Tragedy struck today as three people were struck by the Pay it Forward Truck. The three victims were running to the truck to be the first one to touch it, thus earning the $300 prize. The accident happened at mile marker 35 on Interstate 90. All three victims were taken to UPMC Hamot with undisclosed […]
In a previous post I listed the name Thomas Crapper as a visionary with the likes of Henry Ford and Steve Jobs.
I know what you’re thinking: Thomas Crapper, a visionary? The toilet guy?
Yes. Thomas Crapper, the toilet guy, was a visionary. While Thomas Crapper didn’t actually invent the flush toilet, his innovations regarding plumbing, sanitary fittings, and improvement of the toilet were responsible for indoor bathrooms.
If you don’t think that’s visionary, just try to imagine the first time he discussed the possibility with his friends:
Thomas Crapper: you know how outhouses are filthy and disgusting places?
Friend #1: yes. Nasty business, outhouses.
Thomas Crapper: and you know how we put them a certain distance from our homes because of the horrible stench, not to mention the disease and the vermin?
Friend #1: I certainly do.
Friend #2: ha, vermin’s a funny-sounding word.
Thomas Crapper: I’m going to propose moving it all inside the home.
Friend #1: that’s insane.
Thomas Crapper: I’m thinking we could put it in a small room near the bedroom.
Friend #1: is all this crazy talk because we keep making fun of your surname? Because if it is we can stop.
Friend #2: ha, Crapper is a funny-sounding name; I’m not stopping.
Thomas Crapper: I’ve come up with this innovation, I’m going to call it: the floating ballcock.
Friend #2: HA! That’s a funny-sounding name–you are the gift that keeps on giving, Thomas.
Thomas Crapper: we could even put it in the same room that we bathe.
Friend #1: now you’ve gone off the deep end. Next you’ll be telling us about a machine that will allow men to fly.
Thomas Crapper: well, there are these two brothers named Wilbur and Orville, and they have an idea.
Friend #2: ha, Wilbur and Orville, those are funny-sounding names.
“I’ll bet we could put a toilet on this thing.”
Dear Disgusting Swine,
In a previous post, you detailed your disappointment in relation to the Crayola company’s decision to discontinue the Dandelion crayon in their 24-pack of crayons. It seemed your distress stemmed from the fact that you find Dandelion crayons to be the tastiest of the colors available in the Crayola 24 pack.
You disgusting swine.
Your assertion is absolutely ridiculous and the height of irresponsibility. But being a fair-minded person, I decided to eat a 24-pack of Crayola crayons before composing this letter.
It was disgusting, you pig-swine.
But just to ensure absolute certainty in my position, I ate a second 24-pack of Crayola crayons: it wasn’t as disgusting as the first 24-pack, but it wasn’t good.
As I began to write this response, I snacked on a third pack of 24 Crayola crayons. Admittedly some of the colors are growing on me: Yellow-Orange, in particular, has a refreshing citrusy tang, but Dandelion is still awful.
You filthy disgusting pig-swine.
After several days of consuming crayons, I have come to an unswayable conclusion: Dandelion is the most offensive of the colors available in the Crayola 24-pack of crayons. In fact, the only thing I’ve ever tasted worse than the Dandelion Crayola crayon is my aunt’s potato salad, and that tastes like a diseased monkey peed into a vat of battery acid and death.
In conclusion: you are ignorant filthy disgusting pig-swine. (And you probably smell like moldy pinecones.)
Best regards,
Ron Smith, Director of Erie County Health Department.
Dandelion has been retired by Crayola and is now living in Boca Raton, Florida.
An example of my capabilities.
“Do you understand?” He was gaping at me the way someone would who had just tried to explain calculus to an ape. And not one of those clever apes that knows sign language but one of those apes on the nature channel that eats its own poop.
“Seriously?” I responded.
“Yeah,” he spat the word at me in the most condescending arrogant voice he could conjure. “Did you understand what I just explained to you?”
Note: in fairness to him, the most condescending arrogant voice he could conjure was just his voice–the fact that he resembled a rat didn’t help.
Allow me to go back to the beginning and explain: I am referring to an experience I had as a temporary worker. When you’re a temporary worker, there are certain things about you that are presumed:
I was interrupted from my duties by Rat-Faced Guy, (not his actual name) who informed me that he needed my assistance.
He dragged me over to a line where juice was being packaged in small cans. As cases of these cans progressed down the line, a machine would lift every other case and then fling the cans into the air, spilling them across the floor. Evidently, that’s not how the machine was designed to operate.
Rat-Faced Guy (probably not his name) explained to me that the malfunctioning machine would be shut down, and I would step in to take its place. As the cases came down the line in pairs, it would be my job to pick up the first case of juice and place it on top of the second case of juice. Then I would have to do that again and again until the machine was operating properly again.
It was at that point that Rat-Faced Guy (potentially his actual name, when I said Rat-Faced Guy, people seem to know to whom I was referring) asked me if I understood.
“So, you’re asking me if I understand putting one thing on top of another thing?” I asked him.
“Yeah.” He looked at me with his beady eyes, his wispy mustache twitching nervously.
“What if, instead of putting the first case on top of the second, I put the second case under the first case?” I proposed.
Rat-Faced Guy (probably his actual name) looked at me incredulously. “Why would you do that?”
“I’m a visionary,” I told him. “I’m like Henry Ford, Steve Jobs, or Thomas Crapper.”
“Just do it the way I told you,” squeaked Rat-Faced Guy (almost certainly his actual name).
For the next two hours, I stood in one spot, and successfully put one thing on top of another thing.
Perhaps now they will trust me with something challenging such as putting one thing next to another thing.
The sky’s the limit–except for stacking things: two is the limit for stacking things.
Rat-faced guy having lunch.
How can drinking lead to good health? That’s a question that Peter Tompkins, MD, has an answer for. “Most drinkers are deficient in Vitamin D, which comes from sunlight,” says Dr. Tompkins. “That’s why the city of Erie’s Block Parties are good. Instead of drinking in a dark bar, you can have your booze and […]
via Thursday Block Parties a Great Way for Alcoholics to Get Sunshine, says Doctor — gooferie
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.
Stop it, or we’ll put something really nasty in your pudding.
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.
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 brood?”
“How about the nearest Bolivian pudding factory?”
“Perfect.”
Which 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.
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.
It won’t be long now.
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
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: his comments are biting.
idiotpruf 