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idiotprufs

the blog that made the pope laugh so hard he peed himself.

Archive for the month “January, 2018”

Village Faces Lawsuit Following Unfortunate Tumble

falling down

Artist rendition of the incident.

North East, Pa.–The township of North East, Pennsylvania is facing a slip and fall lawsuit following an accident that occurred on township property. It seems a local resident known as Jack suffered a head injury after falling down a hill.

“The village does an absolutely dreadful job of maintaining the path on that hill,” his sister Jill said disgustedly. “We had simply gone up the hill to fetch a pail of water when Jack lost his footing on some loose gravel and tumbled down. I tried to grab him, but then I went tumbling after.”

“You have to be careful when you’re on a hill,” an unsympathetic town official stated. “Besides, that kid is a walking disaster; just last year Jack set himself on fire trying to jump over a candlestick. He thinks he’s nimble. He thinks he’s quick. But he is decidedly neither.”

“He did set himself on fire once,” Jill admitted, “I had to go up the hill by myself to fetch a pail of water just to put him out…what kind of idiot puts a well on a hill anyway?”

“I fell and broke my crown,” was Jack’s only response before adding, “I could see my own brains.”

body cast

Jack after his first attempt at skydiving.

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Was That a Screeching Brazilian Stink Monkey?

Screeching Brazilian Stink Monkey?

I have a phobia.

A fear that creeps upon me and slowly overwhelms me. A fear that causes me to lay awake at night, tossing, turning, afraid to fall asleep for fear of might happen while I’m slumbering.

What is this fear that has me in such a state of paranoia?

I fear that a roving horde of screeching Brazilian stink monkeys will break into my home and handle all my possessions with their filthy stink monkey paws. I fear that they will rub my possessions all over their parasite infested bodies and then return them to their exact position of origin, leaving me to only guess of their nefarious activities.

My friends tell that I’m crazy.

Am I crazy. Am I really?

When I get up in the morning, I find everything in exactly the same position that I left it the night before! Typical screeching Brazilian stink monkey behavior.

My friends persist with the idea that I’m crazy for two specific reasons:

  1. Monkeys tend not to be fastidious creatures and are far more likely to scatter things about and pee on them, than return them to their place of origin.
  2. There is no such creature as the screeching Brazilian stink monkey. They seem smugly confident about this point–hey, Wikipedia doesn’t know everything.)

According to National Geographic, 1,200 new species of plants and vertebrates were discovered in the Amazon between the years 1999 and 2009 alone. With that many new species being discovered, one of them is bound to be a monkey, a monkey that by its sheer characteristics and nature, could only be called a Screeching Brazilian Stink Monkey.

My paranoia has become so profound that my friends have suggested medication. The doctor (another apparent expert of Amazonian wild life) concurred. I’m now on an experimental drug called Oxymoron-gubernatorial-toxin. It seems to be working, there are however a few slight side effects:

  • Dizziness.
  • Dry mouth.
  • Itchy rashes shaped like Lake Titicaca.
  • The inability to say Lake Titicaca without giggling uncontrollably.
  • Your left ear will fall off at really inconvenient times.
  • Nausea.
  • More nausea.
  • Vomiting.
  • Even more nausea.
  • Squirrels will steal your mail.
  • Sleeplessness caused by nausea.
  • Random baboon attacks. (They’re obviously in cahoots with the screeching Brazilian stink monkeys.)
  • The theme to Gilligan’s Island will get stuck in your head.
  • Coma.

Everything seems to be going well; I sometimes get nauseous when I have to chase squirrels or bend over to pick up my ear.

But now and then, out of the corner of my eye, I think I see a screeching Brazilian stink monkey, just waiting to handle all of my possessions.

lake titicaca

That red line is particularly itchy.

Mayor Schember to Personally Destroy McBride Viaduct

gooferie

mcbgfreWielding a large sledgehammer, Mayor Joe Schember announced today that he will personally destroy the McBride Viaduct, which he says will save taxpayers millions of dollars.

“We bid out the contract, and the bids came in higher than we thought,” said Schember, “So I thought me and Sledgie here could do the job for free.”

When asked how long the demolition would take, Mayor Schember said, “I’ve looked at the reports on the current condition of the Viaduct, and I think it will just take a couple of swings to bring her down.”

Local activist Lisa Austin, who opposes demolition of the Viaduct, stated that this latest plan will not be a deterrent in her fight to save the Viaduct. When asked for comment, Austin said, “I will keep fighting to save the Viaduct, even long after it is demolished.”

 

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My Heartfelt Advice to Eagles Fans

EaglesYou’re team has made it to the Super Bowl; celebrate, cheer, throw big Super Bowl parties, just enjoy it, but for the love of all that is good and merciful, STOP PUNCHING POLICE HORSES.

When I saw the headline, another Eagles fan arrested for allegedly punching a police horse, I will admit I laughed.

I laughed the way one might laugh at someone who has suffered an electric shock because they have peed on an electric fence. It was a derisive unsympathetic type of laughter.

You’re not going to win a battle with a police horse. Have Eagles fans suddenly become Wylie Coyote? When your Acme canon fails to fire, don’t stick your face into it to find out what happened.

Did you think you were playing the Broncos in the Super Bowl and you felt a sudden uncontrollable rage against all equine?

Were you so happy you just had to punch something and a police horse seemed like the best choice?

Were you just really drunk?

I know you’ve got that statue of Rocky in Philadelphia, but punching stuff isn’t the best way to celebrate.

Just relax and enjoy the game against the Patriots.

Wait!

The New England Patriots–Paul Revere was a patriot from New England–Paul Revere’s famous midnight ride–Paul Revere rode a horse!

Now I get it.

Rocky Balboa

Rocky celebrating a huge victory–ten minutes later he was arrested for punching a police horse.

Rapunzel Chops off Hair

RapunzelGermany–“I thought it was time for a change,” Rapunzel, the maiden famous for her golden voice and golden locks of hair said about her drastic change in hairstyle. “There’s not a lot to do just sitting in this tower all day. Besides, do you have any idea how much hair conditioner I go through in a month? I’ll give you a hint: it’s like crap through Mother Goose.”

“She looks like a blond Chia Pet,” a dejected prince said.

Evidently the recent change in Rapunzel’s hairstyle has put a strain on her relationship with the prince, who had been surreptitiously visiting her nightly.

“I just don’t understand what happened,” the prince said. “We had this great routine: I’d yell ‘Rapunzel let down your hair,’ she would let down her flowing golden locks, and I would climb up to her. We’d spend the night together, it was beautiful and romantic.”

“Sure, if you consider forty feet of split ends to be romantic,” Rapunzel told us. “Besides, he was starting to put on some weight–that wasn’t helping the situation.”

 “It’s just Winter weight,” the prince objected.

“And when I asked him what he thought of my new look, he just stood there slack-jawed,” Rapunzel said. “When I pressed him for a response, he said something so insulting, I won’t repeat it.”

“I suppose it could be worse is what I said,” the prince admitted. “That was a mistake…it really couldn’t be worse.”

Prince

A dejected Prince.

Breakfast of Champions (Not the Kurt Vonnegut Story)

homer cookingIt was an omelet in the way Frankenstein’s monster was a human.

While its creator’s intentions may have been noble, the result was a seething beast that mocked nature and good culinary practices in general.

The plate sat before me, its contents bubbled and oozed, its bulbous features groped at the air and shifted to form what resembled a sinister grin.

Its creator hovered over me, flush with pride and anticipation, and offered me a verbal nudge, “well, are you going to try it?”

“Of course I’m going to try it…what exactly is it?”

“What is it,” she was incredulous, “don’t you even recognize an omelet when you see one?”

“Obviously I can see that it’s an omelet,” I lied. “It just doesn’t have the typical appearance of an omelet.”

“That’s the fault of your stove.”

“It’s the stove’s fault?”

“Your stove isn’t level.”

“My stove isn’t level?” I poked timidly at the contents of the plate with my fork, “And that’s that why this is purple?”

“I don’t know why it turned purple, ” she snapped defensively.

“It just seems like a really strange color for…”

“Never mind the color. Are you going to try it or not?”

I searched the plate for the least offensive portion. I stabbed my fork into what appeared to be a mushroom; it was almost certainly some form of fungus. Tendrils of steam curled from the fork and disappeared into the atmosphere, accompanied by a sickly pungent smell that hung in the air like a brick in wet cement.

As I drew the fork to my mouth, beads of sweat began to well on my forehead.

I paused.

She gathered over me like a thunder-head. The weight of her stare bore down on me; I could no longer delay the inevitable. I steadied my nerves, said a quick silent prayer, and jabbed the morsel into my mouth.

It had roughly the consistency of synthetic rubber. The flavor was an oddly unpleasant mixture of fetid egg and moldy wood. Just as I thought it couldn’t be more repulsive, I bit into something that seemed to squirt a semi-viscous liquid. It was like a mouthful of used bandages, but much less pleasant.

I chewed as quickly as possible and swallowed hard in a desperate attempt to remove the offending portion as far from my taste receptors as possible. I had to suppress the protective gag reflex that separates humans from rats.

Then I swallowed again–it was clinging to the sides of my throat.

I shifted slightly in my seat and swallowed a third time. It finally lost its grip. To this day I can’t be certain, but If I’m not mistaken, it attempted to climb back out.

I quickly grabbed a glass of water and emptied its contents into my stomach, taking with it the stubborn piece of the beast.

I looked up at its creator, smiled weakly, and forced the words out, “it’s delicious.” A single tear slid silently down my cheek. She stood over me, arms crossed, with a deep look of suspicion on her face. “Why don’t have some more then?”

“I’m not really hungry now,” I assured her as I slowly pushed the plate away. “I’ll have the rest later.”

“I know what that means: you’ll stick it in the refrigerator where it will sit untouched for weeks, until it turns bad and you have to throw it out.”

“I explained to you about the casserole, it wound up behind something, I forgot it was there.”

“Behind something? The entire contents of your refrigerator consist of a can of coffee, a bottle of ketchup, and a mysterious yellow stain that seems to move around on its own.”

“The yellow stain moves around?”

“Forget the stain,” she snapped.

“When I come back later, I expect to find the entire thing eaten.”

I was never certain whether she was talking to me or to the omelet. Per her orders, the entire thing was eaten: I fed it to the neighbor’s dog. The dog later vomited on my front steps and bit me; it seemed like an equitable trade.sick face breakfast

 

Rodeo Clowns, Kanye West’s Fat Head, and a Pissed Off Bull

“Is that N’ Sync I hear?”

Bulls are huge, powerfully built animals with menacing horns, devastating hooves, and an unflinching desire to be left alone.

Bull-riders, by comparison, are sweaty little cowboys who feel it’s heroic to climb onto the backs of bulls, regardless of how irritating it is to the bull.

Bulls have names like Destroyer, The Widow-Maker, and The Mauler.

Bull-riders have names like Bucky, Earl, and that guy who used have testicles.

Bulls are simple animals, content to stand around and chew their cud, occasionally pausing to pee on the dirt.

Bull-riders are simple people, content to stand around and chew tobacco, occasionally pausing to pee on the dirt.

The only thing in which bulls truly revel is inflicting life threatening injuries upon things that annoy them.

Bull-riders annoy them.

The only things that bulls hate more than bull-riders are rodeo clowns, Kanye West’s fat head, and boy bands.

Note: it should be mentioned–the entire animal kingdom hates boy bands…especially badgers.

angry badgers

We’re coming for you Timberlake.

The sanctioned amount of time a bull-rider must stay on the bull is eight seconds. It was found to be the amount of time it takes the average person to look up, do a double take, gape momentarily, then utter the phrase: “would you look at what that idiot over there is doing.”

The bull is locked in a pen, which annoys it.

The bull-rider then climbs onto the bull’s back, which really annoys it.

The bull with the bull-rider on his back is released into an arena filled with jeering fans, which annoys it beyond belief because it hadn’t finished peeing.

The bull storms around in a state of agitation that closely resembles a blind rage as it attempts to repel the annoyance that has so rudely interrupted his peeing.

Meanwhile the bull-rider is being thrashed about like a rag doll. (He may also be peeing a bit at this point.)

The bull swiftly dislodges the annoyance, launching him through the air. The annoyance crashes to the ground, tumbles several feet and skids to a halt.

He displaces an impressive amount of manure filled dirt with his face.

His teeth continue on for several more feet.

As the bull-rider staggers to his feet, dazed and unsure of what’s happening, the bull finishes peeing then turns to face him.

The bull lowers its horns and beats its hooves at the dirt; a malevolent glint appears in its dark animal eyes.

As in any time of great crisis, men wearing make-up are called upon to save the day: the rodeo clowns are deployed.

They dance around the bull, taunting and mocking it (evidently the bull is not pissed-off enough yet) until they can lure the bull’s attention away from the bull-rider.

Sensing that their efforts are falling short, they form a line and belt out an N’sync medley.

The bull becomes so confused with rage that it charges into the stands and heads straight for Kim Kardashian and Kayne West, who just happen to be in attendance.

The bull gruesomely gores Kanye’s fat head–the crowd cheers wildly.

The bull-rider is saved; the rodeo clowns are showered with cheers and adulation. It seems that all is well, until a pack of frenzied badgers pour into the arena and savagely attack the rodeo clowns.

After several moments of shrill screams and wild chittering, the badgers flee as quickly as they appeared.

The rodeo clowns lie in the dirt, bloody and defeated, their painted on smiles betraying them.

bull

“You’re dressing oddly these days Kayne.”

Somewhere in the deep recesses of it’s mind, the bull feels a deep sense of satisfaction.

Well–Now You’ve Blown It

sad balloonOne of your key resolutions this New Year was to stop wasting your time reading dreadful blogs devoid of intellectual value of any kind.

The type of blog written by a pasty-faced geek with zero social grace.

The type of blog that burrows into your brain, takes root, and festers until it has transformed you into a drooling half-wit.

Well–you’ve blown it now haven’t you?

You’d might as well crack open that bottle of Jack Daniels, rip open that pack of Camels, and start eating cookie dough straight from the tube, because you’ve just taken the first step into a spiraling abyss.

Better luck next year.

mr creasote

This is what this blog does.

Love Hurts, but Not as Much as a Stab Wound

love hurts

I felt it was time to re-post these beautiful and poignant words.

I wrote this during a period of deep personal healing…but mostly I was drunk.

 

Pan Changes Instrument of Choice

pan flute

Pan in his pre-banjo days.

Arcadia, Greece–After centuries of regaling the woodland creatures of Arcadia with his famous pan flute, Pan has decided it’s time for a change. He has decided his musical growth has become stagnant and  has decided to dump the flute.

“The flute wasn’t really getting it done with the nymphs anymore,” Pan explained. Pan’s new instrument of choice: the banjo.

Reaction to Pan’s sudden switch in musical instruments has been less than favorable. “Even I can’t get away fast enough when he starts banging on that thing…and I’ve got wings on my feet,” his father Hermes confided.

“He’s my son and I will always support anything he does,” his mother, a woodland nymph, told us. “But seriously, I’m about to smash that thing against a tree.”

Undaunted by the criticism, Pan plans to press forward with the banjo and tour Greece with his own bluegrass band.

hermes

Pan’s father fleeing from his banjo picking.

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