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idiotprufs

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

Archive for the month “September, 2019”

A Quick PSA for Loud-mouthed Pricks

loud mouth

“Act just like me–I’m cool.”

I have a quick message for all the fun loving people loud-mouthed idiots out there who think I should behave the way they do.

Stop It!

Just because you want dance on a table, juggling shot glasses, butchering the lyrics to Love Shack at the top of your lungs, as your testicles dangle from your pants, doesn’t mean that I also want to do that.

I don’t want to see that happening.

I don’t want to be within the proximity of that happening.

I don’t even want the knowledge of that ever occurring.

I assume as a male of the species you have testicles–I don’t need proof.

And I know what’s in my own mind.

If I say I don’t want to pound shots of tequila–I don’t want to pound shots of tequila. I know you think it’s not a party until you’ve vomited on someone’s shoes, but not everyone appreciates having to clean chunks out of their shoelaces.

And for the love of all that is good and merciful, stop trying to make me sing karaoke. We defeated Japan in World War II and they gave us karaoke–let’s just call it even.

Also, why do we excuse boorish behavior based on the fact that it’s habitual.

If a person acts like a jerk once or twice, he’s being a jerk. However, if a person has a pattern of acting like a jerk it’s simply sloughed off as a personality trait.

If Timothy acts like a giant prick today–then Timothy is being a giant prick.

But if Timothy acts like a giant prick on a daily basis, multiple times a day with a seemingly limitless reservoir of giant prickness–then that’s just Tim being Tim.

Wrong!

Timothy is a giant prick! Period!

It’s like saying: sure Theodore Bundy was kidnapper, rapist, necrophile who confessed to torturing and murdering over thirty young women, but that was just Ted being Ted.

And stop describing your giant prick behavior as: “just keeping it real.”

You’re really a giant loud-mouthed prick.

Thank you for allowing me to get that off me chest. I feel much better now.hush now

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Things Couldn’t Possibly Get Worse

couldn't get worseThere has never been a phrase so inviting of it’s own contradiction than the phrase “things couldn’t possibly get worse.”

The mere utterance of the phrase is a virtual guarantee that things are about to go horribly wrong.

Example:

You’re hiking through the woods with a friend. You’re beginning to think you’ve lost your bearings and you’re uncertain of where you are. You having increasing suspicions that your friend’s cartography skills were exaggerated.

You transition from being uncertain of where you are to complete certainty you are lost. Nighttime is approaching, a thunderhead is gathering overhead, you’re friend has just stepped in a giant pile of bear crap, (which as much as it amuses you, is a tad alarming) and you’ve come to the conclusion that you’re friend’s cartography skills were wildly exaggerated.

As the first streak of lightning burns across the sky you’re friend turns to you and says, “well, things couldn’t possibly get worse.”

Without saying a word, you reach down and retrieve a stick from the forest floor. You study the stick for a moment, then pull out a jackknife and whittle the stick into a fine point.

You turn to your friend, pause for a moment as he anticipates what you’re going to doing, then you jab you’re friend in the eye with the stick.

“Things are worse now aren’t they,” you say triumphantly.

Your friend is a little angry, but you were just trying to prove a point…plus, it really irritated you when “Mr. Map Expert” referred to the contour lines on his topographical map as squigglies.

You crash through the forest in the darkness and pouring rain for an interminable amount of time, hopelessly lost and almost certain you’re being stalked by either a bear or bigfoot.

Luck finally smiles upon as you come across a country road and there’s a vehicle approaching. Your friend jumps into the road, waving his hands in an effort to gain the driver’s attention.

Your friend mistimes his leap into the road and is struck by the car. As it turns out, being blinded in one eye seriously reduces your depth perception.

Luck is a fickle bitch.

“I guess things couldn’t get worse,” you finally concede to your friend as he lies in the road in a whimpering mass.

The words have barely left your lips when a bear lurches from the trees and mauls your friend. Bigfoot just watches.

After a lengthy recovery period and extensive physical and mental therapy, your friend is fine.

On plus side, with all the scars on his face and the eyepatch, he looks like a real badass.

You’d tell him that, if you were still on speaking terms.

Badass with eyepatch

See how badass your friend now looks. And not even a thank you.

Pompous Loudmouthed Jerk

Everyone knows someone who’s overbearing and obnoxious? That guy who’s ego is so enormous, it actually has small moons orbiting it. His head is so bloated it affects the tides.

He’s also a bully; he likes to denigrate people and is constantly belittling others.

He’s a pompous loudmouthed jerk.

I know somebody like that–I’m sure you do too.

And on occasion that guy points his petty tiny-brained aggresion in your direction.

How do you deal with it?

I have a solution that is guaranteed success: shoot him in the face with a crossbow.

It’s so simple. It’s so elegant. It works.

Regardless of what you’re doing or saying, regardless of your focus, once you’ve been shot in the face with a crossbow, that becomes your primary concern.

I know what you’re thinking: if I shoot somebody in the face with a crossbow, won’t there be ramifications? I don’t know exactly what happens when you shoot somebody in the face with a crossbow, but I probably won’t get invited to parties anymore and I could even lose my job.

Maybe. Maybe not.

If your job is shooting people in the face with a crossbow, you’re golden. If your job is anything else, there may be an issue, but you can always find another job.

And do you really want to go to parties where pompous loudmouthed jerks are allowed free reign with no chance of being shot in the face with a crossbow? Of course you don’t–nobody wants that.

I hope this post has been an aide to you; I know it’s helped me.

Just one of the small moons orbiting the Pompous Loudmouthed Jerk’s bloated ego.

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