idiotpruf

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

Archive for the category “funny”

Top Ten Ways Tom Brady has Passed the Time During his Suspension

tom brady family

Tom’s been spending a lot of time with the family lately…and with a big creepy firetruck.

As many of you are probably aware, New England Patriots’ quarterback, Tom Brady, is entering the final week of a four week suspension from the team.

The NFL imposed the suspension in an official statement that read:

As the all-powerful and omnipresent National Football League, we hereby declare that Tom Brady is a liar-liar-pants-on-fire cheater. We believe he oversaw the purposeful deflating of official game balls so they would more readily fit in his tiny little-girl hands. We also believe he occasionally taunts squirrels and steals their nuts, just for the fun of it. While squirrel taunting isn’t expressly against any NFL rules, we just think it’s creepy.

As a part of the suspension, Tom can have no contact with the team or his teammates. So he had to find ways to pass the time.

#10

Needlepoint: Tom has mastered the craft of counted thread embroidery. His home is now decorated with dozens of embroideries that bear the same quaint saying: Roger Goodell Sucks.

#9

Ancestry.com: upon studying his ancestry, Tom discovered he is descended from a famous 19th century hot-air balloonist. Tragically his ancestor perished when he attempted to make a flight with his balloon badly under-inflated.

#8

Football Accident: Tom has been dealing with the fallout after inadvertently hitting his sister, Marcia Brady, in the face with a football on the day of her big date with Doug Simpson the local football star.

football brady

Tom Brady’s sister: Marcia Brady.

#7

Giselle: he’s been spending a great deal of time hanging out with his wife, Giselle, and her friends.

Victoria's Secret

In case you were starting to feel sorry for Tom…don’t.

#6

Scrapbooking: after taking a scrapbooking course at the local learning annex, Tom compiled a complete history of the entire deflategate saga. He entitled it: Roger Goodell Sucks.

#5

Some Light Reading: Tom read The Truth about Inflation by Paul Donovan. It had absolutely nothing to do with footballs.

Tom Brady

A horribly misleading title.

#4

Some more light reading: after the bitter disappointment of The Truth about Inflation, Tom joined a book club. They were reading The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants by Ann Brashares. He found it to be heartwarming, and lamented that he and Rob Gronkowski can never find a pair a jeans that perfectly fits them both.

Note: Tom also read a biography of Roger Goodell–it sucked.

#3

Part-Time Job: Tom took a part-time job at a local service station checking tire pressure. He was let go for obvious reasons.

#2

Frivolous Lawsuit: Tom has filed a ridiculous and petty lawsuit against a small-time blogger who may have or may not have implied that Tom occasionally taunts squirrels and steals their nuts.

#1

Viagra Spokesman:

brady

“When that special moment starts to happen, is your “game ball” under-inflated?”

What’s Wrong With Me?

feeling ill I’m not feeling right.

Something is a bit off.

I seem to be suffering from some mysterious medical condition.

The symptoms are myriad:

  • Nausea.
  • Runny nose.
  • Headaches in my stomach.
  • Stomach aches in my head.
  • Squirrels steal my mail and replace it with half eaten nuts.
  • Everything smells like fear.
  • Everything tastes like pine cones.
  • Pine cones taste like pickled beets (but they smell like fear).
  • The sound of Justin Bieber’s voice makes me weep uncontrollably.
  • I have a rash on my butt in the shape of Piers Morgan’s face.
  • I have a rash on my face in the shape of Piers Morgan’s butt.
  • My left eyeball pops out of its socket at really inconvenient times.
  • Itchy scalp.
  • Dizziness.
  • Chills.
  • Tremors.
  • Tremors 2.
  • Any movie involving giant mutant worms.
  • Sleeplessness.
  • Sleeplessness from incontinence.
  • Sleeplessness from continents, especially Europe.
  • Sleeplessness because Elvis’ ghost visits me nightly and gripes endlessly about how Mary Tyler Moore Hogged all the screen time in Change of Habit.
  • The compulsion to make ridiculous lists.
  • Paranoia.

In my quest for answers I’ve read several books authored by a world renown doctor.

Unfortunately, upon reading these books, I’ve discovered them to be no help at all. Not only did these books not reveal any insights regarding my condition, I now have an incredible craving for green eggs and ham, and an intense desire to write in poetic meter.

This is bad.

It’s very bad–So very bad, you see.

“Egad it’s so very bad,” I said to me.

It’s sad when things are bad,

would you not agree?

I would be so glad to not be sad.

I’d be a happy lad, so full of glee,

and live so happily.

Do you see how infuriating that is?

After doing some follow-up research, I’ve found the author of these books, Theodore Seuss Geisel, to be a complete fraud, and not a medical professional of any kind.

Note: in another shocking turn of events, I’ve discovered the renowned author and child care expert, Dr. Spock, wasn’t really a Vulcan. When will the misinformation and subterfuge end?

doctor spock vulcan

Dr. Spock was born in New Haven, Connecticut. Frankly, that’s not even close to Vulcan.


But this spurred an epiphany: my condition has been caused by stress and anxiety; the stress and anxiety that results from living a lie.

A horrible lie.

A horrible horrible lie.

Horrible!

I have written in the past about a certain tattoo. A tattoo on my left butt cheek. A tattoo of Winnie the Pooh with his head stuck in a honey pot. I’ve referenced it often.

It’s a lie.

I haven’t any tattoos of lovable cartoons charters on or around my buttocks.

I apologize to anyone my lies may have hurt.

I apologize to A. A. Milne.

I feel so ashamed.

Hopefully now that the truth is out, the healing can begin.

Thank you for your patience.

ADDENDUM:

Sometimes when Elvis’ ghost visits me, he brings me peanut butter and banana sandwiches. They taste like pine cones and they smell like fear.

horton hears a who

Horton can hear a Who, but he can’t help you diagnose the cause of your explosive diarrhea.

Errant Cannon Fire from Niagara Deflates World’s Largest Rubber Duck

I am overjoyed at how many people thought this really happened.

Staff Reporter's avatargooferie

frdTragedy struck at Erie’s Tall Ships Festival this morning when a cannon from the Niagara misfired and shot a cannonball into the world’s largest rubber duck, deflating it within minutes.

Witnesses say the giant duck was floating about 30 yards from the Niagara when the shot was fired. “It’s a shame,” said festival patron Ernie, no last name given. “I’m awfully fond of that rubber ducky.”

Repairs are already underway as workers have gathered over 100 rolls of duck tape to patch up the hole.

The owners of the duck, Big Duck LLC, plan on sending the bill to the Niagara League. They will also submit an invoice for damages.

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The Great Mushroom Fiasco

 

Seemingly innocent fungus.

Seemingly innocent fungus.

There are those rare events in human history so extraordinary, they must be recorded for future generations.

Stories that must be told and retold.

Sometimes exaggerated, but mostly not.

The Great Mushroom Fiasco was such an event.

Brenda: Would you like to try some of the pasta sauce I just made?

Dan (with uncertainty): I don’t know.

Kirby (with certainty): Absolutely not.

Brenda (taken aback): Why not?

Kirby: Really?

Dan: Sometimes your culinary creations (pausing to select his words judicially) don’t turn out quite right.

Kirby: The phrase “catastrophic failures” springs to mind.

Brenda: Maybe I’ve had a few minor set-backs.

Kirby: You’ve had minor set-backs, the way the maiden voyage of the Titanic was a minor set-back.

Brenda: Yes, I’ve had a few little accidents.

Kirby: You’ve had a few little accidents, the way Chernobyl was a little accident.

Brenda: Not all the things I make turn out badly.

Kirby: Not all of the Hindenburg’s flights turned out badly, but when things do go wrong–oh the humanity.

Brenda: Now you’re just being ridiculous.

Kirby: Remember the time you boiled eggs and forgot to put the water in?

Brenda: (Silence)

Kirby: The eggs exploded all over the kitchen, and set off all the smoke alarms.

Brenda (grudgingly): I remember.

Kirby: You can’t boil things without the water; it’s the water that actually does the boiling.

Brenda: I understand how things boil.

Kirby: The evidence would suggest otherwise.

Dan (remembering): There were bits of egg on the ceiling.

Kirby: Do you recall the time you made the lasagna and forgot the noodles?

Brenda (defensively): It happens to people.

Kirby: But it doesn’t happen to people. The process of making a lasagna, requires that you construct it in layers, several of which are noodles.

Brenda: I know how to make a lasagna.

Kirby: Again, the evidence would suggest otherwise.

Dan (sighing): It was just a big pan of meat sauce and cheese.

Brenda: (glaring at Dan with disapproval.)

Kirby: Or the time you made potato salad and it made everyone’s tongue itch. I didn’t even know that was a thing that could happen.

Dan: The potato salad was weird.

Brenda: I don’t know why that happened.

Dan: What about the brownies? (Dan excitedly jumps into the fun.)

Kirby: That’s right. You made brownies and they fused to the pan. You broke a spatula and bent several forks before you finally threw the entire thing into the backyard.

Dan: Don’t forget, she also beat on it with a meat tenderizer.

Kirby (laughing): Yes she did. Even the raccoons wouldn’t touch those brownies.

Dan: Those brownies were like carbon steel; you could’ve patched asphalt…

Brenda (interrupting Dan): Enough! Are you going to try some or not?

Kirby: No.

Brenda: And what about you? (looking at Dan in a manner that indicated that he didn’t have a choice.)

Dan: Yes please.

Kirby: And that’s why I don’t have a girlfriend.

Brenda: I’m sure the reasons you don’t have a girlfriend are numerous.

Kirby: That hurts a little.

Brenda (turning to Dan): I promise you’re going to like this.

(Brenda serves up the pasta with a healthy helping of sauce. Dan spears some with his fork and carefully studies it.)

Kirby: It’s like taking off a bandage: you have to just go for it.

(Dan pokes the morsel into his mouth, chewing cautiously at first. A look of surprise spreads over his face as his chewing gains momentum.)

Dan: This is really good.

Brenda (addressing Kirby): See. Would you like to try some now?

Kirby: No thanks. I’ll just stand here and wait for the other shoe.

Brenda: What other shoe?

Kirby: The one that’s certain to drop.

Dan (innocently): What kind of mushrooms are these?

Brenda: They’re wild mushrooms. I know how much you like wild mushrooms; when I saw them, I immediately thought of you.

Dan (slight concern): I didn’t know you knew anything about wild mushrooms.

Brenda: Oh, I don’t know anything about wild mushrooms.

Dan (more than slight concern): Then…how did you know that these mushrooms weren’t poisonous?

Brenda: Because they were growing in a field.

Dan (very concerned): So?

Brenda: Mushrooms that grow in a field are never poisonous…right?

Dan (sarcastically): Absolutely you’re right. And if you find mushrooms in a field, and a crow flies overhead at noon and caws three times, the mushrooms aren’t poisonous either.

Brenda: Really?

Dan: No you idiot! There are a lot of poisonous mushrooms that grow in fields.

Kirby: And there it is.

Brenda: There’s what?!

Kirby: The other shoe clunking to the floor.

Dan (ignoring Kirby): Where exactly did you find them growing.

Brenda: In a pasture on a…

Dan: On a what?

Brenda: On a big pile of cow poop.

Kirby: That is fantastic.

Dan: That is not fantastic. In fact, it’s not good at all. What did they look like?

Brenda: I don’t know, I’m not a mushroom expert.

Dan: And that is why you don’t go around all willy-nilly, picking wild mushrooms and dumping them into pasta sauce.

Brenda: But you use wild mushrooms all the time.

Dan: I AM AN EXPERT! Now what did they look like?

Brenda (flustered): I don’t know, Dan. I guess they looked like tiny penises.

Kirby: May I point out something very important?

Dan (impatiently): What?

Kirby: The alarming frequency with which your name seem to crop up in the midst of the words tiny and penis.

Dan: No it doesn’t.

Kirby: It just did twice. In fact, Brenda said she immediately thought of you when she saw the tiny penis-shaped mushrooms?

Brenda: Because he likes wild mushrooms.

Dan: Yeah. Because I like wild mushrooms.

Kirby: I’m just saying it’s a little peculiar.

Brenda: You’re not being helpful.

Kirby: It wasn’t my intention to be helpful. It seldom ever is.

Brenda: Then try to be helpful.

Kirby: Okay. Dan, have you given any thought to what you’d like on your gravestone?

Brenda: Really? That’s you being helpful?

Kirby: How is that not being helpful?

Brenda (turning back to Dan): You could have your stomach pumped.

Kirby: Ooh. Having your stomach pumped is really unpleasant.

Brenda: And how do you know That?

Kirby: It has to be.

Brenda: Have you ever had your stomach pumped?

Kirby: No.

Brenda: How can you say that something is unpleasant, if it’s never happened to you?

Kirby: I’ve never been hit in the face with a brick, but I can say with a relative degree of certainty, that the experience would not be pleasant.

Dan (agitated): Is having your stomach pumped more unpleasant than dying? Is it? Is it more unpleasant that dying?

Kirby: Calm down, you don’t need to have your stomach pumped. All you have to do is make yourself throw-up.

Dan: That’s a good idea.

Kirby (turning to Brenda): See. Helpful.

Brenda: You think you know everything.

Kirby: I know not to eat penis shaped poop mushrooms. (Quickly changing gears.) You know, you could wind-up in the Weird Stories section of the Sunday paper: Person Poisoned By Penis Shaped Poop Mushrooms. It has built-in alliteration.

Brenda: That isn’t funny.

Kirby: Not for you.

Brenda (dialing her phone): I’m going to call my friend Linda, she’s a nurse, she’ll know what to do. (Talking into her phone.) Linda. It’s Brenda. I think I just poisoned Dan. (Indistinct chatter from the phone.) No. Not on purpose. (More indistinct chatter.) I made pasta sauce with wild mushrooms (More chatter.) No. I didn’t forget the pasta again. (A lot of chatter.) It does happen to people. (Even more chatter.) They looked liked tiny penises. (laughter followed by indistinct chatter) His name does not crop up around the words tiny and penis all the time. (Chatter.) Well, after he ate it, he went to the bathroom to throw-up. (More laughter followed by more chatter.) What do mean, more than usual? (Final chatter.) Okay. Bye.

(Sounds of vomiting emanating from the bathroom.)

Brenda: She said if he throws-up he’ll be fine.

Kirby: Physically maybe, but the psychological scars: they’re going to linger.

(Dan emerges from the bathroom, covered in sweat, eyes bloodshot, and face ashen.)

Dan (hoarsely): It’s done. I need a drink to get this taste out of my mouth.

(Dan walks to the refrigerator, opens the door, pulls something out, and stares at it in silence for a moment.)

Dan (puzzled): What’s this?

Kirby: Wow. That appears to be to be a bowl full of tiny penis shaped mushrooms.

(Dan and Kirby look at Brenda for an explanation.)

Brenda (confused): I guess I didn’t use those after-all. I must have used regular mushrooms. That’s good news right?

Dan (agitated): It’s just freaking fantastic.

Kirby: This is like the gift that just keeps on giving.

Brenda: This better not wind-up in some blog post that makes me look like an idiot.

Kirby: Don’t worry–that would never happen.

A must for Brenda's kitchen.

A must for Brenda’s kitchen.

My Rejection Letter From Happy Fun Time Children’s Stories.

This was one of my first posts, and it’s still one of the most popular. Go figure.

Dear Mr. Idiotprufs,

Here at Happy Fun Time Children’s Stories, we gain no greater satisfaction than when we create new and fresh children’s literature. So, believe me when I express to you, we empathize with and appreciate your desire to write children’s stories. That being said, please stop it.

We believe that your talents lie in a genre away from children’s literature, very far away from children’s literature.

Take for example the first story you sent us, Little Timmy’s First Kite and the High Voltage Power Lines. A little boy’s first kite is a good idea for a children’s story. A little boy’s first experience with radical skin grafting: not so much.

Similarly, your story, The Poorly Constructed and Precariously High Treehouse, starts out with a treehouse–a good subject for a children’s story. It ends with a full body cast, and an addiction to painkillers–a bad subject for a children’s story.

And for the love of all that is good and merciful, please stop sending us stories that involve diseased chimpanzees.

For your reference, here is a list of topics unsuitable for children’s stories:

  • A diseased chimp that has escaped from the zoo.
  • A diseased chimp that has escaped from the circus.
  • A diseased chimp that has escaped from a research lab.
  • A diseased chimp that has escaped from a secret underground facility run by evil albino Nazis.
  • A diseased chimp that has escaped from a secret underground facility under Bill Gates home.
  • A diseased chimp that has escaped from a secret underground facility run by evil albino Nazis, under Bill Gates home.
  • A diseased chimp that has escaped from Martha Stewart’s house. (If Miss Stewart were to ever have a chimp, we are certain it would not be diseased.)
  • A diseased chimp that has escaped from a one-eyed organ grinder.
  • A one-eyed organ grinder.
  • A diseased chimp with intestinal parasites.
  • Intestinal parasites.
  • Parasites of any kind. (Tapeworms are not lovable and are seldom named Henry.)
  • Virtually any idea that has ever manifested in your head.

In regard to your proposal for a series of books based on the ghost of a mischievous monkey that haunts children who won’t eat their vegetables: it’s not a good idea. That doesn’t even take into consideration the certain legal difficulties that would arise from your main character: Mysterious George.

We hope that you will heed our advice and take to heart the following suggestions:

  1. Seek professional help.
  2. Whatever medications that are certain to be prescribed, take them.
  3. Stay as far away from children’s literature as you possibly can.

Sincerely,

Happy Fun Time Children’s Stories

P.S. In retrospect, stay as far away from actual children as possible.

treehouse

How could a story about this not be great?

  

Fat Hairy Hillbillies: Even More Weird Search Terms

search, idiotprufsIt’s time for another edition of weird search terms.

As always, these are all search terms exactly as they appear on my stats page.

fat hairy hillbillies   I’m just relieved the word nude wasn’t included in this search term.

gator boots for job interviews  The reason I didn’t get that job with PETA–and why I got banned from their building.

confused idiot  I wasn’t confused, the gator boots were a fashion choice.

interview idiots job  I didn’t get the job, you don’t have to rub it in.

high ronald mcdonald  Why I was fired from McDonalds.

what happens when rats eat mcdonalds  Those rats were real? I thought it was a hallucination.

chigger bites on testicles embarrassing story  Is it embarrassing for you, or for the chigger?

how to clean and stretch a raccoon  Finally someone is addressing this?

very very surprised animal  I’ll bet it was.

hatred of racoons  Maybe if you stopped stretching them, your relations with them would improve.

kissing hand raccoon coloring page  Rabies shots are fun for kids.

saw amish guy buying whole dead racoons  So much for raccoon Glasnost, who would do such a thing?

amish mafia  Enough said.

lyrics beer forklift  The worst polka song ever.

don gay bullridieng with band the rodeo clown  The worst country song ever.

stressed out stick people  You’d be stressed out too, if you had no discernible genitals

the little mermaid is a idiot  That should read: an idiot. Who’s the idiot now?

Bigfoot’s an idiot  Do you only pick on mythological creatures?

Justin Beiber does idiotic things  Still mythological.

tatoo idiocy  Seriously, he lived on Fantasy Island, why didn’t he just ask to be taller?

Tattoo from Fantasy Island

Come on Mr. Roarke, do a guy a favor.

punch an idiot in the face day  This isn’t a real thing, but it really ought to be.

throwing shit on a idiot  Now that’s going too far.

my idiot neighbor  But maybe not.

idiot names for garden gnomes  Now you have me convinced.

klingon word for sorry  There is no Klingon word for sorry, but there are 58 ways to say: still a virgin.

idiot klingon  I would say I’m sorry, but there’s no word for it.

hiccup erection It’s the last time I take Viagra to get rid of hiccups.

penis hysterical  It is a little funny.

can your esophagus explode  I wouldn’t have thought so, but then again I didn’t know anything about the hiccup erections either.

kermit the frog lady gaga  Hollywood’s new power couple.

lady gaga’s costume designer  Disapproves of her relationship with Kermit.

lady gaga, kermit the frog

Hi-Ho, I’m Kermit The Frog–help me please!

vegans won’t leave me alone  It is your bane, Mr. Potato Head.

Kim Goodman  No joke here, just a chance to show this freaky picture again.

kimberly goodman

Kimberly Goodman is in the Guinness Book of World Records for…whatever the hell this is.

Kimberly goodman guidance counselor  Would you take her career advice?

sent to the high school guidance counselor for disturbing thoughts  Unfortunately the guidance counselor was fresh out of disturbing thoughts.

nail penetration into the testicles  There you go. (Aren’t you glad I don’t have an image for this?)

she super glued breast on me  I don’t know how I would react to seeing that.

long hard stare  That would probably be it.

disturbing question  Such as?

do they use cow poop when making limburger cheese  Why would you ask that?

my wifes feet smell like limburger cheese  Oh.

why cheese makes me immediately vomit  It’s probably that thing with your wife’s feet. Just try to hold it in.

bald guy vomiting cheese  Too late.

can i borrowa cup of cocaine?”-y  It seems like you’ve already had enough.

mice butterworth  A favorite pancake topping of cats everywhere.

felt french fries  A favorite appetizer of Muppets everywhere.

tye domi  Tie Domi will beat the crap out of you for misspelling his name.

tie domi

“It’s three freaking letters.”

personal check grim reaper  How inconvenient is it when the Grim Reaper only takes cash?

where do you place the key in the ignition for John  Shouldn’t John know? What’s the word for a question like this?

the word stupid  There it is.

http://www.Dailymail.uk.co  My blog is very similar to the Daily Mail, of course I don’t have any photos of Rihanna’s nude butt or Kate Upton topless. I’m starting to see why my blog isn’t more popular.

French Fxxxxxx Idiot  How did you know I was French?

Humor blog WordPress  At least Google gets me.

5 things the mayans got wrong 

  1. The world will end in 2012.
  2. A movie will be made about 2012 starring a man named John Cusack; it will considered a cinematic masterpiece.
  3. A man named Albert Einstein will invent the ShamWow and become filthy rich.
  4. Man will find irrefutable evidence of Bigfoot.
  5. These Spanish conquistadors seem nice; nothing bad could possible result from our relationship with them.

current news on bigfoot 2014  The Mayans were wrong.

boy riding a unicorn  My next tattoo.

something disturbing on my penis  I didn’t say where that tattoo was going to be.

happy face idiot  My new Facebook status.

big stupid smiley face  Scratch that, this is my new Facebook status.

top 1 the most sexyman intheworld  This is my new Facebook status.

Sham Wow

The Mayans often referred to Albert Einstein as Chief.

 

 

 

Punch an Idiot in the Face Day

jack elam you sure ask a lot of questions
happy face idiot
wifes feet dont smell enough
cartoon scientists pictures
punch an idiot in the face day
bug eyed cartoon characters
job interview with gator boots
school counselors dumb
my idiot neighbor

Several random thoughts immediately leapt into my brain after this cluster of search terms appeared on my stats page.

Note: there’s a lot of room in my brain for random thoughts to leap, stretch out, or do an entire gymnastic floor routine; it’s pretty vacant up there.

Thoughts such as:

  • What kind of questions does Jack Elam ask, and why are there so many of them?
  • How badly do your wife’s feet have to smell for it to be enough?
  • How do you know my neighbor, and how do you know he has a happy face?
  • Would I look good in gator boots?
  • Wow, this blog certainly attracts some weirdos (but not you).
  • Punch and idiot in the face day? Is that a real thing?

After doing an extensive amount of research (Google) I discovered “punch an idiot in the face day” isn’t a real thing.

Bitter disappointment.

Then I had another thought: just because something isn’t a real thing, doesn’t mean it can’t be.

So after once again doing an extensive amount of research (Wikipedia) into the process of initiating a ballot measure in the great Commonwealth of Pennsylvania, I came to a conclusion: it’s a lot more work than I am willing to do.

Just a few of the things required:

  • A petition containing signatures equal to 10% of the last local general election vote for governor. (Governor? I thought Pennsylvania had a potentate.)
  • These signatures must be real people and not characters from Warner Brothers cartoons.
  • If your real name happens to be Elmer Fudd, there is an enormous amount of extra paperwork involved.
  • If your real name happens to be Elmer Fudd, your parents are dicks.
  • None of the signatures can be from dead people; this is not Illinois.
  • Petitions must be submitted by the 13th Tuesday before the election. Petitions may be circulated for (at most) 7 weeks, and circulation may not begin before the 20th Tuesday prior to the election. Initiated measures may be submitted at primary, municipal, or general elections…and must be written in yaks blood.
  • You must understand the previous requirement and be able to cite it verbatim while juggling running chain saws.
  • Election officials must submit successful initiatives to voters at the next primary, general, or municipal election occurring not sooner than the 13th Tuesday after the initiative was filed.
  • The successful initiatives mentioned in the previous requirement, must be submitted in triplicate with the third set written entirely in Egyptian hieroglyphics.
  • Every fifth word of every document must be written in a silly font.
  • Pointing out to any official, that the previous two requirements contradict each other, will result in the immediate disqualification of your ballot initiative. You will also be slapped in the face and poked in the eyes, Three Stooges style.
  • The Pennsylvania election code requires you to obtain the following items: holy water, a cross, a wooden stake and a clove of  garlic. (Sorry, that’s the Transylvania election code.)
  • You must be able to find Harrisburg on a map of Pennsylvania.
  • You must be able to find Pennsylvania on a map of the United States.
  • You must be able to find Pennsylvania Avenue on a Monopoly Board.
  • If you roll doubles three times in a row, you have to go to jail.
  • You must purchase a lot of maps and board games.
  • Petition circulators must attest to the validity of petition signatures in a notarized affidavit.
  • You have to know what an affidavit is.
  • In some instances, you may have to sacrifice a small animal under a full moon.
  • You must be able to say name of, Intercourse Pennsylvania, without giggling.
  • You absolutely must be able to deal with bureaucrats without flipping out and stabbing someone in the face with a bayonet.

See what I mean, and this is just the first page.

Then I had another thought (I’ve been on fire with thoughts lately) I need to think like a politician: I just need to convince a bunch of willing dupes to pursue my vision, let them do all the work, then take all the credit when the initiative passes.

Brilliant.

I will keep you updated.

jack elam at idiotprufs

“Hello, I’m Jack Elam and every day is punch an idiot in the face day for me, idiot.”

Addendum:

I’ll bet you thought I was going to mention Justin Bieber somewhere in this post.

Well you were wrong…apart from this bit.

 

Does a Bee Sting in the Penis Hurt?

bee sting

“You want me to sting you where now?”

A million-dollar National Science Foundation grant was given to Cornell University so a researcher could force bees to sting him on his penis to find out how much it hurts.

Let that sink in.

The idea was inspired by an unfortunate situation when a honeybee flew up Michael Smith’s shorts and stung him. “I was really surprised that it didn’t hurt as much as I thought it would,” he said. The experience got him thinking: where is the most painful place on the body to get stung by a bee?

Oddly, it didn’t get him thinking about his choice of shorts when bike riding or his strange proclivity for rubbing flower pollen on his inner thighs before he goes bike riding.

Note: the bee found the whole experience to be horrifying. “I was just buzzing along, very busy as we’re known to be when suddenly I was all up in this dude’s junk,” the bee said.  

With the financial support from a National Science Foundation’s grant to Cornell University, Smith forced honeybees to sting more than 25 locations on his body from the face to the genitals. He then rated the pain caused by each of the stings on a scale of “Ouch” to “Holy Crap, What Have I Done.

To compel a bee to sting, it was grabbed by the wings and pressed against the desired sting location.

Note: the million-dollar research grant pales in comparison to the multi-million-dollar lawsuit filed by the bees who were “compelled” to sting Michael Smith in the penis.   

The least painful locations to be stung by a bee for Michael Smith were the skull, middle toe tip, upper arm, and in the face of some guy who happened to walk into the room at the wrong time.

The most painful places to be stung for Michael Smith were the nostril, upper lip, and the genitals.

Note: shockingly, being stung in the genitals does hurt.

Also painful for Michael Smith was the broken nose that resulted when the guy who got stung when he happened to walk into the room at the wrong time punched him in the face.

Michael originally had his eyeball on the list of body parts to be stung but was talked out of it by his advisor, Tom Seeley.

Note: I think it’s safe to say that, despite the advice about the eyeball, as an advisor, Tom Seeley failed Michael Smith miserably.  

Michael concedes this study is limited by its low sample size: one person, himself.

“It is possible that if other people were tested, they would not rank the painfulness of the stings in the same way or perceive pain similarly by location. It is also possible a female researcher may rate being stung in the genitals very differently,” Michael stated.

His attempts to find a female test subject ended after the fifth time he was pepper-sprayed.

In case you’re wondering, these methods do not conflict with the Helsinki Declaration, a set of ethical principles for research involving human subjects developed by the World Medical Association.

In an “unrelated” experiment, researchers from Brown University set out to see if they could convince some moron from Cornell to compel bees to repeatedly sting him in the penis.

Helsinki is looking into it.

Addendum: the assertion that Michael Smith rubs flower pollen on his inner thighs before he goes bike riding is purely speculation on my part…but he probably does.

bee sting penis

I think I see where Michael Smith went wrong.

Me and the Map Idiot

This shouldn't be hard to read.

This shouldn’t be hard to read.

It happened many years ago on the mean streets of Buffalo, NY.

We were on our way to the Federal Building, mired in rush hour traffic, to pick-up my roommate Al. He had enlisted in the Army Reserves, but at the last minute, decided that he didn’t want to go. He came up with a “brilliant plan” to get out of it. The plan must have worked because the day he was scheduled to ship out for basic training, I received a phone call to retrieve him.

I took my friend Joe with me to navigate. Not my best move.

Me: Do you see where we are on the the map?

Joe: Yeah, I’ve got it.

Me: Do you see where the Federal Building is on the map?

Joe: I’ve got my finger on it.

Me: Okay, how do I get here from there?

Joe: I don’t know.

Me: What? Why not?

Joe: Just give me a minute to figure it out.

Me: What is there to figure out? You just follow the little lines from one spot to the other.

Joe: It’s not that easy; it’s like a ninety degree angle.

Me: So?

Joe: Wait, now I can’t find the Federal Building. It disappeared.

Me: Pick your finger up.

Joe: Oh yeah, there it is.

Me: (waiting impatiently) You need to give me some form of instruction.

Joe: Take the next right.

Me: Right here?

Joe: Right here.

Me: Are you sure, this doesn’t look like a proper street.

Joe: Yes. Turn before we miss it!

I turned onto the weird little street per Joe’s instruction. It wasn’t a proper street.

Me: What kind of street is this? It’s barely wide enough for one car.

Joe: I don’t know. It’s just a really narrow street, with big weird curbs and a bunch of wires overhead.

Me: What are those wires for… holy crap, we’re on the Metro Rail line! We have to get off this.

I immediately hit the brakes and threw the car into reverse. As I turned the wheel attempting to back around, the rear wheels bumped up against the curb. Then I pulled forward and the front wheels bumped up against the other curb. I repeated this process several times until I had successfully wedged the car between the curbs on either side of the pathway. We couldn’t go forward. We couldn’t go backward. We were stuck.

Me: You’re gonna have to get out and push.

Joe: I don’t want to do that, there’s a bunch of people watching.

Me: Of course they’re watching; they’re waiting for the Metro Rail to come around the corner and smash the idiots into tiny pieces.

Conveniante mass transit to most. Impending doom to us.

Convenient mass transit to most. Impending doom to us.

Joe grudgingly got out and pushed. People watched.

As we attempted to extricate ourselves from the path of the Metro Rail, that was certain to come barreling around the corner at any moment and annihilate us, people were pointing and laughing at idiocy they were witnessing. After several attempts, we freed ourselves, bounding up over the curb with a thud. I pulled back onto the pathway heading in the opposite direction. Joe got back into the car and sat sheepishly. It was all very humiliating.

Joe: A homeless guy laughed at me.

Me: That’s rough for you.

Joe: He asked me if I was born this stupid.

Me: Perhaps he’s seen you read a map.

Joe: We were at a ninety degree angle.

Me: Okay Pythagoras.

Joe: Are we going to tell Al we got his car stuck on the Metro Rail track?

Me: We are not.

We pulled out of the Metro Rail pathway and back into normal traffic, and all was well…except for Buffalo PD patrol car that happened to be passing by at that moment. The officer did a double-take that would have made James Finlayson* proud, brought his vehicle to a screeching halt and poked his muscle-bound head out the patrol car window. And yes, he had a muscle-bound head.

*What? You don't know James Finklayson. He was an old-timey actor famous for his double takes.

*What? You don’t know James Finlayson. He was an old-timey actor famous for his double-takes.

Police Officer: Pull over.

We pulled over. He stormed up to our car with a scowl, and a definite sense of purpose. I began to explain to him what had happened, but before I could get the first word out, he interrupted me.

Police Officer: Do you even have a driver’s license?

Me: Yes sir, I have all my information right here.

He snatched the information from my hand as he glared at me. I could see myself cowering beneath him in his mirrored sunglasses.

Police Officer: That’s not a street.

Me: I know.

Police Officer: You know? The fact that you were driving on it would suggest otherwise. Why would you be doing that?

Me: (nodding toward Joe) Well, he was reading the map and giving me directions, and he said to turn there.

Police Officer: Did he really? You over there, Map Idiot, did you tell him to drive down the Metro Rail track?

Joe: We’re just trying to get to the Federal Building.

Police Officer (refocusing on me): Do you just go wherever Map Idiot tells you to go? If Map Idiot tells you to drive head-on into the Metro Rail, is that what you do? You’re not going to make it to the Federal Building if you’re dead.

Me: I’m sorry officer, normally I’m an excellent driver, (I had just seen Rain Man) but I’m from a small town, and I’m not used to driving in the big city.

I wish I could tell you that’s not what I said, but it’s exactly what I said. That’s right, I’m a rube. But it worked, the officer chuckled a little and immediately softened. He gave us instructions to the Federal building, told us to be careful, and sent us on our way. We safely reached the Federal Building where we found Al waiting for us.

Me: So you got out of it?

Al: Yes.

Me: What did you tell them?

Al: Something.

Me: Like what?

Al: Just something. I don’t want to talk about it.

Me: Okay.

Al: So, did you have any trouble getting here?

Me: Nope.

Joe: The police officer didn’t even give us a ticket.

Al: Why would you get a ticket?

Me: No reason. I don’t want to talk about it.

It was a quiet ride home.

What the map of Buffalo evidently looked like to the Map Idiot.

What the map of Buffalo evidently looked like to the Map Idiot.

Gerald the Neighbor Kid

You're stupid and you don't know anything.

You’re stupid and you don’t know anything.

“Hey Neighbor.” The voice penetrates your eardrum like a knitting needle. “Watcha doin’?”

It’s a voice that sends chills down your spine. Chills that reach the bottom of your spine, make a quick U-turn and travel back up your spine, then back down again, just to ensure that they’ve done the job properly.

“Gerald…you’re here.” You stop what you’re doing and stand motionless. “Are you here to pee on my garden some more?”

“I’ve told you I’m not the one doing that,” he claims.

You turn slowly to find Gerald standing before you, soaking wet, finger in his ear trying to remove some stubborn water.

“I don’t know who you thought that moat was going to keep out,” he says to you.

“I don’t know, Gerald. I had a few thoughts,” you say in exasperation. “So, learned how to swim did you?”

“I’ve been taking lessons.”

“That’s great.”

“And those piranha you put in the moat: they don’t do any good either,” he informs you.

“Obviously not, I don’t see a single tooth mark.”

“All you have to do is throw some steaks into the other side of the moat, it completely distracts them.”

“I should have gone with the electric eels.”

“You see,” Gerald continues, ignoring your electric eel comment as he works the water from his other ear. “piranha are really more scavengers than hunters. I guess that you didn’t know that.”

“I guess I didn’t,” you agree.

“You don’t know lots of things,” he tells you. “Would you like to know something else that you don’t know?”

You feel compelled to hear what Gerald has to say next, even though you know that it will make you want to knock the freckles from his ruddy little cheeks.

Note: under no circumstance would you ever strike or do harm to child in any way–that’s what the piranha were for.  You’re just kidding–mostly.

“Just what is it that I don’t know, Gerald?”

“Well,” he says, wiping his nose on his sleeve, “that cement barrier you built around your house is useless too.”

“Well that’s apparent.”

“All I needed to get past that, was a ladder and a blanket to throw over the razor-wire.”

“It was that easy for you was it?”

“Yeah. I don’t know where you’re getting your ideas on how to keep people out, but you’re not being very smart about it,” he admonishes you.

“What would you suggest I do, Gerald.”

“An electrified fence would be far more effective, I suppose.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” A tiny flame of hope flickers in your mind.

“But there are ways around that too,” he tells you, quickly dousing your tiny flame. “And that Beware of Bigfoot sign that you put up, wasn’t fooling anyone.”

“Do you mean, apart from the twenty or so Bigfoot hunters that camped out on your fathers front lawn, convinced that they had found irrefutable proof that Bigfoot exists?” You challenge Gerald’s assessment.

“That really ticked off my dad.”

You chuckle to yourself. “I know it did.”

“He says you’re a bad neighbor,” Gerald informs you.

“Does he?”

“And he uses bad words when he says it.”

“Does he really?” You feel a weird sense of satisfaction.

“Did you know that one of those Bigfoot hunters smashed my dad’s mooning garden gnome with a shovel?”

“Yes.” Your spine stiffens slightly. “It was definitely the Bigfoot hunters that did that.”

“Anyway, do have anything to eat; all of that swimming and climbing made me hungry.” Gerald was hungry most of the time.

“I could make you a peanut butter and jelly sandwich,” you offer.

“How many times do I have to tell you this: I’m allergic to peanuts?”

“I can’t image how I could have forgotten that.”

“You can’t remember anything,” he scolds, “you’re always offering things that have peanuts in them.”

“Forgetfulness is my curse…among other things.”

“You should write this down so you don’t forget.” Gerald instructs. “I’m allergic to peanuts, shellfish, cats, pomegranites, bees…”

“Gerald!” Gerald’s list is interrupted by the sound of his father screaming over your barriers. “What did you do with my steaks?!”

“Uh oh. I think I have to go now. I’ll be back later to tell you some more things that you don’t know,” he assures you as he turns to leave.

“I’ll be eagerly waiting,” you tell him as he leaves.

You stand there for a moment in silent contemplation.

“Allergic to bees are you?” You say to yourself in what could be described as an ominous and sinister tone.

You should be ashamed of yourself.

Not nearly as effective as one might hope.

Not nearly as effective as you might hope.

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