DevelopDevelopErie, the agency set up to promote the economic revitalization of struggling DevelopErie, an agency set up to promote economic revitalization in struggling Erie County, has gone bankrupt, according to court documents filed yesterday. County Executive Kathy Dahlkemper issued a press release which, in its entirety, reads, “Swear to God, can’t catch a break.”
Apart from a few facts that may be the products of my faulty memory, this story is completely true.
It came from the kitchen, and it was horrendous. It stung your nostrils, and it turned your stomach.
Note: my roommate’s name in this story was Al, but for the sake of brevity and ease, I will be referring to him simply as: Pathetic Pea-Brained Weed-of-a-Man.
Me: what is that horrendous smell?
Pathetic Pea-Brained Weed-of-a-Man: it’s probably me.
Me: it is a sickening and repulsive stench, but it’s a different kind of sickening and repulsive stench.
Pathetic Pea-Brained Weed-of-a-Man: I think it’s coming from the refrigerator.
Me: but there’s nothing in the refrigerator apart from a bottle of ketchup, some old pizza, and mysterious yellow stain that seems to move about on its own.
Pathetic Pea-Brained Weed-of-a-Man: the stain scares me; it’s shaped like a spider.
Me: (opening the refrigerator door, only to be staggered by the smell) it is coming from the refrigerator and it is foul.
Pathetic Pea-Brained Weed-of-a-Man: it must be the anchovies on that left over pizza; they taste like the ass-end of a rhinoceros.
Me: well, I’ll have to defer to your expertise in ass-tasting related matters.
Note: anchovies are lumps of decaying fish, infused with all of the salt in the world–they’re delicious.
Pathetic Pea-Brained Weed-of-a-Man: I know how to get rid of it.
He grabbed the pizza box from the fridge and hurled it onto the roof below the kitchen window of our apartment.
Me: brilliant.
Pathetic Pea-Brained Weed-of-a-Man: of course it’s brilliant; I’m the one who did it.
Me: your brilliance is only matched by your humility.
Pathetic Pea-Brained Weed-of-a-Man: it’s my humility that makes me great.
(Pathetic Pea-Brained Weed-of-a-Man is sometimes a walking oxymoron…usually he’s just a plain moron.)
So the problem was solved…or was it?
Not only did the odor not dissipate, it grew in strength.
The next day:
Pathetic Pea-Brained Weed-of-a-Man: why hasn’t the smell gone away?
Me: it wasn’t the anchovies.
Pathetic Pea-Brained Weed-of-a-Man: anchovies taste like the ass-end of a rhinoceros.
Me: we have to do something; air fresheners won’t cover it up.
Pathetic Pea-Brained Weed-of-a-man: air fresheners won’t cover up the ass-end of rhinoceros?
Me: probably not, but I was referring specifically to the smell in the kitchen.
Pathetic Pea-Brained Weed-of-a-man: well we’ve checked everywhere.
Me: is there anything in the vegetable crisper?
Pathetic Pea-Brained Weed-of-a-man: the what?
Me: the drawer where you keep the vegetables.
Pathetic Pea-Brained Weed-of-a-man: the what now?
Me: I’ll show you.
I slid open the vegetable crisper to reveal a bowl of expired broccoli and possibly the most rancid smell that has ever stimulated my olfactory senses.
Me: how can vegetables possibly smell that bad?
Pathetic Pea-Brained Weed-of-a-man: I didn’t even know that drawer was there.
Me: we have to get rid of them.
Pathetic Pea-Brained Weed-of-a-man: I have an idea.
So Pathetic Pea-Brained Weed-of-a-man grabbed the bowl of tainted broccoli and flushed it down the toilet.
The problem was solved…or was it.
It seems pouring a bowl full of broccoli down a toilet is the equivalent of pouring a bucket full of concrete down a toilet; it was a mess. There was literally a waterfall of human waste pouring down the kitchen wall of the downstairs neighbor.
She was unhappy…loudly.
A few days later we had a typical western New York snowstorm which dropped about four feet of snow on us.
The landlord came to shovel the snow from the roof outside our kitchen window. He struggled with something that was solidified to the roof. It turned out to a pizza with anchovies.
He was unhappy…loudly.
Note: if you were unaware: anchovies smell like the ass-end of a rhinoceros.
CAMBRIDGE, Mass. It was, said Dr. Phillip Reiff as he relaxed after dinner last night, “the biggest ‘Eureka!’ moment” of his career. “We thought the science in this area was fairly well-established,” he tells this reporter as he finishes a glass of Malbec, then orders a double espresso and a slice of cheesecake from a waitress at […]
via New Study Reveals Last Previous Study Totally Bogus — Gerbil News Network
They seem like a fun bunch.
“I throw fantastic parties.”
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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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.
“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.
“You sissy Twilight vampires are really hurting our image.”
In my spare time I like to improve my yodeling.
First a few personal facts regarding the differences between bees and calligraphy:
Good things about bees:
Good things about calligraphy:
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.” Despite the accuracy of your statement, 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 at 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.
Man, this calligraphy is difficult.
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 —
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:
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.
Ken Edwards, champion cockroach eater/ladies man.
Rick is a sniveling greedy squinty-eyed rat bastard. The only remotely positive thing you can say about his existence is that it allows a person to employ the phrase, sniveling greedy squinty-eyed rat-bastard, which is 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 a 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 Our 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.
“Screw you, Rick.”
idiotpruf 