idiotprufs

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

Archive for the month “February, 2018”

Angry Response from Eduardo a Bolivian Pudding Maker

Dear Mr. Idiotprufs,

I wish to register a complaint in the strongest terms possible.

In your recent blog post: What was That Crunchy Thing in My Pudding? you blatantly mischaracterized the nature of the pudding manufacturing industry in Bolivia. We have many fine pudding factories here in Bolivia, only some of which have Egyptian dung beetle infestations.

Let’s be honest, dung beetles remove the dung from the factories–how is that a bad thing?

In your post, you also described workers in a Bolivian pudding factory as “laughing hysterically” at the prospect of rat feces falling into a vat of pudding. I have worked in a Bolivian pudding factory for years and I have seen rat feces fall into vats of pudding literally thousands of times, not one time have I “laughed hysterically.”

And don’t attempt to point out the E. coli clusters that have been cropping up; they are statistical anomalies and nothing more.

I hope that you will take this letter to heart; I would hate to be forced to hunt you down like the American dog you are.

Best regards,

Eduardo, a Bolivian pudding maker.

PS: Seriously. Stop it or I’ll kill you.

scary

Stop it, or we’ll put something really nasty in your pudding.

What was that Crunchy Thing in My Pudding?

I think I just ate something that broods.

I think I just ate something that broods.

You’re enjoying a delicious cup of pudding; savoring it’s smooth, creamy, crunchy goodness.

Wait a minute–crunchy?

Crunchy is not an adjective that’s generally associated with pudding. What did you just bite into? What did you just swallow? You feel a subtle unease in the pit of your stomach. Your mind begins to race, pondering the crunch causing possibilities.

Was it a clump of dirt? That would be bad, but it could be worse; it could be much worse.

The pain in your stomach grows a little.

That crunch had an exoskeleton feel to it. You may have just eaten an insect. What kind of insect could it have been? Your mind immediately leaps to most disgusting insect possible: the Egyptian dung beetle. Beetles that use rolled balls of dung for food or brooding; it definitely had the feel of something that broods.

The sick feeling in your stomach intensifies.

Stop it. Dung beetles are far too large to fit in your cup of pudding; it’s almost certainly a smaller insect.

You think it could have been a bedbug, but it was too large to be a bedbug. Unless it was a cluster of bedbugs, or worse: an abnormally large mutant bedbug…that probably just fed on someone with hepatitis.

You begin to feel a little dizzy

Then it hits you, the worst case scenario: what if it was a piece of rat feces? What’s the acceptable amount of rat feces in pudding? You hope it’s not measured in chunks. What if the rat had Bubonic Plague? You may have just become ground zero for an outbreak of the Black Death.

Done in by Bill Cosby and his cursed spokesperson affability.

And you thought Bill Cosby couldn’t get creepier.

You vomit.

As you try to catch your breath, you notice absolutely nothing offensive in your vomit.

You inspect it very carefully (which in itself is a little weird) and still you find nothing. It was probably just your imagination.

You feel silly, regulations involving food production are far to strict for it to have been anything else.

Meanwhile, in a pudding factory on the edge of small village in a remote part of Bolivia:

First worker: Hey, I think something just fell into the vat of pudding.

Second worker: What was it?

First worker: It looked like something with an exoskeleton, something that broods, possibly an Egyptian dung beetle.

Second worker: Why would there be an Egyptian dung beetle here in Bolivia?

First worker: I don’t know. Why are we speaking English in Bolivia?

Second worker: Stop asking stupid questions and stir the pudding.

First worker: Maybe it was a chunk of rat feces. I wonder what the acceptable amount of rat feces in pudding is.

Second worker: Is there an unacceptable amount of rat feces in pudding?

They both laugh hysterically.

Where do you want to take this ball of dung and brood? How about the nearest Bolivian pudding factory? Perfect.

“Where do you want to brood?”
“How about the nearest Bolivian pudding factory?”
“Perfect.”

Smoke Alarms, Bird Crap, and a Nobel Prize

smoke alarmWhich situation makes you feel worse: inadvertently setting off another person’s smoke alarm, or being crapped on by a bird?

I know you’re thinking those things seem random, but if you’re reading this blog, thinking probably isn’t something you’re suited for.

As a small child I decided it would be the height of scientific experimentation to melt Play-Doh in a frying pan–I was mistaken. Both my mother and the smoke alarm informed of this.

My ticket to scientific discovery.

That was the first time I accidentally set off a smoke alarm.

The second time I was using someone’s vacuum cleaner when it inexplicably exploded and caught on fire. It seemed to me to be an act of God–she said it the act of an idiot. The smoke alarm was the second loudest thing I heard that day.

Note: Seriously, if a vacuum cleaner isn’t capable of picking up paperclips, it should be clearly labeled so. And since when has carpeting been so flammable.

The third time I accidentally set off a smoke alarm, I was starting a fire in a fireplace. I was told the flue was open–it was not.

The amount of times I set off someone’s smoke alarm: three.

When I was about ten years old, I was playing tag with some of my cousins in my grandfather’s hay loft. I felt a slap on my back, but when I turned around there was nobody behind me. I thought this was weird until someone pointed out to me-in between fits of hysterical laughter-that there was a giant load of bird crap on my back of my jacket.

That was the first time a bird crapped on me.

The second time a bird crapped on me, I was playing baseball and the bird crap landed in my baseball glove. I was always an intuitive fielder.

The third time a bird crapped on me, I was walking down the street, and it landed on my shoulder.

The fourth time a bird crapped on me, I was walking down a street called Sesame, when a giant yellow bird came flying at me squawking in crazy high pitched voice and crapping–it was horrible.

Note: that didn’t really happen–I made it up.

big bird

He has crazy eyes.

The fourth time a bird crapped on me it landed on my baseball cap. I don’t remember where I was; I just remember it hanging from the bill of my cap.

The amount of times a bird has crapped on me: four.

By a ratio of 4:3 I’ve been crapped on by a bird more times than I’ve accidentally set off a smoke alarm.

My hypothesis: if you’ve been crapped on by a bird more times than you’ve accidentally set off someone’s smoke alarm: you’re unlucky. If you’ve accidentally set off someone’s smoke alarm more times than you’ve been crapped on by a bird: you’re klutzy.

Therefore: I am unlucky and not klutzy.

Don’t laugh–it’s science.

Do the math for yourself; you’ll see that I’m right.

Now I just have to sit back and wait to hear from the Nobel committee.

nobel prize

It won’t be long now.

Another Post From Gooferie

Stretched out on a chaise lounge under a warm, bright sun shielded by a natural canopy of palm trees, former Erie School Superintendent James Barker casually informed “Paco,” a waiter at the exclusive resort where he was staying, that he would like a second beverage of the kind that was provided to him earlier. As […]

via Dr. James Barker Would Like “Another One of Those, Please” — gooferie

To Be or Not to Be–Bitten by a Horse

horse bite sign

Something occurred to me the other day: I’ve never been bitten by a horse.

Although I had never contemplated the ramifications of being bitten by a horse, or the ramifications of not being bitten by a horse, my life suddenly seemed vacant and purposeless.

Is it possible I’m missing out on something due to my lack of an equine chomping experience?

I sought out information from a blog post about raising horses and it seemed to indicate that you really don’t want to be bitten by a horse.

Note: If you ever need information or entertainment of any type, always go to a blog first; blogs are written by highly intelligent individuals with perpetually minty fresh breath.

I found the following phrase:

But, what starts as cute and innocent nibbling on a sleeve can evolve quickly into ripped clothing, crunched fingers, bruises and teeth marks. So if you have a young horse, don’t allow it to explore you with its mouth.

Interesting advice.

Note: I was considering making a joke here about a girl I once dated, but I just recently got the last lawsuit cleared up.

I may be overthinking this entire horse biting thing, and overthinking things is not an activity to which I am prone.

I was bitten by a dog once and I have to admit: it wasn’t as enjoyable as you might think. I would even go as far as saying it was unpleasant.

I was almost bitten by a goat once. The goat didn’t actually come near me, but he a look of no-good in his eyes. It was unsettling.

I’m beginning to think I should put off any attempt to be bitten by a horse.

If through the course of a normal day’s activities I should happen to be bitten by horse, then fine, but for now, I won’t go looking for it.

I will keep you updated.

Mr. Ed horse

Mr. Ed: his comments are biting.

Don’t Cry Over Spilled Mercury Vapor

cfl lightbulb cleanup hindenburg

It’s just a light bulb…right?

I broke a light bulb the other day.

It’s not a big deal, right? You just grab a broom and sweep it up.

But this was a compact flourescent light bulb, so I went to epa.gov for instructions regarding proper disposal.

This is what I found:

STEP ONE

  • Abandon your home like it is Chernobyl.
  • Run screaming into the night.
  • Never look back.

STEP TWO

If step one is not feasible, acquire the following items for cleanup.

  • A stiff piece of cardboard (that you will later burn).
  • Sticky tape (that you will later burn).
  • A broom (that you will later hack to bits with a machete and burn).
  • A machete.
  • A glass jar with a metal lid.
  • A metal jar with a glass lid.
  • Five metric tons of concrete.
  • 15 silver-plated shovels.
  • A Sham-wow. (You won’t be using the Sham-wow for cleanup, they’re just really handy to have around.)
  • A helper monkey named Jeff, who is immune to gamma rays.
  • Gamma rays.
  • A number of friends who are willing to help you, regardless of the fact their hair will fall out and boils will cover their bodies.
  • Rogaine and boil medication.
  • A ham and cheese sandwich. (This is going to take some time; you will get hungry.)

STEP THREE

After step two fails:

  • Burn your house to the ground.
  • Attend the funerals of the friends who didn’t make it.
  • Give moving eulogies.
  • Make new friends (seriously, your current group of friends are just hideous looking) you’ve still got work to do.

STEP FOUR

Disposing of the ashes of your home:

  • Collect the ashes of your home and bury them in a thirty foot hole.
  • Dig them up and burn them again.
  • Bury them in fifty foot hole.
  • Cover the hole with concrete.
  • Surround the concrete with an electrified fence.
  • Put a sign on the fence that reads: Beware Bigfoot.
  • Remove the sign after the site becomes a gathering place for people who believe they’ve found irrefutable evidence of Bigfoot.
  • Put a sign on the fence that reads: Beware Yeti.
  • Learn from your mistakes.
  • Dig a moat.
  • Fill the moat with acid.
  • Move on with your life.

STEP FIVE

Moving on with your life:

  • Purchase a new house.
  • Move in and make it a home.
  • Drop another compact flouresant light bulb.
  • Scream in anguish.

STEP SIX

  • Abandon Earth.
  • Colonize Mars.
  • Don’t take any compact flourescent light bulbs.

Note: This is from the “quick instructions” portion of the website. The “detailed instructions” portion was just ridiculous.

muppet running

“Run Away!”

Farting Man Forces Emergency Landing

A pilot of a Dubai to Amsterdam flight was forced to make an emergency landing after a fight broke-out when a passenger refused to stop farting in the packed flight.

Chaos erupted when two Dutchman who were sitting next to the flatulent man told him to stop and complained to Transavia Airlines crew.

Yet despite repeated requests and even a direct request from the pilot the man continued to fart and a fight broke-out.

The pilot of the Dutch low-cost airline (it’s so low cost the pilot frequently doubles as a fart monitor) then decided to make an emergency landing at Vienna International Airport in Austria.

“It’s so stupid,” remarked one passenger, “the man can’t stop farting so we land in the city that invented the Vienna sausages.”

The two Dutchman, the flatulent man and two sisters sitting in the same row as the men were also escorted off the plane – but the sisters told local media they hadn’t done anything wrong.

Olsen twins

“We’re innocent!”

“It was crazy that we were included, we had no idea who these boys were, we just had the bad luck to be in the same row and we didn’t do anything,” one the sisters stated.

A Transavia spokesman insisted that the ladies were also guilty of misbehavior and verbal abuse… he then snapped that New York Minute was an hour and a half of his life that he’ll never get back.

Mary Kate and Ashley

An hour and a half!

The spokesman went on to say the parties involved have been banned from Transavia flights and in the future they will probably stop serving five bean casserole as the inflight meal.

“I could have stopped farting any time I wanted to,” the man said with a chuckle, “but I could see from their shirts that those two Dutch guys worked for Ikea and it was time for revenge–I’ll give you something to insert into slot B.”

beans

Also banned from Transavia Airlines.

The Top Ten Reasons People Unfollow This Blog

unfollow button

Number 10

The medication has finally begun to work.

Number 9

The mimes are beginning to win their battle against me.

Number 8

The overwhelming shame and the constant hassle of having to delete their browser history has become too much.

Number 7

This blog causes cancer in lab rats. (It kills wombats outright.)

Number 6

This blog was hacked by the North Korean government following an unfortunate comment concerning Kim Jong Un’s potato-faced head. (He has a potato-faced head.)

kim jong Un

Mrs. Potato Head is sold separately.

Number 5

Internet privileges have been revoked in the violent offenders wing of Attica.

Number 4

An unexpected backlash after the post entitled: Charles Manson: not such a bad guy.

Number 3

After the alcohol induced haze passes, people realize this blog is crap.

Number 2

After my ugly break with the Church of Scientology, Tom Cruise’s army of thugs have been relentless in their opposition of this blog.

Number 1

The sudden and jarring realization people have as they read this blog: I’m worth more than this.

mr. potato head

The mustache looks good on you, Kim Jong.

Farewell Sweet Dandelion

dandelionsDid you know the Crayola company is retiring Dandelion from its 24 pack to make room for a new color?

I know!

Dandelion was the best tasting color in the 24 pack.

I mean, Carnation Pink is pretty good and Indigo is alright (although it’s a bit nutty for my taste) but they certainly don’t have the robust flavor of Dandelion.

Brown and Green are just disgusting and I don’t even know what Cerulean is.

Only weirdos eat Gray and I am no weirdo.

Violet-Red is edible, it’s definitely tastier than Red-Orange. But then you walk around all day with Violet-Red lips and you look like a tramp and I am no tramp.

I guess I’ll be forced to eat plain Yellow or maybe White–what a sad day.

goodbye

Farewell sweet Dandelion.

Final Note: I wonder what color they will replace Dandelion with. I hope it’s not some shade of Purple; I hate Purple–Purple is so smug.

Troubling News–I’ve No Sense of Humor

shocked smileyI was recently told I have no sense of humor.

I am horribly troubled by this–I have put a great deal of time and energy into my efforts to conceal the fact that I have no sense of humor.

Granted, the person who told me this is a mangy little man who would kick the crutch from under Tiny Tim then laugh hysterically as he fell in the mud.

I don’t know his name, I just refer to him as that mangy little man who would kick the crutch from under Tiny Tim then laugh hysterically as he fell in the mud. Or for the sake of brevity: the ugly little prick.

He is an angry little man. I think his anger stems from having tiny and misshapen testicles. I have no firsthand knowledge of the condition of his testicles, it’s just a feeling I get.

He is also stupid.

And not just a normal level of stupid–he is profoundly stupid.

He is a profoundly stupid ugly little prick of a man with tiny and misshapen testicles who would kick the crutch from under Tiny Tim then laugh hysterically as he fell in the mud…and he’s mangy.

He might be called Bill.

Anyway, I’ve been told by many people that this blog is at least mildly amusing and some of those people aren’t imaginary.

And if the ability to generate death threats is an indicator of humor (and I believe it is) this blog is hysterical.

If Bill sees this I’ll probably get another death threat.

I’m just joking–it’s highly doubtful he can read.laughing face

 

 

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