idiotpruf

The blog that prevents scurvy…as long as you eat orange slices while you read it.

Archive for the category “funny”

Rodeo Clowns and a Pissed-Off Bull

“Is that N’ Sync I hear?”

Bulls are huge, powerfully built animals with menacing horns, devastating hooves, and an unflinching desire to be left alone.

Bull riders, by comparison, are sweaty little cowboys who feel it’s heroic to climb onto the backs of bulls, regardless of how irritating it is to the bull.

Bulls have names like Destroyer, The Widow-Maker, and The Mauler.

Bull riders have names like Bucky, Earl, and that guy who used to have testicles.

Bulls are simple animals, content to stand around and chew their cud, occasionally pausing to pee on the dirt.

Bull-riders are simple people, content to stand around and chew tobacco, occasionally pausing to pee on the dirt.

The only thing in which bulls truly revel is inflicting life-threatening injuries upon things that annoy them.

Bull-riders annoy them.

The only things that bulls hate more than bull-riders are rodeo clowns, Joy Behar, and boy bands.

Note: it should be mentioned–the entire animal kingdom hates boy bands…especially badgers.

angry badgers

We’re coming for you, Timberlake.

The sanctioned amount of time a bull-rider must stay on the bull is eight seconds. It was found to be the amount of time it takes the average person to look up, do a double take, gape momentarily, then utter the phrase: “would you look at what that idiot over there is doing.”

The bull is locked in a pen, which annoys it.

The bull-rider then climbs onto the bull’s back, which really annoys it.

The bull with the bull-rider on his back is released into an arena filled with jeering fans, which annoys it beyond belief because it hadn’t finished peeing.

The bull storms around in a state of agitation that closely resembles a blind rage as it attempts to repel the annoyance that has so rudely interrupted his peeing.

Meanwhile, the bull-rider is being thrashed about like a rag doll. (He may also be peeing a bit at this point.)

The bull swiftly dislodges the annoyance, launching him through the air. The annoyance crashes to the ground, tumbles several feet, and skids to a halt.

He displaces an impressive amount of manure-filled dirt with his face.

His teeth continue on for several more feet.

As the bull-rider staggers to his feet, dazed and unsure of what’s happening, the bull finishes peeing and then turns to face him.

The bull lowers its horns and beats its hooves at the dirt; a malevolent glint appears in its dark animal eyes.

As in any time of great crisis, men wearing make-up are called upon to save the day: the rodeo clowns are deployed.

They dance around the bull, taunting and mocking it (evidently the bull is not pissed-off enough yet) until they can lure the bull’s attention away from the bull-rider.

Sensing that their efforts are falling short, they form a line and belt out a N’sync medley.

The bull becomes so confused with rage that it charges into the stands and heads straight for Joy Behar who just happens to be in attendance.

The bull gruesomely gores Joy Behar–the crowd cheers wildly.

The bull-rider is saved; the rodeo clowns are showered with cheers and adulation. It seems that all is well until a pack of frenzied badgers pour into the arena and savagely attack the rodeo clowns.

After several moments of shrill screams and wild chittering, the badgers flee as quickly as they appeared.

The rodeo clowns lie in the dirt, bloody and defeated, their painted-on smiles betraying them.

bull

“You’re dressing oddly these days Kayne.”

Somewhere in the deep recesses of its mind, the bull feels a deep sense of satisfaction.

Love Hurts, but Not as Much as a Stab Wound

love hurts

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.

Pan Changes Instrument of Choice

pan flute

Pan in his pre-banjo days.

Arcadia, Greece–After centuries of regaling the woodland creatures of Arcadia with his famous pan flute, Pan has decided it’s time for a change. He has decided his musical growth has become stagnant and has decided to dump the flute.

“The flute wasn’t really getting it done with the nymphs anymore,” Pan explained. Pan’s new instrument of choice: the banjo.

Reaction to Pan’s sudden switch in musical instruments has been less than favorable. “Even I can’t get away fast enough when he starts banging on that thing…and I’ve got wings on my feet,” his father Hermes confided.

“He’s my son and I will always support anything he does,” his mother, a woodland nymph, told us. “But seriously, I’m about to smash that thing against a tree.”

Undaunted by the criticism, Pan plans to press forward with the banjo and tour Greece with his own bluegrass band.

hermes

Pan’s father fleeing from his banjo picking.

Eyebrows Count

big eye browsIn my last post I suggested it unwise, on a first date, to spend an inordinate amount of time bragging about how many times you’ve accidentally set yourself on fire.

Allow me to clarify: a first date isn’t the only time it’s unwise to brag about how many times you’ve accidentally set yourself on fire.

I could provide a lengthy list of times and places it’s unwise to brag about how many times you’ve accidentally set yourself on fire. Allow me to condense it to this: don’t at any time or in any setting, brag about how many times you’ve accidentally set yourself on fire.

One example: Don’t brag about how many times you’ve accidentally set yourself on fire during your job interview at the propane store…just don’t.

If you’re reading this and thinking that this is all perfectly obvious and doesn’t need to be said; I have one thought to convey to you: you don’t know the same people I know. (And count yourself lucky.)

And this includes bragging about accidentally setting other people on fire…that’s just rude.

Buildings too–structure fires are very dangerous.

One final point of clarification: bragging about how many times you’ve accidentally burned off your eyebrows counts as bragging about accidentally setting yourself on fire.

I’m tired of hearing you brag that you’ve burned off your facial hair so many times you longer have to shave.

I hope this bit of clarification has been helpful.

Addendum:

If you’re that person who is trying to start a fire and you think to yourself: two or three gallons of gasoline ought to do the trick. Just go ahead and step away.

gasoline can

At least to two or three gallons should do it.

First Impressions

pigpen peanuts charlie brown

You’re ready for that big date.

Have you ever been preparing to go on a first date and had someone give you the following advice: just be yourself?

Did that piece of advice give you the confidence you needed?

Well it shouldn’t–you’re a dreadful person.

That advice is the type of pabulum you’d get from a cheap greeting card written by a half-wit and given to you by someone who pretends to care about you, but who secretly plots your demise. (Grandma is quite devious.)

The facts:

  • You make a bad first impression.
  • You make a bad second impression.
  • You make a third impression that is shockingly worse than the first two.
  • You make a fourth impression that is better than the first three, but still lacking.
  • The fifth time people meet you they attack you with a claw hammer.
  • You smell like beets and goat urine.
  • Unsurprisingly, much of your wardrobe is stained with beet juice, goat urine, and a green goo you’ve yet to identify.
  • You pepper your speech with the phrase, “that’s what she said.”
  • You attempt to impress your date with your mastery of the Klingon language. (Even Klingon women find this unimpressive.)
  • Your ability to belch the theme to Gilligan’s Island is less of an aphrodisiac than you perceive it to be.
  • When you pee it whistles. (This probably won’t be an issue on a first date, but you should seriously have that looked into.)
  • Peppermint schnapps is not a satisfactory alternative to good oral hygiene.
  • Constantly griping about how handicapped people get all the good parking spots isn’t a good look.
  • Nobody cares about your collection of toenail clippings and they certainly don’t need to see pictures of it.
  • You spend far too much time bragging about how many times you’ve accidentally set yourself on fire.
  • Quite frankly–you’re just a dick.

So my advice to you (apart from adopting celibacy) is to be as far from yourself as you can possibly be.

If radical plastic surgery and hypnosis aides you in being as far from yourself as possible: I’m all in on that.

Good luck on that first date…hopefully you won’t get pepper-sprayed.

man pepper spray

Yeah, that’s how I thought it would go.

Woefully Inadequate Preparation

 

pythagorean theorem

Useless knowledge when you’re about to be cut.

This occurred while I was working as a quality control inspector at a steel coating plant near Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. I was sitting at my desk filling out paperwork–paperwork that I’m sure was vital to the daily functioning of the plant, and not be interrupted–when the crane operator, Jim, burst into the office.

“We have a problem,” he barked.

Jim tended to have problems more days than not. Urgent problems. Urgent problems of all varieties. (I could tell it was urgent because Jim was using his urgent voice. His urgent voice was similar to his whiny voice, but an octave higher.)

I looked around the office to discover I was the only one there. Crap.

“Houston,” I said to him.

“What?”

“When you burst into a room to exclaim that you have a problem, you’re supposed to say, ‘Houston, we have a problem.'”

“But we’re not in Houston.”

Note: nobody gets me.

“Never mind. What’s the problem?” I asked with genuinely feigned interest.

“Look at this,” he said as he shoved his phone at me. It was a picture of some temp workers standing outside on a smoke break.

“It’s a picture of some temp workers standing outside on a smoke break.” I said.

“You don’t see the problem?” He was incredulous.

“The threat of emphysema?”

“Look closer.” He shoved the phone at me again.

“Okay. They’re all smoking cigarettes, except for that little guy who seems to be holding…a crack pipe.”

“So you understand the problem now?”

“He’s not sharing with the others?”

“This is serious,” he snapped.

“Selfishness is a serious problem, Jim,” I admonished him.

“I can’t be operating a crane out there with people running around all hopped up on drugs.”

“Do people still use the phrase hopped up?”

“Are you going to do something or not?”

“Where’s Rick?” I asked. “He’s loud and obnoxious and loves to yell at people.”

Rick was the foreman, he was loud and obnoxious and loved to yell at people.

“He called off today,” Jim told me.

Note: It’s so rare that you’re in want of a person who is loud and obnoxious and loves to yell at people, but the one time you are, he’s not around. I once asked the owner why he made Rick the foreman. He told me that Rick was too stupid to do anything useful, but he was good at yelling at people, so he made him the foreman. Just another reason the Pittsburgh steel industry is thriving–in Japan.

My immediate boss was also off that day. This was horrible luck for me since I mainly dealt with readings, measurements, recording data and that type of thing. What I didn’t deal with were problems that could lead to me being stabbed in the side of head.

I approached the person in question. He was a little guy with glasses. He looked like Mr. Peabody if Mr. Peabody were a crackhead and not a cartoon dog. He was sweating profusely and his eyes were darting back and forth.

Mr. Peabody (probably not on crack)

“We won’t be needing you for the rest of the day, so you can go home now,” I told him, hoping that he would just acquiesce and leave.

“Why?” He demanded.

“We just don’t need you.”

He leaned into me, and growled in a slow deep voice, “is it because of the leprechauns?”

I gaped like an idiot.

“It’s the leprechauns isn’t it?” He persisted.

“No. It has nothing to do with the leprechauns.” I spoke slowly. “It’s more that you smoked crack on your break.” I felt at that point, honesty wasn’t going to make the situation any worse.

“Is that what the leprechauns told you?” He screamed. “The leprechauns lie!” Then he produced a razor blade from his pocket and held it to my face.

Evidently honesty could make things much worse.

He then gave me a very strange look and asked in a near whisper, “are you a leprechaun?”

You’re never really prepared for the first time someone asks you if you’re leprechaun. The public schools are woefully inadequate in such preparation. Knowing how to diagram a sentence or use the Pythagorean theorem are useless abilities when you’re about to be cut.

So I said the only thing my agile brain could produce: “I’m not even wearing green.”

Luckily for me (almost leprechaun lucky) Mr. Peabody became so fearful of leprechauns, he left on his own without incident.

But the next time someone asks me if I’m a leprechaun–I’ll be prepared.

My true identity.

Origami Chrysanthemums are Hard

condom

Just your average boring penis-shaped condom.

In my last post, Poop Flinging Monkeys and Origami Condoms, I detailed some of the bizarre spending habits of the National Institute of Health. Not the least of which was a 2.4 million dollar grant for the development of an origami condom.

The inventor of the origami condom, Daniel Resnic, claimed that his silicone-based condom was designed to increase sensation, and solve the age old problem that most condoms can’t be folded into the shape of a chrysanthemum.

Alas, Daniel Resnic has been accused of fraud, and ordered to repay the funds.

It’s been alleged that Mr. Resnic misspent millions of taxpayer dollars on trips to Costa Rica, lavish parties at the Playboy mansion, full-body plastic surgery, a condo in Provincetown, Mass., and patents for numerous “get-rich-quick” schemes.

Whether or not one of those “get-rich-quick” schemes involved convincing the National Institute of Health to give him a 2.4 million dollar grant to develop a condom that can be folded into the shape of a chrysanthemum remains undetermined.

Regarding the oddities of some of his expenditures, such as full-body plastic surgery, Mr. Resnic replied, “Do you really think you can fold your penis into the shape of a chrysanthemum without massive plastic surgery–origami chrysanthemums are hard.”

It is rumored that it was an employee of Mr. Resnic who turned over hundreds of pages of documents supporting allegations of fraud.

Note: in an unconfirmed and unsubstantiated rumor–and likely a product of my faulty imagination–it’s reported that the initial scrutiny of Mr. Resnic was brought to bear when the director of the NIH, upon using Mr. Resnic’s origami condom, was unable to unfold his penis from the shape of a chrysanthemum–origami chrysanthemums are hard.

However, Mr. Resnic claims the employee who turned over the documents, is himself guilty of misusing grant funds. He has demanded the employee, “Make restitution to my company of the stolen monies ($487,377.32) at one dollar ($1.oo) /week, by personal check, sent by U.S. mail, until the funds are recovered.”

When asked why he would choose a payment method that would take nearly 10,000 years to complete, he simply replied, “Are you kidding? That’s how long it’s going to take to get my penis untangled–origami chrysanthemums are hard.”

origami flower

Origami chrysanthemums are hard.

Lightning Strikes and Good Luck

lightningRoy Sullivan, a Virginian park ranger, had a strange ability: surviving lightning strikes. He survived seven separate lightning strikes.

  • The first lightning strike hit his leg and knocked the toenail off his big toe.
  • The second lightning strike burned off his eyebrows and knocked him unconscious.
  • The third lightning strike seared his shoulder.
  • The fourth lightning strike set his hair on fire.
  • The fifth lightning strike ripped through his hat, set his hair on fire, and knocked him from his truck wearing only one shoe.
  • The sixth lightning strike injured his ankle.
  • The seventh lightning strike left him with chest and stomach burns.

It lead to the phrase “that Roy is one unlucky bastard” to be uttered many times.

It also lead to the phrase “that Roy is one lucky bastard” to also be uttered after surviving all seven lightning strikes.

It caused countless arguments among his friends and family as to whether or not Roy was lucky or unlucky. At family events they would argue for hours, get into fist fights, and eventually dump their aunt’s potato salad over each other’s heads.

Note: and their aunt’s potato salad was delicious, not like your aunt’s potato salad which tastes like a diseased monkey peed into a bowl of death. 

The only thing they could all agree upon was to stay far away from Roy when a storm approached.

 

 

For your enjoyment: a few photos of Roy Sullivan.

Roy Sullivan and his lightning damaged hat.

 

Roy in a building.

 

Roy sitting in a tree.

 

Roy in his car.

 

Roy visiting the Statue of Liberty.

 

Roy in another tree.

 

Roy standing by some cacti.

 

Roy on the USS Truman.

 

Roy swimming in the ocean.

 

Roy and his twin brother swimming in the ocean.

 

Roy gets elected to Congress.

 

Roy at the Eiffel Tower.

 

Roy on his way home from Paris.

 

Roy at home.

 

I can Feel my Heisman Drought About to End

Manziel

They handed out one of these things to Johnny Manziel. Enough said.

As the college football season is winding down my excitement continues to grow. I find myself nearly bursting with anticipation.

This is my year–I can feel it.

I have made it abundantly clear, I deserve the Heisman Trophy.

How many times can they deny me?

How long will injustice prevail?

What do I need to do before the Downtown Athletic Club will acknowledge my achievements?

When will this trophy be mine?

As depicted by the trophy, I am still receiving the stiff arm.

Granted, I may not strictly meet the qualifications to win a Heisman Trophy.

The Heisman Trophy is awarded to: the outstanding college football player whose performance best exhibits the pursuit of excellence with integrity.

I don’t meet the definition of a student athlete in its purest form.

I don’t play college football at any level. I have never played college football at any level. I’ve never even played Madden. Nor am I currently enrolled at any university, college or trade school. Who am I kidding–I can barely read and write.

Note: I do constantly receive emails from the University of Phoenix, that has to count for something.

And I will admit, I misspelled the word Heisman the first several times I typed it (I before E my butt).

But when did the universities of our nation become so rigid in their thinking?

I am brimming with excellence and integrity.

I’ve never been accused of double homicide. That’s right, I’m looking at you 1968 Heisman Trophy winner, O. J. Simpson.

Do you think the Heisman committee is proud to have that name on their list?

They gave Reggie Bush a Heisman Trophy (2005) and then snatched it away a few years later. Where’s that Heisman Trophy now? I’ll take that one.

Note: evidently enticing a student athlete to your school by giving his mother a house with a giant pile of cash in the living room is frowned upon.

Tom Harmon was awarded the Heisman Trophy in 1940. He is considered to be one of the greatest football players in the University of Michigan’s history. He was also a war hero, having been awarded the Silver Star and Purple Heart, after his fighter plane was shot down over Japanese occupied China.

He went on to have a long and successful career as an actor and broadcaster. He is also the father of collegiate football star and popular actor Mark Harmon. Tom Harmon was a great man who lived an extraordinary life.

However, his grandchildren went on to form the musical group Nelson, that has to be a mark against him.

In 1984 Doug Flutie was given the Heisman Trophy. I’m sure he deserved the award, but he’s just so freakin’ tiny.

flutie

That photo on the front is actual size.

What’s next, are we going to give Cap’n Crunch the Heisman Trophy?

Cap'n Crunch

Evidently he played for the Naval Academy.

 

 

I’m told the leading candidate this season is Baker Mayfield.

Here’s a picture of Baker Mayfield grabbing his crotch on the sideline as a way of taunting players from The University of Kansas.

baker mayfield

I have never grabbed my crotch on national television.

Honestly, I don’t see how I can’t win.

10 Things That Should Happen in the NFL but Probably Won’t

01nfl

#10

The New England Patriots are stripped of all five Super Bowl titles after it is discovered Tom Brady is a robot.

#9

The red challenge flag is to be replaced with a confetti cannon filled with angry bees.

mike tomlin

“I wish I had a confetti canon full of angry bees.”

#8

The two-minute warning is now marked by the release of 200 frenzied honey badgers onto the field.

#7

Every team’s official mascot is a monkey in a cowboy hat on a unicycle.

#6

After years of bitter disappointment, the Cleveland Browns pack up, move to Baltimore, change their name to the Ravens, and win multiple Super Bowls. (Sorry, I’ve been told this has already happened.)

#5

A new rule that stipulates the team losing at halftime must dress as rodeo clowns for the second half.

#4

Jim Brown trades in his trademark Kufi cap for a beanie with a propeller.

Jim Brown

“Why am I in Baltimore?”

#3

Referees are replaced with blindfolded mimes.

#2

The Super Bowl halftime show: Pope Francis battles Justin Bieber in a knife fight to the death. (Neither one of them sings.)

#1

The Cleveland Browns draft a quarterback that leads the team to the Super Bowl…Hell experiences a record-breaking cold snap.

Bill win Super Bowl

“This is Jim Cantore reporting live from Hell.”

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