idiotprufs

Illegal in 38 states–frowned upon in the rest.

Archive for the category “idiotprufs”

Well–Now You’ve Blown It

sad balloonOne of your key resolutions this New Year was to stop wasting your time reading dreadful blogs devoid of intellectual value of any kind.

The type of blog written by a pasty-faced geek with zero social grace.

The type of blog that burrows into your brain, takes root, and festers until it has transformed you into a drooling half-wit.

Well–you’ve blown it now haven’t you?

You’d might as well crack open that bottle of Jack Daniels, rip open that pack of Camels, and start eating cookie dough straight from the tube, because you’ve just taken the first step into a spiraling abyss.

Better luck next year.

mr creasote

This is what this blog does.

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Pan Changes Instrument of Choice

pan flute

Pan in his pre-banjo days.

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

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

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

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

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

hermes

Pan’s father fleeing from his banjo picking.

Eyebrows Count

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

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

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

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

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

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

Buildings too–structure fires are very dangerous.

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

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

I hope this bit of clarification has been helpful.

Addendum:

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

gasoline can

At least to two or three gallons should do it.

First Impressions

pigpen peanuts charlie brown

You’re ready for that big date.

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

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

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

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

The facts:

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

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

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

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

man pepper spray

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

Poop Flinging Monkeys and Origami Condoms

monkey throwing poop

He’s right-handed–make a note of that.

A while back I wrote a post entitled, What the Hell is Going on, detailing the National Institute of Health’s spending of $3.8 million to make monkeys alcoholic. (The amount spent on monkey rehab is still unreported.)

The Daily Mail has now reported another list of bizarre NIH spending:

$2.4 million dollars to develop an ‘origami’ condom.

I’ve always felt the biggest problem with condoms is that they’re not in the shape of a swan. They’re just too easy to use; stopping to remove the condom from its package, and apply it without losing the ‘moment’ is just too simple; why not also have to fold it into shape of dragon.

$939,000 dollars to determine that male fruit flies prefer younger female fruit flies.

Researchers have determined that this is caused by drop in hormone levels as female fruit flies age, but we know that’s a load of crap.

When you have a 24 hour lifespan, that midlife crisis hits you fast and hits you hard. It’s about noon, you’re flying around a waste basket containing discarded apple cores, when it hits you: my life is half over and I haven’t even had lunch yet.

You buy an unpractical sports car, start dressing inappropriately for your age, you get a couple of piercings and a tattoo that reads: forever young.

You dump your twelve-hour old wife for a nubile six-hour old.

You’re balding, you have a paunch, your behavior is embarrassing, and tomorrow you’ll be dead.

I believe my assessment to be more accurate, and it cost $939,000 less.

$592,000 dollars to determine that chimpanzees with the best poop flinging skills are also the best communicators.

I think I can write without fear of contradiction: if you address someone by slapping a fistful of your feces in their face, you will have effectively gained their undivided attention.

However, be prepared for that person to subsequently communicate their feelings…violently.

$117,000 to learn that most chimps are right-handed.

Couldn’t the researchers from the previous study have just made of note of which hand the chimps were throwing their feces with; if you’re going to do something as important as throwing your feces, you’re not going to do it off-handed.

$325,000 to learn that marriages are happier when wives calm down more quickly during arguments with their husbands.

This is like doing a study to determine that fire is hot.

The real question is why do wives in some marriages calm down more quickly during arguments. I’m willing to bet it’s because husbands in those marriages, during arguments, don’t say things like:

  • I don’t know why you’re acting so crazy.
  • I think you’re overreacting to that remark about your acting crazy.
  • Can’t this wait until the game’s over.
  • Who cares what your friends think; it’s my opinion that matters.
  • Sure those jeans make you look fat. Bit if I wanted a skinny wife, I would have married your sister.

This study also showed that marriages were completely unaffected when the husbands were the ones who became calm more quickly. This just proves two things that everybody already knew:

  1. Women just want men to understand why they’re upset and empathize with them.
  2. Men don’t care; we just want to drink beer and watch football without all the noise.

$832,000 went to learn if it was possible to get uncircumcised South African tribesmen into the habit of washing their genitals after having sex.

Note: is this what the couples in the previous study were arguing about? Because that would make sense to me.

Let’s be clear about this.

This wasn’t an attempt to get uncircumcised South African tribesmen into the habit of washing their genitals after having sex.

This was a study to learn if it was ‘possible’ to get uncircumcised South African tribesmen into the habit of washing their genitals after having sex.

Let me save you $832,000: yes it’s possible.

Anything is possible. It’s possible to be struck by lightning. It’s possible or win the lottery. It’s possible that I’ll grow to like mimes.

Note: You’re thinking that last one isn’t possible. If you gave me $832,000 to like mimes; I would like me some mimes.

And how do they know uncircumcised South African tribesmen don’t wash their genitals after sex? It feels like something creepy has been going on there.

Note: perhaps uncircumcised South African tribesman would be more conscientious of genital hygiene if they didn’t have to fold their condoms into the shape of a chrysanthemum. Chrysanthemums are freaking hard. Read more…

Seriously, I Don’t Want to Dance

the office dancing

Do you really want David Brent as a role model?

It would seem not everyone got the message the first time this post was published. So here it is again–soak it in.

Why is this world polluted with people who are determined to make me dance? Loud, pushy, abrasive, overbearing, manipulative, overlords of what is or is not judged to be enjoyable. People who won’t take no for an answer. People who believe they have a better grasp of what’s in my brain than I do.

What I say: I don’t want to dance.

What they hear: I pretend I don’t want to dance, but secretly, it’s my deepest yearning. If it weren’t for debilitating fear and self-loathing, I’d be out on the dance floor right now, living the dream.

What I say: seriously, I don’t want to dance.

What they hear: if only there were some loud, pushy, abrasive, overbearing, manipulative, overlord of what is or is not judged to be enjoyable, to goad and badger me into doing what I’ve secretly always wanted to do anyway.

What I say: get away from me you drooling half-wit.

What they hear: grab my arm like a slack-jawed oaf, and physically drag me onto the dance floor.

I am not responsible for anything that happens from that moment forward. I am certain the person who coined the phrase, “justifiable homicide” was just some poor fellow who earnestly didn’t want to dance.

Note: I’m sure when his jaw is no longer wired shut, the person described in the scenario above, will apologize to me.

Let’s make one thing clear: just because you like a certain thing, it doesn’t follow that every other human should also like that thing. Loads of different people like loads of different things.

Jeffrey Dahmer quite enjoyed killing people, hacking them up, eating them, and stowing the leftovers in his freezer. I can write with a relative degree of certainty, most human beings wouldn’t much care for that.

I have never once thought to myself: killing people, hacking them up, eating them, and stowing the leftovers in my freezer, seems like a horrific and frankly evil thing to do…but Jeffrey Dahmer thought it was a lovely thing to do. Perhaps I’m looking at this all backwards. I’ve got plenty of room in my freezer, and there are several acquaintances in my sphere of influence I could readily live without (mostly the few who try to make me dance).

If only the local learning annex offered some course on beginner cannibalism. It’s all scrapbooking this and scrapbooking that, down at that place.

And I don’t need to be the center of attention to enjoy myself–in fact, it’s preferable not to be.

Just because I’m not standing on a chair, singing Love Shack at the top of my lungs, juggling shot-glasses, while I wildly thrust my hips into the air in a suggestive manner, doesn’t mean I’m not enjoying myself.

I don’t see life through the same self-absorbed prism as you.

You imagine I’m thinking: if only I could summon the courage, that would be me on that chair.

When I’m really thinking: if only I could summon the courage, I would kick that chair from under that jackasses feet. That would make me smile.

Also, don’t tell me to smile.

I smile plenty.

I smile when it’s appropriate.

I smile when I’m happy, when I’m with my friends, when something good happens.

I smile when a jackass falls from his chair and shot-glasses cascade across his face.

Note: sometimes I summon the courage.

People who go around smiling for no apparent reason are mental. I am not mental (fingers crossed).

crazy smile

This is how you appear to the rest of the world.

Being a naturally quiet person or an introvert is not a problem that needs to be fixed–just leave me be.

A Permanent Cure For Athlete’s Foot (With a Few Slight Side Effects)

One test subject; look how freaking happy he is.
(image source: wpclipart.com)

I’ve finally done it.

I’ve developed a permanent and foolproof cure for athlete’s foot.

It’s brilliant in its concept, and elegant in its simplicity.

For the small cost of just $99.99, (with an unreasonably exorbitant shipping and handling cost, which I will inform of after you’ve made the purchase) I will send you my product.

The kit includes the following items:

  • A high quality hacksaw.
  • A tourniquet guaranteed to stop spurting blood.
  • A bottle of aspirin.
  • A finely crafted peg leg.

Note: For a small additional cost, I will send you the jumbo sized bottle of aspirin, you’re probably going to need it. If you should happen to have any morphine lying around the house, that would be good too.

Imagine all the ways that using my product can make your life better:

  • You’ll never again have to deal with the burning scourge of athlete’s foot.
  • You’ll never again slip on the ice and sprain your ankle. You might slip on the ice and break your neck, but you won’t sprain your ankle.
  • You’ll never again stub your toe on a piece of furniture as you stumble toward the bathroom in the middle of the night.
  • You’ll never again spend the night on the couch after yelling at your spouse/girlfriend/lodger for moving a piece of furniture.
  • You can’t “ruin” Thanksgiving by dropping a frozen turkey on your aunt’s foot (if she’s used my product).

Note: your aunt’s presence has already ruined Thanksgiving; she’s an ogre.

  • You can dress up as a pirate on Halloween.
  • Mahogany peg legs are super classy.

There are a few slight drawbacks in the use of my product; all of which, I will inform you of in tiny unreadable print that scrolls across the bottom of screen at light speed.

Some of these slight problems are:

  • Massive loss of blood can make you woozy.
  • Carpenter ants are tenacious.
  • So are termites.
  • Dry rot.
  • Anal sores. (I have no idea why this happens-it just does.)
  • Beavers might steal your leg and incorporate it in the construction of a dam. (It happens more than you would think.)
  • Woodpeckers.
  • Mole holes in the backyard become especially hazardous.
  • You can’t drop a frozen turkey on your aunt’s foot. Secretly, you really did enjoy that; she’s an ogre.
  • It cuts the exorbitant cost of sock purchases in half.
  • Christian Bale will come to your home and hurl insults at you; he’s kind of a dick.
  • Your golf game may suffer a bit. And groundskeepers tend to get really pissy about the imprints that a peg leg leaves on the putting green.
  • Splinters.
  • The snide, hey Yellowbeard where’s your parrot, remarks from your coworkers.
  • Truthfully: I have very little concern for the efficacy of this product or your actual well-being.

All I need now is approval from the FDA. Unfortunately this has been far more difficult than I had anticipated. The people at the FDA are really uptight and condescending, and they tend to throw around words like irresponsible and unthinkable, a great deal more than is necessary.

It’s been a long process, but according to one source from the FDA, all I’m waiting on now is a cold day in Hell.

My product would result in another happy customer, and a tasty appetizer.
(image source: wpclipart.com)

I have also been working on a permanent cure for jock itch. Those results haven’t been quite as promising.

(image source: wpclipart.com)

Stingrays and Vinny from Yonkers

Don’t let the happy face fool you; this is a vicious monster.

Do you remember as a child, adults would bandy about that old saw that a bee would only sting if you provoked? Do you also remember the dissemination of that bit of information generally came moments after being stung by a bee?

I recall an instance in my childhood, sitting in my backyard, quietly playing in a manner that could be readily described as angelic, when a bee decided it had become sufficiently provoked. My youthful playtime came to an abrupt halt with the introduction of searing pain to the side of head.

I went in search of sympathy, only to find an accusatory tone. Unfortunately two of my aunts were visiting.

“What did you do to it?” The first asked in her typically snide voice.

“What did I do to it?” She was obviously confused by the sequence of events.

“You must have provoked it,” the other chimed in, with her less snide, but decidedly more mannish voice.

Note: my aunts’ inability to recognize a child playing in a manner that could be readily described as angelic, likely stems from their own entirely unangelic nature…they’re really bitchy.

Informed by this experience, I watched in amusement as a tour guide on a travel show condescendingly told Vinny from Yonkers, “don’t be alarmed by that stingray brushing against your leg, they only attack when they’re angry or provoked.”

Vinny from Yonkers response was to act alarmed. He then gave the tour guide a look that generally precedes a punch in the face.

Any animal in which the word “sting” is prominent in its name, is probably an animal of which to be wary. It is generally wise to approach anything with the ability to sting, with caution.

Things that sting:

  • Bees.
  • Wasps.
  • Hornets.
  • Platypuses (yes they sting; watch the Discovery Channel sometime).
  • Stinging nettles.
  • Graig Nettles, former gold glove third basemen of the New York Yankees, and his rapier wit.
  • Scorpions.
  • That vicious rejection from the cute girl you asked out. Seriously, she didn’t have to say that thing about your face.
  • Jellyfish.
  • Yellow jackets the type of insect.
  • Buzz the yellow jacket mascot of Georgia Tech. He didn’t have to say that thing about your face either.
  • That slap you received after making an ill-advised comment about your aunt’s mannish voice.
  • Gordon Sumner (Sorry, this is from the “things called sting” list).
  • Stingrays.

Also, how would you go about determining the mental state of a stingray? I’ve never seen one that appeared happy-go-lucky.

It’s probably hard being a big flat fish living on the bottom of the ocean, always afraid that some fat tourist named Vinny will step on your back.

Stingrays have their mouths and nostrils situated on their underbellies; that cannot be a pleasant way to exist.

And have you seen what stingrays look like? They’re all crazy ugly; stingray sex must be just awful.

A stingray’s sting can result in extreme pain, illness, the amputation of affected limbs, and in extreme cases, death.

Note: if you’re a condescending tour guide, they can also cause you to get punched in the face by a guy from Yonkers named Vinny.

Any animal that on a whim can cause my life to end, is by my way of thinking, a source of alarm.

Or is it possible that you could run into a stingray with a sense of humor; a stingray that finds it amusing to sting a condescending tour guide.

Either way, you should be careful before you smugly tell someone not to be alarmed. You could be dealing with a stingray with a sense of humor, or guy named Vinny without one.

stingray

My sex life is just atrocious.

Hiccup Gremlins and a Punch in the Face

man with hiccups idiotprufsExperts will tell you that hiccups are a myoclonus of the diaphragm, that results in an abrupt rush of air into the lungs. You get them when the vagus nerve, which runs from the brain to the abdomen, is irritated. They are most commonly the result of digestive disturbances.

Well that’s just crazy talk–everyone knows hiccups are caused by gremlins.

There are some who will tell you that gremlins don’t exist; people who think they’re so much smarter than you.

They think they’re smarter because they have years of medical training, or they’ve read books, or they’ve never been described as “bat crap crazy” by a certified mental health professional.

Some think they’re smarter because they’ve never been arrested for slapping a mime in the face, or for urinating on a police car.

But does that make them smarter than you?

It Probably does, but you still shouldn’t listen to them: can you really trust a person who’s never slapped a mime in the face?

But now you have hiccups–how do you get rid of them?

After doing an extensive amount of research I’ve unearthed several potential hiccup remedies.

  • Scaring someone: this will only result in a punch in the face.
  • Tickling: this will also lead to a punch in the face.
  • Punching someone in the face: while there are several perfectly sound reasons for punching someone in the face, curing hiccups is not one of them.
  • A spoonful of sugar: Mary Poppins is a liar–never take medical advice from a person who randomly breaks into song.
  • A spoonful of peanut butter: this will actually give you hiccups if you don’t have them. If you already have hiccups, and you eat a spoonful of peanut butter, your esophagus will explode.
  • Drinking a glass of water while standing on your head: this is something made up by your friends so they can take your picture and post it on Instagram.
  • Inhaling paprika: your friends are cruel liars.
  • Holding your breath: this will cause you to lose consciousness. You will wake up with a bump on your head, still burdened with the hiccups, and with a blurry view of your friends posting another picture on Instagram.
  • Putting your hand in warm water while your sleeping. (Sorry. This comes from an entirely different list. Your friends will definitely post the results of this on Instagram and a punch in the face will be forthcoming.)
  • Fifty small drinks of water without taking a breath: at sip 42–yes, at exactly sip 42–you will involuntarily take a breath and inhale the water, coughing and expelling the water from your nose.
  • Fifty small drinks of vodka without taking a breath: the same as above, but with the added aspect of vomiting.
  • Putting your fingers in your ears: you still have the hiccups, but at least you can’t hear your friends laughing.
  • Holding your tongue with your fingers: if you can’t trust Wikipedia, who can you trust?

This is the point: hiccups cannot be cured, they are caused by gremlins. You simply have to wait for the gremlins to tire, or get bored–it’s science.

 

Not this type of Gremlin.

This type of gremlin.

Tales From an American Legion

 

american_legion_logo1

It’s a tradition. This is the third year I’m posting this on Memorial Day weekend for two specific reasons:

  1. I like it.
  2. Unapologetic laziness.

Years ago I worked at an American Legion post. I met a lot of people during my time there. Some of them were ordinary people, some were interesting, some were bizarre and some were bizarrely interesting.

One of the more interesting people was Jack.

Jack constantly spoke in non sequiturs. At first I thought that he was simply hard of hearing, but I began to realize there was a thread of continuity in the things he was saying. His conversations would go off in seemingly weird and irrelevant tangents, but they generally made it back to their original points.

I’ve often wished that I had written some of them down, unfortunately I’m a moron.

Here are a few of my favorites that haven’t been lost to my faulty memory:

Jack: I remember when I paid only ten dollars a week for rent.

Other patron: We don’t live in the fifties anymore Jack.

Jack: What! (slamming his fist against the bar in indignation) I haven’t ridden a bicycle in years.

Other patron: What?

Jack: I’d rather pay for my truck insurance than ride a bicycle.

Other patron: Again, what?

Jack: I can barely afford to pay my for rent and my truck insurance.

Or this one:

Me: Do you want another beer Jack?

Jack: (giving me a dismissive wave): I don’t know anyone named Dan.

Me: Firstly, I asked you if wanted another beer. Secondly, what about Dan sitting there right next to you?

Jack: (looking at Dan suspiciously) His last name isn’t White.

Me: So?

Jack: Then why would someone named Dan White want to buy me a beer?

Me: Obviously he wouldn’t. I can’t believe I’ve behaved so foolishly.

But this was my favorite:

Me: How are you doing today Jack?

Jack: You’re nuts!

Me: I hesitate to ask, but apart from the obvious, why do say that?

Jack: My wife was never an Eskimo.

Yeah. I still have no idea.

Eskimo

Probably not Jack’s wife.

But of all the interesting people I met, John was the most interesting.

John had a lot of stories to tell and a keen willingness to tell them, under one condition: you had to keep a cold rum and coke in front of him. He needed the proper “lubrication” to keep the vocal chords going.

John was man in his late eighties but still very spry. He had a weird sense of humor, which was probably a good thing because his wife seemed to have none at all. She was constantly reprimanding John for his jokes.

But that didn’t stop John.

John was a rifle bearer for the Honor Guard. One day after performing their duties, the members of the Honor Guard were returning to the post to have a few drinks together, as was their custom.

John walked calmly up to bar in full dress uniform, carrying his rifle, and wearing his eye-patch (John had to occasionally wear an eye-patch because of condition he had. He claimed he wore so he didn’t see double after he’s had a few too many) and stood there with a slight impish grin on his face.

He looked like pirate.

He then quickly pulled the rifle to his shoulder and discharged it toward the back of the bar.

The crack of the rifle echoed through the hall. If you’ve never heard a rifle discharged in a building, it’s loud. Beer flew into air, drinks were spilled, people scattered, some hit the floor. Even though I knew it was only a blank, it was still jarring to have a weapon discharged in your general direction.

A cloud of smoke hung in air the along with the pungent smell of spent gun powder. For a moment after the echo of the rifle had disappeared there was total silence. Then there chaos. Some people were laughing; some people were not. Some people were cursing, especially John’s wife, who unleashed a stream of foul language that to this day, I am certain has never been matched.

Once I made sure I still a whole person, I laughed, maybe as hard as I ever had in my life.

He later told me he thought it would be funny.

“When isn’t heart failure funny,” I told him.

John was reprimanded by the post, but that didn’t bother him. In fact, I’m not sure I ever saw anything bother him.

John was there that day on June 6th 1944. It’s estimated that 2,500 allied soldiers lost their lives on D-Day… but John didn’t. He had to hang around long enough to nearly scare me to death.

So this Memorial Day weekend, I’m dedicating this blog post to Jack, John and every other veteran who is no longer with us.

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