idiotpruf

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

Archive for the category “Humor”

Critical Thinking?

I recently heard you say that you are your own worst critic.

You clearly have no idea what people are saying behind your back. 

You seem not to grasp what people are saying to your face.

In fact, you are far more pleased with yourself than the facts or the opinions of others justify.

It may be that you don’t understand what the word repugnant means; when a person uses the word repugnant to describe you, it is not positive.

Nor is the term maximum-repugnaciousness.

Maximum-repugnaciousness is a made-up word. 

People are coining new derogatory phrases to describe you.

It’s not good when the breadth of the English language doesn’t contain enough pejorative terms to adequately describe your horribleness.

Let’s look at the definition of the word repugnant:

Adjective

distasteful, objectionable, or offensive:

a repugnant smell.

making opposition; averse.

opposed or contrary, as in nature or character.

When your name crops up in the same sentence as words like repugnant, distasteful, objectional, offensive, malodorous, repulsive, vomit-inducing, or crap-for-brains, you shouldn’t take it as an affirmation.

Regardless of how often you’ve been referred to as crap-for-brains, you never seem to take it as an insult.

Why do you think most people don’t describe Albert Einstein as that crap-for-brains patent clerk who eventually did something smart?

It would take a person with crap-for-brains to say something like that about Albert Einstein. 

Do you remember the time you said that about Albert Einstein?

It’s difficult to determine who your worst critic genuinely is, as your critics are widespread and vociferous in their criticism of you.

I know a person who met you once and claims it was the worst day of his life. He was a 100-year-old man who survived the Hindenburg.

A giant ball of burning hydrogen is more palatable than making your acquaintance.

I guess my point is that your critics are voluminous and well-deserved.

You’re probably reading this right now, chuckling to yourself, and thinking: I wonder who this is about.

You repugnant crap-for-brains.

Erie to Fight Deer Population With Hyenas

Erie, PA–At a recent city council meeting, residents expressed their growing concerns over the city’s increasing deer population.
It seems the deer are everywhere: in the streets, in people’s backyards, and even occasionally encroaching on private residences. “I was sitting in my bathroom doing my business and reading the most recent copy of Weak-bladders Monthly when a deer burst through the door and bit me in the forehead…now I have Lyme disease,” Sam Rizzo, a resident, told the council.
When a council member pointed out to Mr. Rizzo that that’s not how Lyme disease is spread, Mr. Rizzo bit the council member in the forehead, and now they both have Lyme Disease.
“The deer are everywhere,” resident Ron Smith said at the meeting, “I was carrying a case of beer into my house when I slipped in a pile of deer crap and fell. All but four of the bottles broke–how am I supposed to get drunk now? Also, I think Sam just peed himself.”
“There’s no simple solution,” a council member stated. “We were hoping the already present gunfire that occurs randomly within city limits would pick off some of the deer, but that has proved unfruitful.”
After much deliberation, the city council has decided to release packs of hyenas randomly around the city.
When pressed about the potential danger of having hyenas prowling the streets, Health Director Philip Weedly had the following response. “Sure, some of our slower citizens will likely be picked off by the hyenas, but let’s be honest, it might just force our citizenry to get in better shape.”
The motion to release the hyenas was passed unanimously.
It was also brought up that it may be best to keep your pets inside for the foreseeable future.

Vending Machines vs. Sharks

So, I recently read that vending machines are responsible for more deaths annually in the U.S. than shark attacks.

Who would have thought vending machines that are more deadly than sharks?

Sharks are terrifying with their rows of razor-sharp teeth, their dead, emotionless eyes, and that creepy music from Jaws that plays every time they get near you. 

Steven Speilberg didn’t make a movie about vending machines killing people on an idyllic resort island.

(But if he had, I’m sure it would have been awesome.)

This is horrible news; I had no idea I was putting my life in danger every time I purchased a bag of cheese puffs.

I knew I would get that orange dust all over my fingers and stuck in my teeth, but that was a risk I was willing to take.

To be fair, if you live in a place like Idaho, you’re far more likely to fall prey to a vending machine than a shark.

The transfats in the cheese puffs will likely take you out before a shark attack will.

You would have to be astronomically unlucky to die of a shark attack in Idaho.

Realistically, if you stay at least ten feet from the ocean, you should be relatively safe from a shark attack.

Vending machines, by contrast, are everywhere–especially in Idaho.

The vast majority of vending machine deaths occur when a purchased item becomes stuck in the machine. The purchaser attempts to dislodge the item by tilting or shaking the vending machine, causing the vending machine to fall on them and crush them.

A small minority of vending machine deaths occur when a person laughs so hysterically that they have a heart attack after they have witnessed a dumbass co-worker tip a vending machine on themself.

People who die in vending machine accidents tend to be people who are physically aggressive and quick to anger.

People who die in a shark attack tend to be people who are vacationing from Idaho, and they thought surfing looked fun, so they decided to try it; it’s safer than a vending machine, they thought.

Dying because a vending machine fell on you has to be mortifying in the afterlife. 

First Dead Person: So, how did you die?

Second Dead Person: I died storming the beaches of Normandy to free Europe from the oppressive boot of the Nazi war machine. How about you?

First Dead Person: My bag of cheese puffs got caught in the little spirally thing in a vending machine. I was really hungry. I’m from Idaho.

I would suggest if you are physically aggressive and quick to anger, you would do well to avoid vending machines. 

Go surfing, that might be fun.

Scorpion Stings Man in the Nuts

A man is suing the Venetian Hotel in Las Vegas, Nevada, after an unfortunate incident that occurred during his stay.

Michael Farchi says he awoke in the middle of the night to discover he was being stung in the testicles by a scorpion.

(I’m not making this up.)

According to Michael, he was stung multiple times in the naughty bits, which was later confirmed by doctors at a local hospital after they were done laughing.

Michael claims he is still suffering health issues from the attack that occurred on Dec. 26th.

Perhaps Las Vegas should change its motto to “What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas…unless you’re stung in the nuggets a bunch of times by a scorpion.”

“Nobody staying in Vegas needs to [be] exposed to deadly scorpions while they’re sleeping, let alone on their private parts, their testicles,” said his attorney, Brian Virag.

I would argue the Vegas part is irrelevant; nobody needs to be stung in the testicles by a scorpion at anytime, anywhere, ever.

Michael claims that even though his family cut the vacation short, he still had to pay the Venetian Hotel for the stay.

I have to say, the Venetians may good at canals, glass-blowing, and masks (and I love all the work they’ve done with blinds), but they suck at running hotels.

But there is a forgotten part of this story: what about the poor scorpion.

“It was horrifying,” the scorpion said, “I woke up, and there were two big hairy nuts in my face. I stung them as many times as I could; I barely got away with my life.”

Stanley (the scorpion’s name is Stanley) went on to describe how he would probably be traumatized for life. “Every time I see a picture of a canal, I break down and sob uncontrollably,” he stated.

There is no word yet on whether, or not Stanley will take legal action against the Venetian Hotel.

Here’s hoping for a speedy recovery for both Michael and Stanley.

Why You Shouldn’t Show Me Pictures of Your Grandchild

Happy Photo Purveyor: would you like to see photos of my grandchild?

Me: not especially.

Happy Photo Purveyor: but she’s just so precious.

Me: believe me, your voluminous and unremitting descriptions of her are all I really need.

Happy Photo Purveyor: you absolutely have to see them.

Me: I’m certain that’s not the case.

Happy Photo Purveyor: you’ll regret it if you don’t.

Me: I’m feeling the regret already.

Happy Photo Purveyor: let me get my phone out.

Me: so this is happening.

Fifty photos later.

Happy Photo Purveyor: if liked those, I’ve got hundreds more.

Me: great! Let me just remove this ice pick I’ve jammed into my eye.

Happy Photo Purveyor: her name is Liz; can you guess what that’s short for?

Me: I don’t know.

Happy Photo Purveyor: just guess.

Me: I don’t want to guess.

Happy Photo Purveyor: just guess–it’s obvious.

Me: It’s obvious? Is it short for Lizard.

Several moments of uncomfortable silence.

Not As Happy Photo Purveyor: why would her name be Lizard.

Me: she looks a bit like a lizard.

Even more uncomfortable silence.

Unhappy Photo Purveyor: my granddaughter looks nothing like a lizard.

Me: not all of her–just her face.

Still Unhappy Photo Purveyor: people say she takes after me!

Me: I wasn’t going to bring that up…but yes she does.

Angry Photo Purveyor: my granddaughter looks nothing like a lizard!

Me: maybe I just think that because of her tail.

Angrier Photo Purveyor: what makes you think my granddaughter has a tail?

Me: because most lizards have tails.

Apoplectic Photo Purveyor: I’m never showing you another photo again!

Apoplectic Photo Purveyor storming off in a huff.

Me: mission accomplished.

And that’s why you should never show me photos of your grandchild.

This is Liz. Guess what Liz is short for.

Penn & Tran: the Sylvanias

william penn

William Tran Penn.

It occurred to me the other day that if the William Penn, founder of the English colony of Pennsylvania, had been named William Tran, then I would been born in the great Commonwealth of Transylvania.

Wouldn’t that be awesome!

The Sylvanias have so much in common.

Bram Stoker’s fictional character Dracula.

Dracula was based the real-life ruler Vlad the Impaler. Vlad Dracula was known for committing many acts of brutality, his favorite being impaling his enemies on stakes.

There are numerous tourist attractions around Transylvania connected to Vlad.

castle bran

Bran Castle, a tourist attraction associated with Vlad the Impaler. (I wonder if pigeons poop on it,)

We have a statue of Rocky.

rocky

Statue of Rocky. (Pigeons definitely poop on it.)

Rocky Balboa is a fictional character created by actor and filmmaker Sylvester Stallone, (himself known for brutal acts of annunciation) based on the real-life boxer Chuck Wepner.

Chuck Wepner

Real-life boxer Chuck Wepner. (Pigeons wouldn’t dare.)

Transylvania is often thought of as eerie.

church scary

An eerie church in Transylvania. (Pigeons are afraid to poop here.)

We have a place literally named Erie!

Erie eerie

Erie, Pennsylvania: it may be spelled differently, but it’s just as creepy. (Pigeons don’t poop here, but the seagulls crap on everything.)

Transylvania is romanticized as place inhabited by supernatural creatures such as vampires, werewolves, and monsters.

abott and costello

Abott and Costello knew all about these monsters.

We have a groundhog the predicts the freaking weather.

idiotprufs groundhog day punxsutawny phil

Abott and Costello knew almost nothing about Punxsutawney Phil.

There’s a bunch of other similarities between Pennsylvania and Transylvania involving steel production, ethnic and religious backgrounds, and geographical features, but that crap is all boring.

So I’ll leave you with the one striking difference between Pennsylvania and Transylvania.

The Transylvania State football team is just a bunch of tiny, slow-footed, pasty-faced, European guys.

Franco Harris steeler

Penn State great Franco Harris smashing through the Transylvania State offensive line.

Good Luck With That

hero

I’ve seen this quote floating around recently:

My goal in 2024 is to be my best self and my own personal hero.

I have just one quick question: to whom have you been talking, and what horrible lies have they been telling you.

Do you remember that time someone told you to “just be yourself” when you went on that first date?

I’m not sure if you remember how badly that went. If you don’t, we can reference the police report. My favorite part is when you and your date were taken hostage by the mime.

I know you like to tell people you gave that girl the most memorable night of her life. Normally the only things you give the girls you date are crippling self-doubt and genital chiggers.

Being memorable isn’t always a good thing. Survivors of the Hindenburg would often describe escaping that harrowing inferno as the most memorable night of their lives. And those people were never held against their will in a Taco Hut by a man wearing white face paint and a beret. He didn’t even have a real gun; he was just miming it.

You may be the only person in history to be screamed at by a mime. (It is amazing how fast a mime will break character once you’ve peed on the back of his leg.)

My point is: your goal shouldn’t be to be your best self; your goal should be to be someone entirely different. Someone radically, unmistakably different than yourself.

As far as you being your own personal hero, there aren’t enough adjectives in the English language to express just how bad of an idea that is. I’m trying to envision the type of person who would adopt you as a personal hero. I picture one of those weirdos who write fan letters to a serial killer who’s in prison.

If your goal for 2024 is to improve yourself, try making it through the year without being arrested for peeing on a mime, or on the back of a police car, or on the back of a policeman.

In fact, if you can make it through the year without being arrested for public urination of any kind, we’ll call that a win.

I know it’s a tall order, but I’m not completely certain you can’t do it.

Good luck with that.

The Absolutely Indispensable Guide For Gifts Not to Give

bad gift

“What the hell?”

All you want is to give the perfect gift for Christmas. The gift that will brighten a child’s face. The gift that shows thoughtfulness and caring. The type of gift that will result in moments to be cherished forever.

What a load of crap that is!

You are an insensitive oaf, but social convention dictates you must give gifts at Christmastime. What you really want is to give gifts that won’t result in icy glares from your significant other and, more crucially, gifts that won’t result in a face-stabbing.

Granted, most of your attempts at gift-giving have not resulted in a face-stabbing, but there have been enough face-stabbing occurances to preclude you from using the phrase, isolated incidents.

Who would have thought a weight loss book, a thigh master, a bottle of rum, and a set of kitchen knives were a bad combination of gifts?

Maybe the fact that it was a weight loss book for dummies that put the gift recipient over the edge.

It could have also been the rum-soaked eggnog she was belting down all day.

Since I’m practically an expert at screwing things up badly (I mean, I am shockingly good at it), I am going to aid you in what gifts not to give.

Don’t give your goth friend a bottle of skin bronzer. Her pale, nearly translucent skin is her choice. It is not a result of her inability to tan naturally. Her flesh will not burst into flames if it’s exposed to real sunlight. It’s Holy water that makes her flesh burst into flames.

Don’t give your girlfriend, and I cannot stress this too strongly, a self-help book of any kind with the phrase “for dummies” in the title.

Unless, of course, a face-stabbing is exactly what you want for Christmas.

Don’t give your friend the book: Why Men Love Bitchs. His girlfriend Amanda won’t appreciate it; what he really needs is a book about better decision-making.

Don’t give your stepmother a jar of anti-wrinkle cream and a bottle of wart remover. She will not appreciate them…regardless of how desperately they’re needed.

Don’t give your stepfather, who likes to hunt, a book of vegetarian recipes; he’s just going to use its pages to start the fire he’s going to use to roast the woodchuck he hit with his pickup truck on the way to the Christmas party.

Don’t get your vegan friend that Chia Pet. It looks entirely too much like food; eventually, he’s going to try to eat it. He’ll be rushed to the hospital, and his entire family will blame you.

Don’t give anyone you know this book.

problem child

Don’t avoid this gift because you fear recrimination. Avoid this gift because it’s just too late.

Don’t get your boss this mug; he may not have a sense of humor about it.

boss coffee cup

“Why does everybody laugh at me when I drink coffee?”

Addendum

If John Wayne Bobbitt had listened to me when I told him kitchen knives were a terrible Christmas gift for his wife Lorena, perhaps their marriage wouldn’t have become so severed.

knife

A set of kitchen knives from Bed Bath and Beyond. It was the beyond that got John Wayne Bobbitt in trouble…she cut his penis off.

Alternate Plans and Lake Erie

My plans to go over Niagra Falls in a barrel have continued to be wrought with issues.
The latest problem to stunt my efforts is the silliest of them yet: apparently, going over Niagra Falls in a barrel is illegal.
I thought Canadians were supposed to be all laid back and polite. But just try to get into Canada with a barrel strapped to the top of your car; the battery of accusatory glances and snide comments is withering.
What is the freaking point of having an internationally famous waterfall if you can’t go over it in a barrel? Do you think people go to Niagra Falls just go to Niagra Falls to stare at the water? No! They go to Niagra Falls to see courageous adventurers tempt fate in a death-defying act of bravery. And possibly die horribly.
“Why don’t you just go over the American side of the falls?”
Because the American side is the crappy side, and everybody knows it. The American Falls is the Horseshoe Falls’ irritating little runt brother that nobody cares about. Just posing the question feels like you’re rubbing that fact in my face.
So, I have decided to put my barrel plans on hold. My new focus is on my attempt to swim across Lake Erie. It’s perfectly legal; people do it all the time.
People traverse the 24 miles from Long Point, Canada, to Freeport Beach in North East, Pennsylvania on a regular basis.

Individuals are even encouraged and sometimes sponsored to swim across Lake Erie. Did you know the water in Lake Erie that people are openly allowed to swim in is the same water that later goes over Niagra Falls? That odor you smell in the air is the stench of hypocrisy…there’s also a lot of dead fish in Lake Erie.

And as a side note, Canadian bacon is just ham. Stop calling it bacon. Something called Canadian bacon should be real bacon slathered in maple syrup.


The only drawback I can foresee in this endeavor is that I’m not a classically strong swimmer. What I do in water could be categorized less as swimming and more as splashing about in a vague attempt to avoid drowning.
But I have a solution: I will reverse the process and swim from Freeport Beach in North East, Pennsylvania, to Long Point, Canada.
You see, North East, Pennsylvania is not the most pleasant place; it’s a detestable pit of horror.
If you have read this blog at all in the past (my apologies if you have), you probably know that I have detailed in great length North East’s many problems, not the least of which is its rampant infestation of bands of inbred cannibals.
You may wonder which is the more embarrassing problem for the small community: all of the incestuous inbreeding or all of the wanton cannibalism?
Neither. It’s the fact that they have a goat for mayor, and that goat is as stupid as he is arrogant. His name is Steve, and he is a jerk.
Steve routinely minces around town in a drunken stupor, head-butting random pedestrians into traffic and crapping on the sidewalk in all the places where people walk the most.
He is also very fiscally irresponsible.
If I begin my trek across Lake Erie from Freeport Beach in North East, Pennsylvania rather than in Long Point, Canada, my sheer desire to distance myself from North East should propel me halfway across the lake like I was shot out of a canon.
And once you’re out in the middle of Lake Erie, the impetus to keep going becomes quite strong.
This plan is idiotproof.
I will keep you updated on my progress.

Addendum: if this fails, maybe I’ll try being shot out of a cannon.

Cinderella’s Sisters Bash Prince for Foot Shaming

Cindereella's sisters

The angry and large-footed sisters in question.

A Tiny Kingdom in a Faraway Land–“It’s an outrage,” an agitated Drizella told us as she fumbled with her extra wide orthopedic shoes for bunions. “It’s a clear and undeniable case of foot shaming.”

The trouble started when Prince Charming began scouring the kingdom in search of a singular woman whose foot would fit into a glass slipper left behind at a recent ball.

“Real women have real feet,” Drizella’s sister Anastasia said. “That pompous Prince Charming shows up at our door with this tiny little slipper made of glass, and you’re not good enough for him unless your foot fits into this ridiculous little shoe; if you have feet like a normal woman, you’re automatically rejected. That’s hardly ‘charming’ behavior.”

“And glass footwear can’t possibly be safe,” Drizella added.

The sisters argue it’s sexist and demeaning to reduce a woman’s worth to her foot size.

“They’re just jealous because the glass slipper fit on the foot of their step-sister, Cinderella,” Prince Charming said.

“She’s nothing but a lowly scullery maid,” Drizella shouted, “why should she get the prince just because she has dainty feet.”

“Cinderella does have dainty feet,” the prince conceded. “She also has perfect skin, flaxen hair, and a heart of gold. And unlike her step-sisters, she doesn’t have a blackened soul, a vicious mean streak, a crazily disturbing amount of warts, and breath that could kill a dragon.”

“It’s called halitosis, and it’s a medical condition,” Drizella said, defending herself.

The sisters have hired a barrister and plan to launch a lawsuit against the prince for discriminatory practices.

“I guess they’re forgetting how an oppressive feudal system works,” the prince said as he chuckled, “I’m a prince; I do whatever the hell I want.”

Cinderella couldn’t be reached for comment; she is currently in negotiations to launch her own brand of glass footwear called Cinderella Crossfits.

glass sneakers

For the active scullery maid who also wants to feel like a princess.

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