Love Hurts, but Not as Much as a Stab Wound
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.
idiotpruf
The blog that prevents scurvy…as long as you eat orange slices while you read it.
Archive for the month “January, 2023”
The Grasshopper and the Ant
One bright day in late autumn, a family of Ants was bustling about in the warm sunshine, drying out the grain they had stored up during the summer, when a starving Grasshopper, his fiddle under his arm, came up and humbly begged for a bite to eat.
“What!” cried the Ants in surprise, “haven’t you stored anything away for the winter? What in the world were you doing all last summer?”
“I didn’t have time to store up any food,” whined the Grasshopper; “I was so busy making music that before I knew it, the summer was gone.”
The Ants shrugged their shoulders in disgust. “Making music, were you?” they cried. “Very well; now dance!” And they turned their backs on the Grasshopper and went on with their work.
The grasshopper realizing he was much bigger than the ants, pushed them down and took their food.
The next day the ants returned with about a million of their friends, hacked the grasshopper into pieces with their big bitey mandibles, and carried him back to their colony to feed the queen.
Moral
Ants are vindictive little bastards.
“If you play The Devil Goes Down To Georgia one more time…”
Local Man Upset by Giant Pile of Dung on Prius
Mr. Philbert J. Weedly
Bemidji, Minnesota–The authorities had to intervene when a dispute between two local residents radically escalated.
“Would you look at this,” exclaimed Philbert J. Weedly of Bemidji, Minnesota, as he motioned toward the Toyota Prius parked in his driveway, “it’s completely buried.”
At some point during the night, Mr. Weedly’s vehicle had become covered in a mountain of blue feces.
“I don’t see why he’s blaming me,” fellow Bemidji native Paul Bunyan replied, “if you ask me, that giant pile of blue crap could have come from any number of places–a lot of people don’t care for Weedly.”
“Are you kidding me?” Mr. Weedly said in exasperation.
Mr. Bunyan continued defending himself, “I really don’t think it’s fair to blame me every time someone’s car, their house, or their mouthy know-it-all wife, who deserved it, gets covered in a giant pile of blue crap.”
“Are you kidding me?” Mr. Weedly said again.
The dispute began when Mr. Bunyan challenged Mr. Weedly for the presidency of the local chapter of the Minnesota Sierra Club and defeated him in the chapter’s election.
“I just felt it was time for a new chapter in my life,” Mr. Bunyan explained.
“We all know what happened,” Mr. Weedly said. “He’s a legend of American folklore. He’s Minnesota’s favorite son. His footsteps created the 10,000 lakes. It’s all just a big popularity contest.”
“I know Paul Bunyan seems like a strange choice for the presidency of a Sierra Club chapter,” Milton Shipley, a member of the Sierra Club chapter, admitted, “I mean, he is literally known for chopping down trees. He’s just so freaking huge; how do you say no to him?”
“My wife was extremely vocal in her opposition of his candidacy,” another member, who wanted to remain anonymous, told us, “but then she was involved in a rather unfortunate incident involving Babe, Mr. Bunyan’s big blue ox. I don’t want to go into too much detail,” he said pausing for a moment, “Let’s just say she was in the wrong place at the wrong time. I don’t know what he feeds that thing, but the stench was foul. It’s been six months, and my wife’s hair still attracts flies.”
“It s— on me,” his wife said tersely.
The authorities have issued warnings to both Mr. Weedly and Mr. Bunyan. They also asked Mr. Bunyan to try and control where his blue ox relieves itself, but they told him from a distance.
“Do you call this justice?” Mr. Weedly said in a final statement of resignation. “Are you kidding me?”
The famed blue ox–I don’t know what he feeds it.
Sister City Disappointment
Sydney, Australia: a lovely sister city.
North East, Pennsylvania–The residents of the small village of North East, Pennsylvania received a dose of bad news upon discovering their sister city wasn’t what they believed it to be.
The village was ecstatic when it received a sister city request from Sydney, Australia. “We couldn’t believe our good fortune,” the mayor of North East said.
Upon traveling to Australia to accept the sister city request, officials from North East (the mayor and his life partner Bruce) discovered the request came not from the city of Sydney but from a guy named Sydney who lives in a shack at the bottom of a pit in the desert.
“The disappointment is bitter,” Bruce said of the development, “Sydney, Australia is a metropolis with renown architecture and a thriving art world; Sydney from Australia is a filthy foul-mouthed little man who lives in a pit and scratches his testicles far more than should be necessary.”
“I have genital chiggers,” Sydney explained, “they bite.”
The mayor and Bruce gave Sydney a case of the world-famous Welch’s grape jelly, produced right in North East from local concord grapes.
Sydney reciprocated with a half-full can of Foster’s beer that he poured back into the can from the dog bowl.
“Everything in Sydney’s shack is sticky,” the mayor commented, “absolutely everything.”
While Bruce has returned home from the disastrous trip, the mayor remains in Australia recovering from bites from a highly poisonous eastern brown snake and three types of poisonous spiders.
Sydney keeps poisonous spiders as pets; the snake was just bad luck.
“A kangaroo kicked me in the nuts,” Bruce said upon his return, “it was the best part of the trip.”
PennDOT Confirms Using Explosives to Fix Road
This stretch of road seems oddly smooth.
Erie, Pennsylvania–Officials from PennDOT have confirmed the explosions heard emanating from the Route 5 area of North East, Pennsylvania was, in fact, a road crew working on a stretch of the road between the towns of North East and Harborcreek.
The road crew was employing dynamite to blow a gaping hole in the road, remedying the fact that there wasn’t already a gaping hole in the road.
A PennDOT official had been traveling along Route 5 when he realized there was a stretch of road nearly 50 yards long without any potholes. “I was driving along when I realized the familiar rumbling and shaking from traversing Pennsylvania roadways had stopped for several seconds…it was very disconcerting.”
The stretch of roadway fell far below PennDOT standards, requiring at least 39% of any 100-foot stretch of Pennsylvania roadway to contain potholes, debris, drunken hobos, or strategically placed orange cones that guide motorists into a pond.
Upon discovering the problem, PennDOT moved with the efficiency and swiftness for which it is renowned and dispatched a road crew within a year and a half.
“Sure, we could have put small holes throughout that stretch of road, but that’s a lot of work,” the foreman of the road crew said. “We decided to go with one big hole in the middle.”
“Blowing **** up is fun,” one of the crew members, Ron, “eight fingers,” Smith commented.
The section of Route 5 in question is now almost entirely impassable, bringing it into accordance with PennDOT standards.
PennDOT suggests if you find yourself traveling along this stretch of road, take care to follow the detour signs and orange cones–they lead you into a pond.
“I told you we should have used dynamite.”
2023 and a Bongo Antelope
I’ve decided to start the new year out on a positive note. I want to set the tone for the next twelve months as we begin this fresh trip around the sun. (Sorry flat Earthers.)
I believe I’ve come up with the perfect way to christen the year 2023: a plan to destroy my worst enemy.
You may think that’s not starting the year out on a positive note–it’s positive for me!
My plan is nearly perfect; all I need are four honey badgers, a bucket of semi-rotted boysenberries, five sheets of 60-grain sandpaper, an ostrich egg, one pack of double-sided tape, a small number of dung balls gathered by Egyptian dung beetles, yak vomit–copious amounts, a calligraphy pen with parchment, a bongo antelope, and two double cheeseburgers with bacon.
You may think this list is long and ridiculous, but the two double cheeseburgers with bacon have nothing to do with the plan to destroy my worst enemy–formulating a plan to destroy your worst enemy really works up an appetite.
I have run into one small hitch with my plan: it seems bongo antelopes are hard to come by; some nonsense about them being endangered.
I tried the Buffalo zoo, but they don’t even have a bongo antelope…why even have a zoo!
The Bronx zoo does have a bongo antelope, but they were very noncommittal about letting me rent it.
When Trish at the Bronx zoo answers the phone and says: how may I help you–those are just empty words; she doesn’t really want to help you.
It was suggested to me that I substitute the bongo antelope with a deer, which are everywhere where I live in Jamestown, New York. There was one literally taking a crap in my backyard the other day.
I want you to read the following sentences and decide for yourself which one is better.
- And then he was kicked in the nuts by a deer.
- And then he was kicked in the nuts by a bongo antelope.
See what I mean?
A major factor in any plan to destroy your worst enemy is the ability to tell and retell the story in the most humorous and humiliating way possible.
I’m going to keep working on this problem because I am a responsible and mentally stable person, regardless of what Trish at the Bronx zoo thinks.
I will keep you posted on my progress.
idiotpruf 