idiotpruf

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

Archive for the category “health”

In Honor of Dr. Seuss Day: Horton Hears a Chigger

chigger

You found this on your what?

So the other day these search terms popped up consecutively on my stats page:

feeling ill images

chiggers on testicles

Which comes first?

Are you feeling ill, and then you discover it’s because you have chiggers on your testicles?

Or, do you discover that you have chiggers on your testicles, and that makes you feel ill?

home alone

Not only was Kevin left home alone, but he’s also discovered chiggers on his testicles.

As I was pondering this, the progression of search terms changed to this:

feeling ill images

horton hears a who

chiggers on testicles

How different would Theodor Geisel’s story been if Horton hadn’t heard a Who on a speck of dust, but had discovered chiggers on his testicles?

Would he have been as protective of them?

Would he have been equally harassed and ridiculed by kangaroos and monkeys?

What if Vladikoff the Vulture had tried to fly away with them?

And what if the monkeys and kangaroos had tried to boil them in Beezle-Nut oil?

Just something to think about.

Think about testicles.

horton hears a who

I think I can hear something, and it’s making me itch in an unspeakable place.

 

 

What the Hell is Going on?

drinking monkey

(image source: washingtontimes.com)

Here is an excerpt from an article from The Washington Times.

Right now the National Institutes of Health is spending $3.2 million to get monkeys to drink alcohol excessively to determine what effect it has long term on their body tissue.

I have so many problems with this:
  • Do you think it’s wise for an animal already prone to flinging its crap, to drink alcohol excessively? Crap flinging is the main reason I don’t get invited to parties anymore.
  • I don’t need $3.2 million to tell what the long-term effect of drinking alcohol on body tissue: it’s really bad. In fact, alcohol is practically a cure for not having cirrhosis.
  • There’s already been long-term documentation on the effects of drinking alcohol excessively. It was called Jersey Shore, and the results were horrifying. Odd skin discoloration, weird ceramic-looking hair, annoying speech patterns, promiscuous behavior, and a general oafishness, were just some of the effects displayed during this study. And once they introduced the alcohol it got really bad.
  • What questionable methods are these researchers employing to get these monkeys to drink excessively? Do they give them low-paying jobs, put them in loveless marriages, and constantly remind them of their unfulfilled potential? Do they make listen to bleak Russian poetry with its dark imagery and veiled critique of Stalinism, or worse: Sylvia Plath poems. Do they make them watch Jersey Shore reruns with the knowledge that these people are now wealthy and famous? The possibilities are all very disturbing.

And then I came upon this excerpt from the same article:

NIH also has handed out $69,459 to the University of Missouri to study whether text messaging college students before they attend pre-football game tailgates will encourage them to drink less and “reduce harmful effects related to alcohol consumption.”

We’re spending money trying to stop college students from drinking at football games. That’s like trying to stop plants from photosynthesizing in the sunlight.

Meanwhile, we’re forcing alcohol, and likely Sylvia Plath, down the throats of innocent monkeys!

And how are these text messages supposed to work? Are they based on how well the warnings on the packs of cigarettes have worked? You could put the following warning on a pack of cigarettes:

Smoking can cause heart disease, lung cancer, strokes, bad breath, rabies, Ebola, explosive diarrhea, your left eyeball will at a really inconvenient time, dry mouth, and your penis may or may not fall off.

And all anyone will think is: whoa, these must be good cigarettes.

Why do we even bother putting people in prison when all we have to do is send out the following text message:

Dear Good People,

Please refrain from theft, assault, and most crucially–murder. Basically, don’t do anything illegal. You get the idea. After all, what are we–a bunch of drunken monkeys? lol.

Thank you for your time.

This is all very disturbing to me. I think I’ll join the monkeys and have a cocktail. I may even fling a little crap.

Even More Taglines, Just to Piss You Off

drunken monkey

An avid reader of idiotrufs, and quite possibly the author.

Are you sick of taglines? Too bad.

Some more taglines for your consideration, amusement or scorn.

idiotprufs: the blog that’s had the hiccups since 1987.

idiotprufs: what happens when everything goes horribly wrong.

idiotprufs: the blog that taught Michael Jackson how to moonwalk, but had nothing to do with all that other weird stuff.

idiotprufs: the blog that was really freaked out by the flying monkeys from the Wizard of Oz.

idiotprufs: whatever stupidity happens to tumble from my brain.

idiotprufs: illegal in 38 states–frowned upon in the rest.

idiotprufs: the blog that doesn’t check to see if the milk has gone bad before it chugs it straight from the container.

idiotprufs: the blog that vomits far more often than it ought to.

idiotprufs: the real reason the dodo bird is now extinct.

idiotprufs: the blog that would have been burned at the stake in the Middle Ages.

idiotprufs: the blog that is often referred to as the juggernaut of the blogging world by people who are prone to hyperbole, and frequently imaginary.

idiotprufs: the blog that lost its virginity, but then immediately found it again. (It was right where it had left it.)

idiotprufs: the blog that giggles uncontrollably every time it meets someone from Intercourse, Pennsylvania.

idiotprufs: where brain cells go to die.

idiotprufs: the blog that has unsettling fantasies about Wolf Blitzer dressed in nothing but bicycle shorts and a monocle.

idiotprufs: the blog that can’t find Ecuador on a map…of Ecuador.

idiotprufs: the blog that thinks North Iowa is a state.

idiotprufs: the blog that plans to name its firstborn after a Muppet.

gonzo muppet

Gonzo: the probable name of idiotprufs’ first born (boy or girl).

idiotprufs: the blog that can do anything it wants because no one is paying attention anyway.

idiotprufs: the blog that wore alligator skin boots to its job interview with Peta, and got thrown out of the building.

idiotprufs: the blog that has been accused of smashing its neighbors garden gnomes with a shovel.

idiotprufs: the blog that thinks its neighbor shouldn’t make accusations that he can’t prove.

idiotprufs: the blog that doesn’t wait 60 minutes after eating before it goes swimming.

idiotprufs: the blog that tore the labels off its mattress with an arrogant disregard for the law.

idiotprufs: the blog that once brazenly robbed a group of mimes at gunpoint, but got away with it because nobody talked.

idiotprufs: the blog that is way too proud of the previous mime joke.

idiotprufs: the blog that took two years of Spanish in high school, but still can only count to ten.

idiotprufs: a clear sign that the end is near.

idiotprufs: the blog that is used as currency in prison.

idiotprufs: the blog that was once rejected as a cast member of Big Brother, because it just wasn’t slutty enough.

tidiotprufs: the blog that is badgered nightly by Mickey Mantle’s ghost, spitting sunflower seeds on it.

idiotprufs: the blog that still can’t find Waldo, regardless of how persistently it tries.

idiotprufs: the blog that wept like a baby when it saw Brian’s Song.

idiotprufs: the blog that it’s creator refers to as “the babe magnet.”

idiotprufs: the blog that believes Bigfoot is real, but has serious doubts about Donald Trump’s hair.

idiotprufs: also predicted by the Mayans, but John Cusack has no plans to make a crappy movie about it.

idiotprufs: what Sir Isaac Newton was actually thinking about right before that apple fell on his head.

idiotprufs: the tenth level of Hell in Dante Alighieri’s Inferno before the editing.

idiotprufs: the only one of Aesop’s fables that didn’t have a moral.

idiotprufs: oh the humanity.

idiotprufs is stilled freaked out by flying monkeys.

idiotprufs is still freaked out by flying monkeys.

Toothless and Full Figured in Pennsylvania: How I Would Tell the Story

Goodbye, dear friend.

UNSPECIFIED SMALL TOWN, PA.–A local dentist is facing a medical malpractice inquiry and possible assault charges after removing all of her ex-boyfriend’s teeth.

The aptly named Anita Payback told authorities that she had every intention of maintaining professionalism until she pulled that first tooth.

“I yanked out that first tooth and it felt so good. So I yanked out another one. After that, I pulled another one. Then I thought, this is horrible, I can’t do this. So I downed half a bottle of vodka and yanked them all out.”

“I knew something was wrong as soon as I woke up,” the victim, John Q. Stoogely told authorities, “I couldn’t feel my teeth, my face was heavily bandaged and just felt weird all over. I looked over at Anita and she was just sitting there, laughing hysterically and clutching an empty bottle of Vodka. Sitting on the counter next to her was a jar full of bloody teeth. The jar was labeled: Rat Bastard’s teeth.”

When asked if he didn’t think it was a bad idea to go to a recently jilted girlfriend for dental work, he replied, “Why would I? I made it very clear to Anita that the break up had nothing to do with her: my new girlfriend Brenda is just younger, prettier, and she just looks better in daylight.”

But the story gets even weirder. “As I was waking up, I realized that my chest was really sore. I went to rub my chest and there they were; not only had she pulled all my teeth, she had also given me breast implants.”

According to Anita, the trouble with their relationship had started a few months earlier on her birthday. “I opened my birthday present and I couldn’t believe my eyes. He had gotten me a pair of breast implants. He offered to pay for the surgery like it was an act of great generosity. Well he wanted breast implants, now he’s got them…the case of anti-aging cream pissed me off too.”

“I can’t believe she did this,” John commented. “I trusted her. I even told her right before she put me under, that I knew she would do a good job because what women of her age lose in looks, they gain in maturity.”

To punctuate an already odd story, John’s new girlfriend Brenda has broken up with him.

“He’s got no teeth,” Brenda told us, “and it turns out he’s kind of an idiot. And quite frankly, I just can’t date a man who has bigger breasts than I do.”

“Seriously, I’m gonna do it.”

Stupid and Toothless in Poland (or Not)

“Off to the dentist, what could go wrong?”

Several months ago I wrote a post about a news story involving a man in Poland and his girlfriend.

It seemed that Marek Olszewski broke off his relationship with his girlfriend Anna Mackowiak. A few days later he showed up at the dentist complaining of a toothache. The twist: Ms. Mackowiak was the dentist.

She allegedly gave him a heavy dose of anesthesia and proceeded to pull every one of his teeth.

When he woke up he knew something wasn’t right because he couldn’t feel his teeth and his head was heavily bandaged.

Mackowiak faced an investigation for medical malpractice and three years in prison.

Olszewski’s current girlfriend broke up with him, who wants to date a guy who has no teeth?

There was only one problem with the story: it was a hoax.

I was deeply disappointed. But what was I disappointed about? I wasn’t certain.

Was I disappointed that a man wasn’t the victim of assault?

I don’t think so.

Was I disappointed that an obviously distraught woman, wasn’t facing possible prison time and the ruination of her career?

No.

Am I just a bad person who enjoys the perils of others?

Maybe, but that’s not why I was disappointed.

Was I disappointed that the worst decision that any man has made since John Bobbitt bought his wife Lorena that set of kitchen knives for her birthday, hadn’t really happened?

A bit.

Was I disappointed that a story, unburdened by the limitations of the truth, wasn’t a little more fantastic?

Yes!!!

Think of the possibilities.

  • She could have pulled every tooth, except the one with the cavity; leaving a painful mocking reminder.
  • She could have pulled his teeth in a pattern that made him look like a jack-o-lantern.
  • She could have pulled all of his teeth and given him two huge veneers in front so that he looked like Bugs Bunny. Then Super Glued a carrot to his hand.
  • She could have bleached his face and given him veneers that made him look like a vampire. (And not one of those trendy vampires from True Blood, but one of those old-timey Bela Lugosi vampires.)
  • She could have given him tooth tattoos that read, I’m a douche, every time he smiled.
  • She could have given him a face tattoo, Mike Tyson style.
  • She could have pulled all of his teeth, turned them into a necklace, and then worn it to court.
  • She could have replaced all of his teeth with Chiclets, just to see how long it would take him to notice.
  • She could have promised him that he would never have another toothache again, then laughed maniacally as she put him under the anesthesia.
  • She could have charged him for every tooth she pulled, then offered him a 10% discount on dentures.
  • She could have fled the country and disappeared forever. The only evidence of her existence: an envelope that her former boyfriend receives every year on the anniversary of the break-up. The envelope always contains one tooth and a mocking note counting down the years until he finally has all his teeth again.

The possibilities were limitless.

My Next Post: How the story would have gone if I had written it.

One remaining tooth, as a mocking reminder.

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?

  

How to Make Your Wife’s Feet Stink Like Cheese

Are your wife's feet repulsively minty fresh? Don't worry, it can be fixed.

Are your wife’s feet repulsively minty fresh? Don’t worry, it can be fixed.

It’s happened again: yet another poor soul has come to this blog in search of answers to questions that I don’t readily have.

Questions that are disturbing.

Questions that aren’t the type asked in polite company.

Questions reserved for the darkened corners of dimly lit rooms in seedy establishments on the fringes of society, and sometimes on the Joy Behar Show.

It started when this search engine term led some poor wretch to my blog:

why does myI did my best to answer that question with the post: You Found What on Your What?

Note: Again, I am just a little unsettled that the search term “sexy man riding a unicorn images” leads people to this blog, and very unsettled by who those people might be.

So now this crops up on the list of search engine terms on my stats page.

wife's feetNote: I am irrationally proud of the fact the search term “monkey stink” leads people to this blog. 

I’m going to do my best to aide this person, I am nothing if not filled with compassion.

First, I have a few questions of my own:

  1. Why?
  2. Seriously, why?
  3. Is this some bizarre fetish of which I am unaware? If it is, I choose to remain unaware.
  4. What type of cheese are you looking for? A soft cheese like Brie, or hard cheese like Asiago?
  5. Does your wife even want her feet to stink like cheese?
  6. Do your feet stink like cheese?
  7. Are you just trying to cover-up the fact that your feet stink like cheese by making your wife’s feet stink like cheese?
  8. Are you really that selfish?
  9. Are you the type of person who constantly puts himself ahead of others?
  10. Are you the type of person who gets in the express lane at the supermarket with a cart full of groceries, and then tries to claim that you have less than 12 items.
  11. Do you then try to pay for your cart full of groceries with a check, even though you haven’t any I.D. with you.
  12. Do you then fumble around dumbly for cash–now that you’ve ground the express lane to a torturous halt–to find that you have only a two-dollar bill and some Canadian half-pennies?
  13. Where the hell did you get Canadian half-pennies?
  14. Are you that moron who drives down the road with your seat-belt hanging out the door, making sparks on the road?
  15. Maybe the real problem with your wife is that you don’t satisfy her sexually. Did you ever consider that?
  16. Maybe what your wife needs is a good divorce lawyer.
  17. I’ll bet you like mimes don’t you?
  18. How can you like mimes, they are so irritating?
  19. When they do that fake crying thing, I just want to punch them in the face.
  20. What kind of total jackass likes mimes, and wants his wife’s feet to stink like cheese, as he screws up the express lane and drives like an idiot?
  21. Moron.

Anyway, try rubbing your wife’s feet with Limburger cheese. The bacterium used in the fermentation process of Limburger cheese (Brevibacterium linens) is the same bacterium that causes foot odor.

I hope this was helpful…jerk.

I hope this turns you on...weirdo. (image source: wpclipart.com.)

I hope this does it for you…weirdo.
(image source: wpclipart.com.)

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