idiotprufs

Read by four out of five drunken monkeys, written by the fifth.

Archive for the category “inspirational”

You’re Not Really a Bad Person

snidley whiplash

“You can tell by my maniacal sneer that I’m a good guy.”

You’re not really a bad person.

Sure, you parked in front of that fire hydrant despite the big sign clearly indicating not to park in front of the fire hydrant, because of all the laws and such.

You couldn’t have possibly known that orphanage would catch on fire.

You did see some smoke coming from the building as you were parking, but you imagined a nice cozy fire burning in the fireplace…midday in the middle of August.

And while it seemed odd the smoke was emanating from a window and not a chimney, you’re not a chimney expert.

Besides, it wasn’t very much smoke…at first.

For all you knew, they were just electing a new orphan pope, you’re not an orphan pope expert.

And you’re all for freedom of religion, despite that time you punched that Jehovah’s Witness in the face. He rang the doorbell and got you out of bed and it was barely past noon. Besides, you’re not a freedom of religion expert.

And while you made the decision to argue with the firemen rather than allow them the unimpeded ability to aide the orphans who were now fleeing for their lives from a burning building, you’re not a firefighting expert.

Hey! Those firemen put a scratch on your car that isn’t going to buff out.

What’s the big deal anyway? They’re orphans–they’re used to hardship.

You probably shouldn’t have cursed at that nun, but it was a very intense situation and that crack she made about your future being filled with damnation and hellfire just seemed mean. She did seem to be a damnation and hellfire expert; she was quite longwinded about it.

No! You are not a bad person at all.

fire forest

Fires make everything nice and toasty warm.

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 it’s 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 photosynthesising 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 to pop out of it’s socket at really inconvenient times, dry mouth, and your penis may or may not fall off.

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

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.

My Friend Philbert

I have a friend named Philbert who is extraordinarily supportive and helpful.

He’s nonjudgmental of all my little quirks. He isn’t bothered by the fact that I eat crayons. He doesn’t think it’s weird that I think the color fuchsia is evil. He isn’t bothered by the fact that I smell like moldy pinecones. And when the little voices inside my head tell me to kill again and I listen to them, he is shockingly okay with it.

Despite all that, there was a period when Philbert and I drifted apart.

There reasons for this were myriad.

He got heavily into scrapbooking.

I am heavily into not scrapbooking.

He spent some time living on a small island in the Atlantic Ocean.

I don’t care for people who live on small islands in the Atlantic Ocean. (I’m looking at you people of Nantucket; you and all of your filthy limericks.)

He met a girl named Rosanna. He claimed she was his soulmate. He said she had a big heart and a gentle soul and they shared a love for scrapbooking and island dwelling.

I told him she was a crazy she-demon. I advised him that she would break his heart, burn all his shit in the front yard, and stab him in the eye with a shrimp fork.

It caused a rift between us.

In the end she was a crazy she-demon who broke his heart, burned all his shit in the front yard, and stabbed him in the eye with a shrimp fork.

Not only was she a crazy she-demon who broke his heart, burned his all shit in the front yard, and stabbed him in the eye with a shrimp fork…she scrapbooked about it.

We’ve gotten past our differences and are friends again.

He’s not quite the way I remember him. He has an eyepatch now. He’s lost his taste for island dwelling. He doesn’t scrapbook anymore. Limericks make him vomit in his mouth. And when the song Rosanna comes on the radio, he pees himself a little bit.

I told him the eyepatch makes him look badass. Unfortunately, it’s hard to be badass when you’re peeing yourself to a Toto song.

But now that Philbert and I have reconnected, we can be the support each other needs.

Fuchsia, however, can go screw itself.

fuchsia
Get over yourself fuchsia–you’re just violet.

Christmas and Rutabagas

rutabaga

It’s Christmastime again: the perfect opportunity to brighten the spirits of a loved one with the gift of the rutabaga.

What’s so special about the rutabaga you may ponder–what isn’t so special about the rutabaga is my response.

  • They can be roasted.
  • They can be baked.
  • They can be boiled as a flavor enhancer in soups.
  • They can be boiled as a flavour enhancer in soups in Great Britain. (You wouldn’t believe how much tastier the soup is with that extra U in the word flavour.)
  • They can be thinly julienned as a side dish, in a salad or as a garnish.
  • They can be thinly julienned and used to cleanup oil spills in the driveway.
  • They can be mashed into a paste and used to degrease engines.
  • They can be mashed into a paste and used as a beautifying face cream. (It won’t make you more attractive, but it will cover up your butt-ugly face.)
  • You can make rutabaga ice cream.
  • You can make a rudimentary boiled rutabaga stew that was a staple of famine ridden Europe during the war and pretend you’re living in famine ridden Europe during the war–because pretending is fun.
  • You can chuck them at Joy Behar’s head. (It’s such a huge target.)
  • You can chuck them at the heads of people you’re ambivalent about.
  • You can chuck them at the heads of people you like. (The thunk of a rutabaga bouncing off a human skull is surprisingly satisfying.)
  • You can fill your child’s stocking with them. (But ensure they’re fresh; they can attract flies.)
  • You can use them to attract flies.
  • You can carve them into lanterns as was the old Irish tradition.
  • You can carve them into lanterns and chuck them at Joy Behar’s head. (Hopefully the beginnings of a new tradition.)
  • And finally, you can make the traditional Finnish Christmas dish Lanttulaatikko.

rutabaga dish

Lanttulaatikko is a delicious Finnish Christmas dish–you can also chuck it at Joy Behar’s head.

Addendum: Don’t make rutabaga ice cream…it sucks.

Come See the Erie Frogs: Not Everbody Gets Eaten

erie frog

Big creepy frog.

If you been through Erie, Pennsylvania, you may have noticed a big creepy frog along the side of the road. You may have noticed several big creepy frogs along the side of the road. In fact, you may have noticed big creepy frogs everywhere.

There are, in fact, about 100 eight feet tall frog sculptures littered about Erie and the surrounding area.

erie frog

The frogs are part of the Lake Erie Art Project.

“Art isn’t meant to be beautiful; it’s meant to drive us and open us up to our fears and vulnerabilities…and if we can make small children wet themselves, so much the better,” one official said of the frogs. “We took that core philosophy and we ran with it; we ran like Forrest Gump.”

erie frog

The small one hasn’t stopped crying.

“You see,” the official went on to explain, “we felt there just wasn’t enough creepy shit in Erie. Don’t get me wrong, Erie is creepy: we have Bigfoot sighting on Presque Isle, haunted cemeteries, and roving bands of inbred cannibals, but we needed something extra.”

rocky frog

Another victim of the Erie frogs.

“And the rumor that the frogs come to life and devour people has been an unexpected bonus. If we can leave visitors of Erie scarred for life–we’ve done our job.”

erie frog

Another poor soul who got a little bit too close.

 

“So come to Erie and see our frogs,” the official said, “not everybody gets eaten.”

erie frog

“Welcome to Erie. You look delicious.”

I’m a Horrible Person

futurama

I know.

I’ve recently discovered I’m a soulless monster. My children are doomed to be soulless monsters. My children’s children are doomed to be soulless monsters. In fact, all of my descendants have a bleak soulless future.

It sucks.

All of this was pointed out to me by a woman who was quite certain I was pure evil.

What did I do to incur such condemnation–such wrath?

Did I murder someone?

No.

Did I steal from anyone?

No.

Did I punch a mime in the face at a child’s birthday party?

No–and he was really asking for it.

Did I harm any person in any manner?

No.

Did I club a baby seal?

Of course not.

Did I club Seal the singer?

Never. His music brings such joy to the world.

Did I smash a neighbor’s garden gnome with a shovel then pee on its remains?

Not that he can prove.

Did I get in the 12 items or less line with more than 12 items?

No.

Did I use the word less when the word fewer applied?

Apparently.

Did I keep a library book overdue for an extended period of time?

No.

Was the library book I kept overdue for an extended period of time, a self-help book titled: How to be Prompt, responsible, and Stop Compulsively Lying About not Keeping Library Books Overdue for Extended Periods of Time?

No???

Did I casually comment that I didn’t care for the movie Dances with Wolves?

Yes!

Evidently this is the worst thing a human can do. Not only does it reveal a horribly flawed taste in cinema, but it is also a mark of disrespect for the Native American culture.

Ridiculous! Did you realize the director’s cut of the movie is four hours long? If it were an erection, I would have had to call a doctor. And I can have a lot more fun with an erection than I can with a DVD of Dances with Wolves.

I quite enjoyed Braveheart, does that mean I hate the English?

Of course not. I love the English and their delicious muffins that perfectly hold in the buttery goodness.

I liked King Kong, does that mean I don’t like giant apes, and want to drop them from skyscrapers?

I love giant apes in every incarnation, from Mighty Joe Young to Grape Ape.

grape ape

He’s a giant ape and he’s grape–what’s not to like?

I really enjoyed Mississippi Burning, does that mean don’t like the KKK?

Okay…that was a bad example.

I thought The Children of the Corn was creepy and disturbing, does that mean I think children and corn are creepy and disturbing?

Well…I don’t think corn is creepy and disturbing.

I liked Roadhouse, does that mean I have a flawed taste in cinema?

Probably, but what are you gonna do?

I didn’t like Out of Africa, does that mean I don’t like…

I have no idea what that movie is about; it was so dreadfully boring, I quit paying attention early on.

I think Lawrence of Arabia is one of the greatest movies ever made, does that mean I don’t like the Turks?

To be honest, I spend precious little time contemplating the Turks.

I liked The Road Warrior, does that mean I want cataclysmic events to wipe out the majority of the world’s population?

I’ll get back to you on this one.

The point is, I didn’t like Dances with Wolves because I didn’t like it. It’s just an opinion and I’m allowed to have it.

If you’ve read this blog to any extent, (and if you have–I apologize) you understand my personal preferences are a little off in many regards.

I’ve had many people express their distaste for this blog, and I’m perfectly fine with it. (They’re all stupid-heads anyway.)

dances with wolves

If the movie had been about this dancing dog, I would have loved it.

Barrel Shopping for Niagara Falls

barrel for going over falls

A barrel like this would be great…but I prefer something in color.

 

Now that I’ve made the decision to go over Niagara Falls in a barrel, there are few slight logistical wrinkles that need to be ironed out.

First and foremost: I need a barrel. I have several vital requirements for the barrel I choose for my journey over the falls:

  1. It must be watertight enough to endure the 681,750 gallons of water that travel over the falls per second, without filling with water and killing me horribly.
  2. It has to be sturdy enough to endure the 2,509 tons of force created by the 681,750 gallons of water that travel over the falls without losing structural integrity and killing me horribly.
  3. It must be able to withstand the 167 foot drop without bursting on impact and killing me horribly.
  4. It must be spacious enough for me to comfortably fit into. (I don’t like to be cramped almost as much as I don’t like to be killed horribly.)
  5. It must fit onto the top of a Mercury Marquis. (I have bungee cords.)

My search for a suitable barrel has been less than fruitful.

It’s startling just how unhelpful the employees of Home Depot are when comes to barrel shopping.

You wouldn’t believe the slack-jawed looks I get when I ask them where they keep their barrels for going over waterfalls–they gape at me like I’m a moron.

The people at Ace Hardware are even less helpful. Their little jingle: “Ace is the place with the helpful hardware folks” is a blatant and disgusting lie. It should be: “Ace is the place where smug judgmental pricks named Rob question your mental stability.”

I went to a web site of the deceivingly named Crate & Barrel–completely useless unless you plan to go over Niagara Falls on an overpriced chaise lounge.

(I did however find a delightful celosia black hand-knotted area rug.)

It appears in order to find a suitable barrel for going over Niagara Falls, I’m required to have one custom made.

Going over Niagara Falls in a barrel is turning out to be more difficult than I had imagined, but I will soldier on.

 

liquuor barrel

What a great barrel; I just have to empty it of the Jack Daniels inside–it’s a plan!

Welcome to the Neighborhood

There are just some things you just don’t want to hear come out of your new neighbor’s mouth.

  • Once we get the lab up and running, we can give you a great deal on crystal meth.
  • You’ll have to excuse my wife, she has a form of voluntary Tourette’s syndrome. Your home is lovely, and your wife doesn’t at all have the appearance of a fat slutty whore.
  • This seems like a nice quiet neighborhood where we can await the return of the mothership.
  • I love this big spacious backyard, it’s perfect for burying evidence.
  • I don’t see any cinder blocks in your front yard; where do you keep all of your old appliances?
  • I’m going to paint my entire house hot pink, with giant flaming skulls on the side; your property value is going to soar.
  • We really needed to find a bigger home; swamp rats really multiply fast.
  • We had to move leave our last neighborhood; all our neighbor’s homes kept inexplicably burning down. Billy, put down those matches and come meet the new neighbors.
  • We’re the Mitchells and this is our son Dennis. Sorry about that welt on your forehead; Dennis is a crack shot with that slingshot of his.
  • It’s okay, you can shake my hand, leprosy isn’t nearly as contagious as most people think.
  • This is our son Damien, some people think he’s the antichrist, but really, he’s just mischievous. But seriously, if you see him on a tricycle, back away.
  • The witness protection people put me here because I whacked like fifty people, and then I ratted out the family to stay off death row…I mean, my name is Ed and I’m an accountant.
  • Hi, my name’s Joe Exotic.
  • We’re members of the Society of Obese Sweaty Nudists, we’ll be holding our weekly meetings in the backyard.
  • Would you like to meet Yancey and Theodore, our pet howler monkeys.
  • Do you like garden gnomes as much as I like garden gnomes? I hope you do, because I have hundreds of them.
  • I’m Hannibal Lecter, I’d love to have you over for dinner.
  • We’re not actual neo-Nazis, they weren’t radical enough for us.
  • I hope your family loves to yodel as much as our family loves to yodel.
  • No. We didn’t shave off all of our body hair because the cult makes us, we just like the way it feels. Although, the testicle piercing was mandatory.
  • Pay no mind to the roosters, they only crow at sunrise.
  • Our pet pythons only escape once in a while…you don’t have small children do you?
  • You won’t have to worry about noisy lawnmowers with us, all the goats and sheep take care of our lawn.
  • We’re here to do a television show: The Desperate Housewives of Erie, Pennsylvania.

bad neighbor

“I’m really into topiary.”

Man Jailed After Destructive Tirade

monkey North East PA

Monkey shocked by recent events.

North East, Pennsylvania–In a bizarre story involving a construction site, a mischievous monkey, and a bulldozer; a man was taken into custody following a destructive tirade.

It seems the man, who was traveling with the monkey, had stopped at a local market to pick up a few things. While he was inside, the monkey made his way across the street and onto a construction site where he found an idling bulldozer.

I look up and I see the bulldozer tearing across the lot,” said Dirk, one of the construction workers who witnessed the incident. “I thought that Earl had lost his mind, but then I look and I see this freakin’ monkey, and he’s driving the bulldozer. We always joke with Earl that a monkey could drive a bulldozer…I guess we were right.”

According to Dirk, the monkey swerved around the lot before making a beeline toward the Porta-Johns. “Guys were jumping up and down and waving the monkey away from the Porta-Johns…the monkey just waved back. The bulldozer hit those Porta-Johns, and they went flying through the air. They hit the ground and blew into pieces; they really aren’t made for that type of thing. It’s a good thing no one was in them…except for Earl that is.”

Yeah that’s right,” another witness confirmed. “From out of the Porta-John rubble climbs Earl, covered with crap, literally.”

According to witnesses, it was at this point the man in question arrived.

This guy dressed in a yellow suit comes running across the lot and screaming at the monkey. I mean, from head to toe everything he’s got on is yellow–that’s weird isn’t it?” Dirk commented.

Everyone agreed that it was a little weird.

So now the guy is chasing the monkey on the bulldozer. He’s trying to grab the monkey but the monkey won’t let him. Each time the guy gets close, the monkey hurls crap at him. The monkey is steering with one hand and hurling crap with the other. He really puts Earl to shame…driving a bulldozer I mean–not hurling crap.  Anyway, the guy in yellow is ducking and dodging the monkey crap, and he’s really quick, like he’s done this before. But then, he catches one square in the forehead. The guy just stops dead in his tracks, he gets this crazy look in his eyes and he starts screaming: ‘that’s it, that’s the limit.'”

Many of the witnesses told the authorities they had never seen a man with such a wild look in his eyes.

I guess the monkey could tell he was in trouble, because it jumps off the bulldozer and tears off. Then the man in yellow hat gets on the bulldozer, and now he’s chasing the monkey. He’s smashing through walls and knocking things over, the monkey’s scrambling around with the bulldozer right on his tail. The monkey climbs over a pick-up truck to get away, but the man just plows into the truck, and the truck flips over. Earl’s screaming and running over there because it’s his truck.

The police arrived on the scene shortly afterward.

I just couldn’t take it anymore,” the man in yellow told police as they took him away. “He just keeps getting into more and more trouble, and it’s really pissing me off.

Animal control came and retrieved the monkey, but not before the monkey stole their tranquilizer gun, climbed a pole, and put four rounds in Earl’s buttocks.

It was not a good day for Earl.

When asked to comment, Earl said only, “F******  monkey.”

I heard the man in yellow refer to the monkey as George,” Dirk said reflectively. “That monkey sure was a curious little thing.”

porta-john

Pre-monkey Porta-Johns.

Crazy Stinging Amazonian Bastard Ants

nerd idiotprufs ants

The Crazy Stinging Amazonian Bastard Ant. How would like to get a package of these?

In a previous post, But Seriously, I described my use of Crazy Stinging Amazonian Bastard Ants when dealing with critics. When I receive criticism I feel is unwarranted, I drop a package in the mail to the critic. The package contains a colony of the ants in question. The label on the package reads: shake roughly before opening. (The only thing Crazy Stinging Amazonian Bastard Ants hate more than critics is to be shaken roughly.)

Note: For criticism to reach the Crazy Stinging Amazonian Bastard Ant level, it has to really hurt my feelings; if I exhale a feeble whimper followed by a pained, why, upon receiving the criticism, you’re getting ants in the mail.

It would seem there some people out there who don’t believe that Crazy Stinging Amazonian Bastard Ants are real. People who suddenly seem to be experts on Amazonian wildlife and entomology. People who say they’ve done their own research and can’t find any evidence of the existence of such an insect.

Hey people, Wikipedia doesn’t know everything.

These people claim that no self-respecting taxonomist would give an ant such a silly name.

Things are often given weird or inappropriate names. Have you ever seen a person and immediately thought to yourself: that person’s parents misnamed him; his name should be Rat-Bastard Morgan instead of Piers.

Note: my deepest apologies to Piers Morgan and his family, that was entirely uncalled for, but I really like that joke.

They also say that ants don’t sting: they bite.

Nature provides us with many oddities and exceptions: mammals don’t lay eggs, but the duck-billed platypus does. Birds don’t swim under water, but penguins do. Humans don’t shed their skin like snakes, but Hugh Hefner did. The list goes on and on.

Note: my apologies to Hugh Hefner and his family–may he rest in peace–but he was kind of a snake.

Let’s say for the sake of argument, the name Crazy Stinging Amazonian Bastard Ants, is in fact, a product of my fertile if not slightly warped mind.

Who’s to say such an insect doesn’t already exist. There have been over 400 hundred new species of plants and animals discovered in the Amazonian rain forest in recent years, including a monkey that purrs like a kitten and a vegetarian piranha.

Note: the vegetarian piranha was classified as Piersus Morganus, the monkey they called Ted.

Perhaps one of those 400 hundred discoveries is an insect whose sheer nature and attributes demand it be classified as a Crazy Stinging Amazonian Bastard Ant.

Just the other day I read an article about a researcher on the Amazon River who discovered a previously unknown water fowl. The water fowl was infested with a previously unknown type of tick. The tick bit the researcher and infected him  with a previously unknown and highly infectious disease.

The disease would have incubated within his body over a period of months and the researcher would have unwittingly unleashed a devastating epidemic upon the populace.

Half the population would have suffered from the following symptoms:

  • Nausea.
  • Dizziness.
  • A rash on their butts in the shape Mickey Rooney’s face.
  • A rash on their faces in the shape of Mickey Rooney’s butt.
  • Dry mouth.
  • Itchy scalp.
  • Dry itchy mouth and or scalp.
  • All cheese will taste like wire.
  • All other food will taste like cheese, but the nasty kind like Limburger.
  • Migraines.
  • Chipmunks will throw pine cones at their heads.
  • Migraines from being hit in the head with pine cones.
  • They would have become obsessed with Kayne West and Kim Kardashian, droning on endlessly about their babies and how beautiful and perfect their lives are.

The other half of the population would have become depressed and suicidal, mostly due to the fact that the first half of the population were droning on endlessly about Kanye West and Kim Kardashian, their babies and how beautiful and perfect their lives are.

Luckily the researcher was then bitten by a common poisonous snake and died straight away.

The point being: for all you critics out there doubtful of the existence of Crazy Stinging Amazonian Bastard Ants, you might just receive a package in the mail containing a hive of Raging Bolivian Biting Wasps. Remember to shake it roughly.

Addendum:

I know there are some of you out there who are doubtful of the monkey that purrs like a kitten and the vegetarian piranha. Do you think I just make this stuff up?

nerd monkey idiotprufs

Ted, the monkey that purrs like a kitten.

 

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