yes I did.

bowl of butterflies

This is a bowl of snacks for butterflies. It is not a bowl of butterflies to snack on…Idiot.

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 that had to be put down because he contracted rabies protecting his master.

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. There’s a lot of people in close proximity.
  • 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.
  • 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.

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 ick.
  • 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.
  • 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 it passed.

If you believe the people in your general sphere of being desperately need to know your opinion–you’re gravely mistaken.

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.

Don’t Get Behind Me

Don't get in line behind me.image source: wpclipart.com

Don’t get in line behind me.

I am waiting line death.

It doesn’t matter if it’s at the supermarket, in a department store, at the theatre, in the post office, or at toll booths, whatever line I choose will come to a catastrophic halt.

If you get in a line to use the restroom and you’re standing behind me; it end with you soiling yourself.

I once got in a line at the Department of Motor Vehicles and it started moving backwards. It wasn’t long before I was standing in the parking lot, surrounded by ill-tempered drivers who began pelting me with their nearly expired licenses.

I was in a receiving line at a wedding and the couple divorced before I got to them.

If I get into a line at the supermarket, the person in front of me will spontaneously combust, bringing the line to an unnerving end, creating a horrible smoky mess and ruining all of my dairy products.

Or the cashier will get into a dispute with a customer over the validity of a fifty cent coupon for brownie mix. The customer will tell the cashier that she simply isn’t intelligent enough to understand the wording on the coupon. The cashier will tell the customer that she does in fact understand the wording on the coupon and that the customer shouldn’t be eating brownies anyway because she could stand to lose a few pounds. One of them uses the word bitchy. The other uses the phrase fat and bitchy. Things quickly escalate and they have to shut down the line to clean the blood off the cash register.

Or the cashier will get into a long protracted conversation about her uncle Ron. We’re all upset that he’s back in prison, but if you’re on probation you shouldn’t smoke pot in your car and drive over speed limit…or on the sidewalk.

sloth dmv

I always get the sloth.

I was once in line behind a guy who was putting his change on the conveyor as he was counting it out. As the conveyor moved, it dumped his change down the crack in between the conveyor and the counter. As his change clanked away so did his ability to pay for the item he was trying to purchase. As it turned out, that check-out counter was an impenetrable Fort Knox from which nothing could be retrieved. The cashier could do nothing. Her boss could do nothing. The store manager could do nothing. The store owner could do nothing. Evidently the change had entered some unearthly abyss and was gone forever.

As you can see: I’m like Typhoid Mary without the disease and death. Sometimes there’s disease, but there’s rarely ever death. Expect for that time I was in line at the funeral home, but that guy was dead before I got there…I think.

There were only two people in this line when got into it. And photography was still only in black and white.

There were only two people in this line when got into it. And photography was still black and white.

huffingtonpost

I tried to get into a line in Minnesota, but they were ready for me.

Just Keeping it Real?

rude

A few posts back I mentioned my displeasure with people excusing their ill-behavior by saying, “I’m just keeping it real.”

Recently I’ve encountered several memes in this vein littering Facebook.

I'm not rude

Let us be clear about this: rudeness and honesty are not mutually exclusive traits. I would argue much rudeness is simply an expression of unnecessary honesty.

Let’s say you see a person who you believe could stand to lose a few pounds and you say, “hey fatty, you need to lay off Ding-Dings before you go into a sugar coma.”

Honest: very possibly.

Rude: without question.

If you meet a person you find to be less than attractive and you utter something like, “you know, the thought of dating you makes me vomit in my mouth a little.”

Honest: why not?

Rude: absolutely. (Plus, I was having a bad hair day so it really wasn’t fair.)

If you take a bite of your aunt’s potato salad at a family picnic, and you gag then loudly proclaim that it tastes like a monkey peed on death…well that’s just funny.

Then there’s this meme: I'm not rude meme

Knowing and having been around some of the people who have slapped memes such as this one on their Facebook page; I can state without fear of contradiction: you and I have never been thinking the same thing. Ever!

In fact, the words that tumble from your lips tend to be quite shocking.

It’s not shocking that you’ve said them; it’s just shocking that they’re the product of an undiseased human brain.

But this is the meme I really appreciate:hoenst bitch

Let’s take those exact same words and rearrange them slightly:

I’m not just brutally honest. I’m a bitch.

Is that rude?

Hey, I’m just trying to keep real.

Can We Get Some Love for the Squonk?

legend of the squonk

The Squonk.

At the latest meeting of the legendary creatures.

Golem: Before we get started, has everybody that’s going to be here arrived? Nessie won’t be here today but he sends his regards. He did send us a postcard; it has a bunch of guys playing bagpipes in kilts mooning the camera. Pass it around please. Chupacabra won’t be here either, evidently he has had some trouble at the border. We’re still missing someone…Bigfoot, is your cousin coming?

Bigfoot: Yeah he’s coming. You know how he is: always showing up late.

Golem: I’m aware…wait, here he is now. Speak of the devil.

Jersey Devil: What?

Golem: Not you Jersey. I was just commenting that Yeti’s finally here.

Yeti: Sorry I’m late, the traffic was “abominable” on the way over. (He laughs hysterically.)

Bigfoot: That joke gets funnier every time you tell it.

Thunderbird: Caw!

Bigfoot: Thunderbird agrees with me.

Yeti: Fine, I’m done with the joke. So what’s so important that we had to call an emergency meeting?

Golem: Squonk has some issues that he would like to address.

Yeti: When’s he getting here?

Squonk: I’m standing right here you overgrown monkey.

Yeti: Sorry little guy, I didn’t see you there.

Squonk: That’s the problem, nobody ever sees me there. Most people don’t even know of my existence. How am I supposed to be a “legendary creature” if nobody has even heard of me?

Golem: You have to admit, your story’s a little bit depressing.

Squonk: I’m sorry. Do I depress you?

Yeti: You have ill-fitting skin that’s covered with warts and blemishes, you’re constantly weeping, and when you get upset you just dissolve into a puddle of bubbles and tears.

Squonk: That’s my legend!

Bigfoot: Consider yourself lucky that nobody notices you. It’s miserable having these idiots constantly stomping through the forest looking for you. I don’t know how many times I’ve just sat down to a nice dinner of berries and grubs, and some slack-jawed moron comes traipsing through the forest, whacking a stick against a tree because “that’s how the bigfoot communicates.” I have never in my life mindlessly whacked a stick against a tree.

Jersey Devil: Maybe people would leave you alone if you stopped leaving those big oafish footprints all over the woods.

Thunderbird: Caw.

Jersey Devil: Thunderbird agrees with me.

Bigfoot: Hey, I live in the woods and I have big feet.

Yeti: I love those beef jerky commercials: messin’ with Sasquatch.

Bigfoot: Those commercials are an affront, they make me look like a gullible imbecile.

Yeti: That’s what I’m saying, they’re hysterical.

Bigfoot: They are an abomination.

Yeti: What? So he can use that joke?

Squonk: Hey, we’re supposed to be discussing my problem! (Indistinct gurgling.)

Golem: Look at that, Squonk just dissolved into a puddle of bubbles and tears.

Yeti: Depressing.

homer simpson

Hope to see you guys next time — love Nessie.

Post Navigation

%d bloggers like this: