idiotpruf

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

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The True and Accurate Historical Story of Limburger Cheese

limburger cheese

The delightful aroma of feet.

There is one salient fact about Limburger cheese: it is just awful. The only time I would need Limburger cheese, would be if I needed something that smelled like death and the smell from my giant pile of opossum crap just wasn’t enough.

Did you know the bacterium used to ferment Limburger cheese is the same bacterium that is responsible for body odor, and in particular, foot odor?

If you’ve ever smelled Limberger cheese, you had your suspicions.

Limburger cheese was first created in the Duchy of Limburg in the 19th century by a man who had just come home from a hard day of cheese making. He had unbuckled and removed his boots and was attempting to enjoy a meal with his wife when he and his wife got into an argument that changed the history of cheese making forever.

Wife: What is that horrendous smell?

Cheesemaker: Ooh, we’re having stoofvlees, I love stoofvlees.

Wife: It’s the most putrid smell I have ever encountered.

Cheesemaker: I don’t smell anything. Pass the ale.

Wife: I think it’s your feet.

Cheesemaker: Seriously. Pass the ale.

Wife: It’s rancorous.

Cheesemaker: It’s not that bad.

Wife: It is that bad. There are people retching on the other side of the Demer River.

Cheesemaker: Do you know what this conversation isn’t doing? It isn’t remedying the fact that I have no ale.

Wife: Your feet smell worse than that giant pile of opossum crap you have behind the house.

Cheesemaker: I’ll get my own ale.

Wife: Why do you even have a giant pile of opossum crap?

Cheesemaker: I’ll tell you why, (he pauses to take a slug of ale) because someday you’ll be in desperate need of copious amounts of opossum crap, and you’ll be glad it’s there.

Wife: I’ve thought the same thing about you, but it still hasn’t happened. Besides, it’s the worst smell in the world.

Cheesemaker: Nonsense. It’s not the worst smell in the world. In fact, I’ll bet that I could make a cheese that smells worse.

Wife: I doubt it.

Cheesemaker: You’ll see; it will become my mission.

Wife: Shut up and drink your ale.

And drink his ale he did.

And succeed he did–beyond his wildest ale-fueled dreams.

Of course, his wife left him and his giant pile of opossum crap.

The Duchy of Limburg is now divided by modern-day Germany, the Netherlands, and Belgium. None of the three countries wanted it: it reeked of Limburger cheese and developed a huge opossum problem.

Addendum: there are historians who will tell you certain items in this story aren’t factual–historians suck.

opossum

The aroma of their crap is delightful.

Reefer Madness and a Bit of Math

pot shop

Albert Einstein almost never hung out here.

The Dutch have done it again.

From the people who have already given us windmills, Holstein cows, gouda cheese, Heineken, orange carrots (seriously, orange carrots–look it up), and most crucially: the idea that my date will pay for her own meal, comes another breakthrough.

Dutch researchers have determined that students who were banned from smoking marijuana in Dutch coffee shops were found to be more likely to pass exams, specifically math-based exams.

The effect is “five times larger” for courses requiring quantitative thinking and maths-based tasks, according to the researchers. They then crossed out that figure and changed it to “four times larger” before crossing out that figure and changing it to “ten times larger.” They then admitted that they were quite confused and unsure of the figures–they had been smoking a lot of pot that day. They then put on some Steely Dan records and sent out for munchies.

Note: in an unrelated study, Dutch researchers have discovered that people who repeatedly whomp themselves in the face with a wooden shoe, are more likely to suffer from headaches than people who don’t repeatedly whomp themselves in the face with a shoe.

The Dutch, known for their thoroughness and incredible dyke building skills, have compiled a list of activities hindered by the use of marijuana:

  • Basic math skills.
  • Advanced math skills.
  • Common core math (actually, heavy drug use helps with this).
  • Operating heavy machinery.
  • Operating heavy machinery while trying to remember the lyrics of your favorite Grateful Dead song.
  • Operating heavy machinery while remembering that your favorite Grateful Dead song has no lyrics; it’s just 25 minutes of twangy guitar music.
  • Taking deep breaths without hacking up a lung.
  • Finding Lake Titicaca on a map.
  • Saying the name Lake Titicaca without giggling uncontrollably.
  • Not giggling uncontrollably.
  • The ability to have a conversation with a person without referring to him as “man” repeatedly.
  • The ability to enter a grocery store without purchasing a case of Twinkies.

Additionally, the Dutch have discovered that in manufacturing companies where marijuana use is prevalent among its workers, production levels have seen a substantial drop. However, this doesn’t apply to companies that produce tie-dye clothing; drug use in those companies seems to cause an explosion of production…at least until everyone gets hungry and they start scarfing down bags of Cheetos.

Note: it is a little-known fact that tie-dye was invented in 1928 when after eating a tainted breakfast burrito, Walt Disney vomited on a co-worker’s shirt and really liked the way it looked. He then drew something about a mouse on a steamboat. The Dutch don’t invent everything.

Meanwhile in North Korea:

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 (NSF) Graduate Research Fellowship 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.   

bee sting research

One million dollars being spent.

The least painful locations to be stung by a bee for Michael Smith were the skull, middle toe tip, the 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, despite the advice about the eyeball, as an advisor, Tom Seeley has 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 her penis or scrotum very differently,” Michael stated.

Did I mention how miserably Michael Smith’s advisor failed him?  

In case you’re wondering, these methods do not conflict with the Helsinki Declaration, which is 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.

Physically Fit to be Tied–And a Bit Older

image credit: TMZ

(image credit: TMZ)

“Are you physically fit?” bellowed the man on the television screen as he jabbed a muscular finger in my direction.

“I don’t know,” I exclaimed, a bit startled by the suddenness of the question.

“Are you physically fit?” he persisted. This man was loud, muscle bound, and so deeply tanned that where ever he was, he must have been near the surface of the sun.

“You’re getting older,” he continued.

I am getting older, I thought, nearly every day.

“Do you even know what it means to be physically fit?”

I had to admit that I really didn’t.

“Of course you don’t know what it means, you’re a tiny pathetic weed of a man.”

I still didn’t know what it meant, was a little insulted, but wished that someone would tell me.

“Well I’m going to tell you.” He seemed to be reading my mind. “Physical fitness is the ability of the body to function with vigor and alertness, and with ample energy to engage in leisure activities. Endurance and cardio respiratory integrity are the overt signs of physical fitness.

Well this was absolutely no help at all.

My body functions with vigor and alertness, in as much as I seldom fall asleep when I don’t want to. I have endurance; I can run over one-hundred feet before the searing pain in my side renders me unconscious. As far as cardio respiratory integrity goes, my heart’s been beating for my entire life and hasn’t stopped yet, how much more integrity do you need?

Ample energy for leisure activities? Any activity that requires an amount of energy that can be characterized as ample, isn’t leisurely at all.

Here are a few activities that I don’t consider leisurely: running, jogging, speed walking, walking normally over long distances, walking slowly up an incline, lifting heavy objects, carrying heavy objects, lifting then subsequently carrying heavy objects, rock climbing. Rocks should never be climbed, if you’re trying to get somewhere and there is a rock in the way, go around it or blow it up. Why do think Alfred Nobel invented dynamite? They didn’t name that award after him because he wasted his time scrabbling up and down rocks.

It was at this point that the man on the screen began doing squat-thrusts. There has never been a time in the history of mankind that it was necessary to do a squat-thrust.

I decided to change the channel. Eventually I found a man reclined in a hammock, sipping a drink through a straw as waves washed a sun soaked beach in the background.

Now that’s a leisurely activity; one for which I have ample energy.

idiotpruf

Goofy has the idea.
(image source: wondersofdisney.com)

A Stone’s Throw

stone for throwing

A thing that is close is sometimes said to be a stone’s throw away.

Example: Mary Jo’s house is just a stone’s throw away.

Why are you throwing stones at Mary Jo’s house? Mary Jo is unpleasant to deal with on her best days and can be downright villainous when she’s in a bad mood.

Do you remember that time the paperboy missed her porch and it landed in her hydrangea bush? He still can’t talk about it without weeping uncontrollably.

And now you’re pelting her house with stones–what the hell are you thinking?

Can you imagine what would happen if you were to break one of Mary Jo’s bay windows? You might survive the aftermath, but I am fairly certain your testicles wouldn’t.

Besides, it seems wildly arbitrary to determine distance by how far you can hurl a stone.

Is it a small stone or a large stone you’re throwing?

I would think it also greatly depend on who is doing the throwing. I’m sure Roger Clemens can throw a stone a great deal farther than you can–you’re basically a tiny weed of a man. (Even more so since you broke Mary Jo’s bay window.)

You shouldn’t be throwing stones around all willy-nilly anyway. Have you ever accidently hit someone in the side of the face with a stone? They get mad.

Or try explaining to your neighbor that you were just trying to determine if his new truck was parked a stone’s throw away from your house after you’ve put a huge dent in it. He will be less than understanding. “You’re just lucky I’m not Mary Jo,” he’ll growl angrily.

Just look at a thing and estimate in your head how far away that thing is–you’re an adult, you can do that.

But don’t spend too much time looking at Mary Jo’s house: she gets suspicious.

broken bay window
Mary Jo is going to be so pissed off.

The Toad-licker Injustice Must Stop

toad

I challenge you not to lick this toad.

Imagine the following scenario: you’re innocently walking down street, minding your own business, contemplating life, when you spot something out of the corner of your eye: on the grass sits a solitary toad. You make a mental note of the toad, but you don’t think much about it.

But as you carry on with your day, you can’t shake one niggling thought: I could have licked that toad.

It’s a thought that persists with you through the following days. It grows from a gentle nagging into a full-blown obsession.

Your days are filled with confusion and regret; your nights are haunted with sleepless torment.

And thus begins your journey as a toad-licker.

There’s no shame in being a toad-licker. You’re not hurting anybody. You’re still the same person you’ve always been, but people begin to see you differently.

Admittedly, a much higher than normal percentage of toad-kickers are criminally insane, but you’re not criminally insane; when the voices inside your head tell you to kill, you almost never listen to them.

Your friends begin to treat you differently. They subtly begin to remove you from their lives. The invitations to parties and get-togethers become less frequent. They say they fear you’ll suddenly produce a toad from your pocket and start licking it. They claim you’ll start licking a toad at a really inappropriate time.

You will produce a toad from your pocket and start licking it, but you’re discreet. Besides, if you can’t lick a toad at a funeral; when can you lick a toad?

Society tries to separate you. Society tries to ostracize you.

It’s not like you have Ebola, or the face of a goat, or you’re a Kardashian: YOU’RE NOT A FREAK!

I urge all of you to look into your hearts and give toad-lickers a chance; toad-lickers are people just like you and me…apart from all the toad-licking and the fact they rarely bathe.

Please, toad-lickers just need a little understanding…except for this guy–this guy’s a weirdo.

toad licker

This guy ruins it for everyone.

How to Deal With a Pompous Loudmouthed Prick

Everyone knows someone who’s overbearing and obnoxious.

As you were reading that sentence, somebody’s name popped into your head.

A person who’s ego is so enormous, it blots out the sun.

A person who is aggressively ignorant.

A pompous loudmouthed prick.

And on occasion, that person points their pompous loudmouthed aggression in your direction.

How do you deal with it?

Do you simply try to keep your distance?

You can’t: his bloated face encroaches all boundaries.

Do you attempt to ignore him?

You can’t: his presence is tantamount to being locked in a room with a hundred diseased monkeys all throwing their feces at your face. Some would argue his presence is worse.

I have a solution that is guaranteed to be successful: shoot the pompous loudmouthed prick in the face with a crossbow.

It’s simple. It’s elegant. It’s crazy fun.

Once a person has been shot in the face with a crossbow, their primary concern immediately becomes the fact that they’ve just been shot in the face with a crossbow.

It takes an amazingly short amount of time for the pompous loudmouthed prick’s bloviating to transition to: “Holy shit, you’ve just shot in the face with a crossbow. I’m in a ridiculous amount of pain! There’s so much blood! Why are you laughing?”

Note: it’s probably best not cackle hysterically as the pompous loudmouthed prick bleeds out, but that’s entirely up to you.

I know what’s going through your mind right now: if I shoot somebody in the face with a crossbow, won’t there be ramifications?

Maybe. You probably won’t get invited to as many parties.

But do you really want to go to parties where pompous loudmouthed pricks aren’t being shot in the face with a crossbow?

Of course you don’t–nobody wants that.

I hope reading this post has been an aid to you; I know writing it has helped me.

The crossbow: dealing with loudmouthed pricks since the Middle Ages.

Three Bears Respond to Allegations

The Forest–That infamous flaxen haired denizen of the forest, Goldilocks, who rose to fame after an episode of trespassing, has again become the cause of turmoil for a family of bears.

“Our lives have been miserable since the story of ‘Goldilocks and the Three Bears’ has gotten out,” said an angry Mama Bear. “All of that girl’s wild claims have spread through the forest like an infestation of deer ticks.”

According to Mama Bear, her homemaking skills have come under great scrutiny since the event.

“I can’t go anywhere in the woods without some simpleton creature poking fun at my culinary skills,” Mama Bear said disgustedly. “‘Ooh, your porridge is too hot, ooh, your porridge is too cold’ it never ends. Do you know what it’s like to be mocked by squirrels…all squirrels do is collect freaking nuts!”

Papa bear was reluctant to comment about Mama Bear’s porridge. “If Goldilocks thought that porridge was hot, she should see Mama Bear’s temper when you criticize her cooking.”

“But seriously,” Goldilocks responded, “how do you make some of your porridge too hot and some of your porridge too cold? I mean, how do you do that?”

“Baby Bear was horribly traumatized by the whole incident,” Mama Bear said angrily. “Not only did that vixen eat all of his porridge and sleep in his bed, she broke his favorite chair.”

“It was a shame about Baby Bear’s chair,” Papa Bear conceded, “but not having to eat any of that porridge probably wasn’t the worst thing in the world for him.” 

“It hasn’t been all one sided,” Goldilocks responded. “When it got out that I broke a chair made for a bear just by sitting in it, let’s just say the term fat ass has been thrown out there a lot. And I’m fairly certain I got chiggers from Mama Bear’s bed.”

“What kind of maniac just busts into someone’s home, eats their food, and sleeps in their beds?” Mama Bear growled.

“If they didn’t want anybody in their house, they should have hidden the key to their front door better,” Goldilocks said defiantly. “The key was right there under the welcome mat–that’s practically an invitation to come in.”

“We just want to put all of this behind us.” Papa Bear said before adding one final thought. “Sometimes Mama Bear’s porridge isn’t that great…don’t tell her I said that.”

broken chair idiotprufs
Just some of Goldilocks’ handiwork.

Murder and Cheese Dip

Party table
What a lovely looking party…it’d be a shame if somebody ruined it.

What if murder wasn’t illegal?

What if murder was just a thing considered rude–something you wouldn’t do at a friend’s party?

Imagine you were invited to a party at a friends house. While at this party you have a bit too much to drink.

During the festivities you question the host’s taste in decor. You toss out phrases like: garish, glitteringly obnoxious, tasteless, and the truly unfortunate phrase: just plain butt-ugly.

During this party, you cause a perfectly nice couple to storm out after you ask them if they named their daughter Liz because she bears an uncanny resemblance to a lizard.

At some point during the night, you murder a guy named Mitch with a waffle iron.

And through an unfortunate accident, you ruin the cheese dip.

Now imagine the thing your friend is the most upset about is the cheese dip. In fact, everyone is mad at you because the cheese dip was really good.

“Did you have to hit Mitch in the back of the head with a waffle iron?” your friend yells at you. “You made him fall face first into the cheese dip…now no one will eat the cheese dip.”

The next morning you apologize profusely as you make your friend some pancakes. (You’d make waffles but the back of Mitch’s head ruined the waffle iron.)

You apologize for the remarks you made about the decor. The decor is perfectly lovely if you’re colorblind, or just plain blind.

You phone that nice couple and apologize for implying their daughter looks like a lizard. (Just because it’s true doesn’t mean it needs to be said.)

You apologize for insinuating that your friend’s wife dresses a tad slutty. Then you remember that you never actually said that out loud, so you apologize for that.

But most emphatically, you apologize for the cheese dip, because the cheese dip was truly delicious.

What you don’t apologize for is Mitch, because Mitch was a dick. Besides, it’s not like murder is illegal.

cheese dip
The cheese dip, prior to Mitch’s dead face.

Ballot Initiative: 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.”

 

 

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