idiotprufs

Illegal in 38 states–frowned upon in the rest.

Archive for the category “Uncategorized”

Don’t Get Behind Me

Don't get in line behind me.image source: wpclipart.com

Don’t get in line behind me.

I am waiting line death.

It doesn’t matter if it’s at the supermarket, in a department store, at the theatre, in the post office, or at toll booths, whatever line I choose will come to a catastrophic halt.

If you get in a line to use the restroom and you’re standing behind me; it end with you soiling yourself.

I once got in a line at the Department of Motor Vehicles and it started moving backwards. It wasn’t long before I was standing in the parking lot, surrounded by ill-tempered drivers who began pelting me with their nearly expired licenses.

I was in a receiving line at a wedding and the couple divorced before I got to them.

If I get into a line at the supermarket, the person in front of me will spontaneously combust, bringing the line to an unnerving end, creating a horrible smoky mess and ruining all of my dairy products.

Or the cashier will get into a dispute with a customer over the validity of a fifty cent coupon for brownie mix. The customer will tell the cashier that she simply isn’t intelligent enough to understand the wording on the coupon. The cashier will tell the customer that she does in fact understand the wording on the coupon and that the customer shouldn’t be eating brownies anyway because she could stand to lose a few pounds. One of them uses the word bitchy. The other uses the phrase fat and bitchy. Things quickly escalate and they have to shut down the line to clean the blood off the cash register.

Or the cashier will get into a long protracted conversation about her uncle Ron. We’re all upset that he’s back in prison, but if you’re on probation you shouldn’t smoke pot in your car and drive over speed limit…or on the sidewalk.

sloth dmv

I always get the sloth.

I was once in line behind a guy who was putting his change on the conveyor as he was counting it out. As the conveyor moved, it dumped his change down the crack in between the conveyor and the counter. As his change clanked away so did his ability to pay for the item he was trying to purchase. As it turned out, that check-out counter was an impenetrable Fort Knox from which nothing could be retrieved. The cashier could do nothing. Her boss could do nothing. The store manager could do nothing. The store owner could do nothing. Evidently the change had entered some unearthly abyss and was gone forever.

As you can see: I’m like Typhoid Mary without the disease and death. Sometimes there’s disease, but there’s rarely ever death. Expect for that time I was in line at the funeral home, but that guy was dead before I got there…I think.

There were only two people in this line when got into it. And photography was still only in black and white.

There were only two people in this line when got into it. And photography was still black and white.

huffingtonpost

I tried to get into a line in Minnesota, but they were ready for me.

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

chigger

You found this on your what?

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

feeling ill images

chiggers on testicles

Which comes first?

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

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

home alone

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

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

feeling ill images

horton hears a who

chiggers on testicles

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

Would he have been as protective of them?

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

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

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

Just something to think about.

Think about testicles.

horton hears a who

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

 

 

Erie Air Traffic Controllers to be Replaced by Guy with Binoculars

gooferie

airporttedThe Erie Regional Airport Authority has reached a compromise with the FAA to keep air traffic control in local hands, after a plan was announced to take away all Erie-based air traffic controllers and move operations to Buffalo.

The authority has announced the hiring of “Ted”, who will be stationed on the tarmac and will visually track planes landing and departing.  Ted will be equipped with a pair of binoculars and a walkie-talkie. Addressing concerns that a pair of binoculars will not be sufficient to see the planes, Ted replied “I have also been issued a step-stool, which will assist in identifying planes at higher altitudes.”

When asked if passenger safety will be compromised, an official with the authority who chose to remain anonymous responded, “Oh, yes.”

The authority is still unsure of what the procedure will be when Ted is on vacation.

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The 4-Way Stop in Rural Pennsylvania–The Bermuda Triangle of Traffic

You think this place is mysterious and unexplainable?

You think this place is mysterious and unexplainable?

It was suggested in the previous post that the complexities of the 4-way stop in rural Pennsylvania are comparable to Physics or high-level mathematics.

Outlandish you say?

As you approach it, you begin to feel a queasiness in your stomach. You can’t see it yet, but you know it’s out there, looming in the distance.

Then you see it.

That queasiness in your stomach tightens into a knot.

Your heart pounds.

Tendrils of fear burrow down your spine.

Your palms dampen and beads of sweat build on your forehead.

You’re sweating like a virgin on prom night.

You are bearing down on a 4-way stop in rural Pennsylvania.

The 4-way stop in rural Pennsylvania is the Bermuda Triangle of the driving world. The gauges in your vehicle begin to malfunction. The laws of physics begin to fail. You become disoriented and a form of temporary stupidity sets in–on occasions the stupidity is permanent. The rules of polite society crumble into chaos.

Despite the evidence, there are a distinct set of rules to follow when approaching a 4-way stop in rural Pennsylvania:

  1. Prepare your insurance information before you get to the intersection, keeping in mind the inevitable collision.
  2. Ease your way toward the intersection, displaying cautious trepidation.
  3. Make eye contact with the other motorists, looking for signs of fear and weakness.
  4. Identify the motorist displaying the most fear and weakness, he has the right of way.
  5. Wait for the motorist who has the right of way to go.
  6. Motion disgustedly when nobody goes.
  7. Spend several interminable moments as all the motorists gawk numbly at each other.
  8. Disgustedly pull into the intersection.
  9. Slam on the brakes after all of the motorists have pulled into the intersection.
  10. Slowly put your vehicle in reverse as you suspiciously eye the other motorists.
  11. Exclaim, “what the hell is wrong with these idiots,” when again, nobody goes.
  12. Decide you’ve had enough and floor it.
  13. Push the airbag away from your face as it deflates.
  14. Marvel at the 4 car collision you’ve just been a part of.
  15. Curse loudly…or at least as loudly as you can with a broken jaw.

The following warning sign should be before every 4-way stop in rural Pennsylvania:

road_sign_rectangal_blank

Amelia Earhart didn’t disappear over the Bermuda Triangle; she’s at a 4-way stop outside of Erie Pennsylvania, shaking her fist at a bunch of idiots.

Exactly

Exactly.

12 Reasons Lady Gaga’s Costume Designer Hates Her Job

In honor this year’s Super Bowl halftime entertainment.

One:

It’s ridiculously hard to hem a strip steak.

lady-gaga-costume-240a

Accessories include: matching belt, handbag, and A1 Steak Sauce.

Two:

You’re constantly being followed by packs of feral dogs.

The rest of you-she's this way.

“The rest of you, she’s this way.”

Three:

The fact that half of her wardrobe needs refrigeration.

More perishable clothing from that trouble maker Ellen.

More perishable clothing from that trouble maker Ellen.

Four:

That queasy feeling you get in your stomach when you go to a barbeque at Lady Gaga’s house, and she serves steaks and salad.

Five:

Having to deal with Britney Spears’ uppity costume designer, every time you ask to borrow her snake.

Just an All-American girl and her freakishly huge snake.

Just an All-American girl and her freakishly huge snake.

Six:

That confusingly contradictory tattoo she has on her butt, of Winnie The Pooh with his head caught in a honey pot.

I'm so adorable that it's confusingly contradictory.

“I’m so adorable that it’s confusingly contradictory.”

Seven:

They way she gets yellow powder over everything after she wolfs down a bag of Cheetos.

Nothing wrecks the mood of dead-carcass costume, more than Cheetos dust.

Nothing wrecks the mood of a dead-carcass costume, more than Cheetos dust.

Eight:

When anti-fur protesters throw blood on Lady Gaga, and it makes her costume better.

Nine:

That unnerving feeling you get, that this one is going to send you straight to Hell.

This one's gonna cost you.

This one’s gonna cost you.

Ten:

Your warm childhood memories of Sesame Street and Kermit The Frog have been destroyed forever.

Hi-Ho, I'm Kermit The Frog-help me please!

“Hi-Ho, I’m Kermit The Frog–HELP ME PLEASE!”

Eleven:

When people ask you the innocuous question: “What did you do at work today?” And you pause momentarily, then sob uncontrollably.

Twelve:

The weight of the horrible knowledge that you helped turn this girl:

Doesn't she look sweet/

Doesn’t she look sweet?

Into this girl:

gaga

Don’t Say it to Your Boss

office spaceMonster.com has compiled a list of things not to say to your boss. Let’s take a look at their list:

  1. I need a raise.
  2. That just isn’t possible.
  3. I can’t stand working with__.
  4. I partied too hard last night–I’m so hung over.
  5. But I emailed you about that last week.
  6. It’s not my fault.
  7. I don’t know.
  8. But we’ve always done it this way.
  9. Let me set you up with__.

I know–this list is ridiculous and useless.

I’ve made some subtle changes to the entries. Here’s what you really can’t say:

  1. I need a raise; I can barely steal enough from the office to keep up with the rising cost of cocaine and hookers.
  2. That just isn’t possible. I need to take two hours for lunch; it difficult to get properly drunk in one hour.
  3. I can’t stand working with these voices in my head; they keep telling me to kill again.
  4. I Partied too hard last night–I was almost too drunk to have sex with your wife.
  5. But I emailed you about that last week; I directly indicated to you that a reactor core meltdown was imminent, it’s not my fault if you don’t check your email.
  6. It’s not my fault; how was I supposed to know bringing my pet chimpanzees to work would be frowned upon…I’m sure that feces will wash out of your hair.
  7. I don’t know. I would be better at my job if your woefully inadequate leadership skills didn’t fail to inspire me on a daily basis.
  8. But we’ve always done it this way…you galactically incompetent prick.
  9. Let me set you up with my cousin; she’s one of those genuinely well-mannered Neo-Nazi skinheads.

Do see how much better this list is?

Jack Dee

Taglines and More Taglines

taglines

Because they haunt your dreams.

“Striving every day to do the least idiotic thing possible, generally failing.”

The above statement had been the tagline of this blog since its inception–sadly, it’s also been the guiding principle of my life–but it felt as if it was time for a change. (For the tagline, my life’s an irreparable heap.)

So I decided to change it this:

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

Well, it’s time for a change again. So I’m trying out a few possibilities.

idiotprufs: what happens when you don’t listen to that nagging little voice in your head.

idiotprufs: the blog that is wanted by the authorities for questioning.

idiotprufs: just do it. (Evidently, the people at Nike think they own everything.)

idiotprufs: the blog that got so drunk last night, it can’t remember where it left its pants.

idiotprufs: the last blog you will ever read…after you’ve stabbed your eyes out with a shrimp fork.

idiotprufs: the blog that makes my friends deny they know me.

idiotprufs: the reason most of my aunts no longer speaks to me. (I wish I had started it sooner.)

idiotprufs: the reason I’ve been burned in effigy by Bolivian pudding makers.

idiotprufs: reading it will make your breath perpetually minty fresh.

idiotprufs: the blog labeled a bitter disappointment by its parents.

idiotprufs: the blog that was a banana slug in a previous life.

idiotprufs: the blog that is…um…interesting.

Note: The above tagline is an actual quote from someone after reading this blog; I think she thought it was more polite than saying, “it made me vomit uncontrollably.”

idiotprufs: the blog that was abandoned in the wilderness, but found its way home.

idiotprufs: the new black–black is now forest green.

idiotprufs: it’s addictive like heroin, but without the needles.

idiotprufs: the subject of dozens of lawsuits.

idiotprufs: it’s only libel if isn’t true.

idiotprufs: it’s better than chugging a bowl full of Sea Monkeys.

idiotprufs: the blog that requires you to have all your shots.

idiotprufs: the crayon drawing of the literary world.

idiotprufs: not everybody that reads it suffers from a debilitating brain aneurysm…but it helps.

idiotprufs: it’s like something Mark Twain would write, but without all that annoying humor and wit.

idiotprufs: five minutes of your life that you will never get back.

idiotprufs: it’s like that rash that just won’t go away.

idiotprufs: reading it prevents scurvy.

idiotprufs: the blog that has resulted in almost zero cases of rabies.

idiotprufs: it’s practically a cure for not being an ax-wielding maniac.

idiotprufs: the blog that has never caused cancer in lab rats. (However, it is a death sentence for yaks.)

idiotprufs: Bigfoot’s favorite blog next to Outdoor Life.

idiotprufs: overlooked by the Pulitzer committee for purely political reasons.

idiotprufs: the blog that ran into Piers Morgan’s blog in a crowded bar, and beat the crap out of it.

idiotprufs: the real reason Edward Snowden fled the country.

idiotprufs: the only blog read aloud in Buckingham Palace.

idiotprufs: the blog that openly wonders if men from Nantucket ever get sick of being facetiously asked if they’re “the guy” from the limericks.

idiotprufs: the blog that caused Justin Bieber to snap.

idiotprufs: only stupid, repugnant, ugly people don’t like it.

idiotprufs: the blog that is being carefully monitored by the NSA.

idiotprufs: the greatest thing on the internet since that piano playing cat.

idiotprufs: the real father of Snooki’s baby.

idiotprufs: the blog that makes your eyes do this:

kimberly goodman

What did I just read?

idiotprufs: it’s considered a vile profanity in Portuguese.

idiotprufs: virtually none of the death threats were credible.

idiotprufs: developed in a secret underground laboratory below Martha Stewart’s house, by a race of super-smart ferrets.

Note: Mr. Squeakers, a ferret that escaped from Martha Stewart’s compound, described her home as wreaking of buttermilk pancakes and fear, but he also described it as being very tastefully decorated.

idiotprufs: the blog that’s destined to rule the world with an iron fist!

I kind of like the last one.

The Experiment

image source: wpclipart.com

This is short screenplay written by Ian Wallace, based on Frankenstein’s Omelet.

 

Opening Credits: Dream Sequence.

Characters: Main Character. Male. Mid-twenties to mid-thirties. Dressed in old-fashioned, but not period clothing.

Editing: The opening sequence will consist of a dream sequence that foreshadows the goings on in the body of the film. It would be made up of several different shots  (as described below) spliced together in an abstracted narrative format. The order in which they are presented do not necessarily dictate their sequence.

  1. The main character running through the woods as if being chased. He stumbles but doesn’t fall, and periodically looks back over his shoulder.
  2. Shot of the man’s feet running through the forest debris.
  3. Mob: Rather than bringing more cast members into the film, we could abstract farm implements and torches progressing through the woods. This would maintain the universal monster feel of this opening.
  4. Lightning Streaking across the sky.
  5. Design a makeshift lab. This doesn’t have to be anything overly elaborate, but should at least have the quintessential bubbling beakers. Easy as food coloring and dry ice. There would need to be a workbench, and dissection tools.
  6. Man presses his back against a wooden door, with the classic mob push going on behind it. He looks panicked and winded.
  7. On the workbench is a tray about the size of a dinner plate, or just a dinner plate with a cloth over it. Upon closer inspection, it appears to rising and falling as if breathing. Or more like a pulse depending on the aesthetic.
  8. Slow dolly up to the kitchen refrigerator. Three shots from medium angle light for night. Use green tape around the edge of the door so the glow can be composited in and motion tracked.
  9. As he watches the covered item on the workbench, a shot of blood soaking through the cloth. Lightning flash.
  10. These scenes will be inter-cut with the man sleeping fitfully, as if having a nightmare.  Not over the top, but enough to get the point across. Camera angle and shot variety will create the tension leading up to the point where the man wakes up and it’s morning.

Scene two: Morning

Setting:

A bedroom with a big enough bed for two. He is alone, but the blankets on both sides are disheveled, implying that someone has been there. It’s morning and the room is relatively bright.

Action:

The man jerks awake from the nightmare he was having. He’s disoriented at first, but recovers and rubs his face.

Cut to the man walking into a brightly lit kitchen. He’s awake, but still a bit tired. A woman is busy at the stove. She’s wearing morning clothes and by her mannerisms, you can tell she’s been awake for awhile. At the middle of the space is a breakfast table setting. Burnt toast, coffee, and a large plate with a cloth over it.

He strolls over to the woman:

Man: “Good Morning” he says, still groggy: kisses her on the cheek.

Woman: “It’s about time you got up, sleepy head,” she says lightly.

Man: “Yeah. I was having the weirdest…” stops abruptly as he catches sight of the refrigerator from the dream. Just a normal fridge now. “…dream.” He finishes.

Woman: “You Okay?”

Man: Shakes his head as if to clear the image. “Yeah. I guess I’m just tired.”

Woman: “Awww… I’m sorry. But I have just what you need to feel better: some good old fashioned home cooking.”

Man: Sits down in front of the plate while rubbing his eyes, so that he hasn’t caught sight of the plate covered by the cloth. “Thanks babe,” he mumbles, “what are we having?”

Woman: “Well, it’s sitting right in front of you, silly. Take a look.”

Man: He opens his eyes, looks down and freezes. It looks just like the plate with the soaking blood from the dream. (cut to shot of cloth soaking through) He looks over his shoulder, obviously slightly rattled, then back at his plate.

Woman: “Well go on before it gets cold,” she says in a motherly way, standing by the table.

Man: Gingerly he pinches the cloth and pulls it away. A plume of steam rises up and he winces as if the smell was unpleasant. Before him sits the omelet in all its glory. A pool of liquid surrounds it on the plate. Strange marks, textures and folds in pale yellow and off white. What may be a mushroom slides down it. The man stares down at it. “It looks delicious (he feigns honesty) what is it?”

Woman: “What do you mean what is it?” (sounding slightly annoyed) “It’s a home style omelet.”

Man: (Hiding his bewilderment) “Well, of course it’s an omelet. It just doesn’t seem to be a conventional omelet, that’s all.”

Woman: “Well that’s the stoves fault isn’t it? It’s not level.” (sounding more frustrated)

Man: “Not level?” he replies. “Well yeah, that’ll do it.” (trying to sound confident) Cut to the man investigating the omelet. He lifts a fold of the body and more cloudy fluid trickles out. Under the fold is an 0ff-blue, bruise like patch. Maybe the look of coagulated blood underneath a membrane.

Woman: (Now looming behind the seated man) “Well? Are you going to try it, or just look at it all day?” (covering up aggravation with forced sweetness.)

Man: Looks up at her, makes a smile and laughs nervously. He turns back towards the plate. He cuts a portion from the side with his fork and holds it up, speared. More strange fluid leaks away from the limp morsel. The man grimaces, closes his eyes and shoves it in. At first it’s fine. A look of momentary relief crosses his face. He chews it like a rubber band. Then it hits him.

Scene three: Gastrological disaster.

This scene is a hallucinatory nightmare as the man struggles with the morsel.

  1. Footage of hydrogen peroxide being poured on red meat.
  2. Beads of sweat on his forehead.
  3. Eggs and omelet makings being smashed and mutilated.
  4. Close-up of man chewing. He looks up, red in the face, toward the woman with a facial expression of “why would you do this to me?” Some of the milky liquid runs out of the corner of his mouth.
  5. The omelet on the plate is starting to pump a foul black liquid that begins to fill the bottom of the plate.
  6. Unused shots of the mob scene. (pitch forks and torches.)
  7. Close-up of the man sweating and looking panicked.
  8. Woman dressed like lady Frankenstein or in some other nightmarish costume (think of the Ms. Shields/mother scene from A Christmas Story, where the two are dressed as a jester and a witch mocking Ralphie with, “You’ll shoot your eye out.” ) laughing maniacally

Man: He finally manages to swallow it. (close-up on his throat swallowing.)

  1. Egg falling on glass, seen from underneath, and bleeding black and green. (inject egg with food coloring and drop it from high enough that it spatters.)
  2. Fluid mixing and congealing. (jello and vegetable oil.)
  3. Stock footage of church burning or volcano erupting.
  4. Woman dressed as a devil with dramatic lighting. Perhaps several people dancing around the table dressed similarly.

The man finally gets it down. Tries to keep from vomiting. Horrible stomach noises can be heard. He looks sick. Back to reality.

Woman: “Well, what do you think?”

Man: (Still looking a little ill) “Well, I can’t say I’ve ever had anything like it before. Ever.”

Woman: “Great!” she says happily, totally oblivious. She turns to go about her day. “Eat up while I get dressed.”

Man: Looks around desperately for a way to dispose of the contents of the plate.  Looks down. The woman’s dog is staring up with hopeful, hungry eyes. The man pauses, looks over his shoulder, and puts the plate on the floor. The dog gobbles the omelet down, licking up the fluid drippings from the omelet, and walks off into the other room. With trembling hands, the man grips his coffee cup and drinks.

Woman: The bathroom door opens and the woman walks out dressed. She pauses. From the other room the man hears the woman scream.

Man: Looks up with wide open, panicked eyes.  “What’s wrong?”

Woman: “The (dog’s name) has vomited everywhere. It’s on my carpet. My freaking couch. It’s everywhere–I just stepped in it.”

Man: Still frozen until he hears the dog growling from underneath the table. The dog bites his leg. The shot is from above the table as you see the man gasping from the bite.

A Healthy and Shiny Coat

coconut idiotprufs

The vile coconut.

Coconut makes me sick. If I bite into something with coconut in it, I will immediately begin to gag.

The mere smell of coconut makes me nauseous. In fact, anything coconut scented bothers me.

Am I telling  you this because I’m a whiny little crybaby?  A little bit, but I do have a point.

I was attempting to take a shower at my friend Lance’s house.

Note: normally I don’t use real names in an effort to protect the innocent, but no one here is innocent.

I stood in his shower, surveying the menagerie of shampoo and hair conditioner bottles that littered the front of the tub. I had only one priority in choosing a shampoo: it mustn’t be coconut scented.

I spotted a small innocuous bottle of green shampoo set off to the side. Green shampoo is likely apple blossom scented, or green tea, possibly something herbal, but it certainly wouldn’t be coconut.

Without checking to see what it was, I confidently applied the shampoo to my hair and began to lather up.

The scent was odd, not at all what I expected. My scalp immediately began to tingle; it must be dandruff shampoo.

The tingling sensation transitioned to a burning sensation. The burning sensation spread to my eyes and nose, and there was a strange metallic taste in my mouth. It certainly wasn’t apple blossom.

As I started to rinse the shampoo from my hair, the burning intensified and it felt like I had gargled battery acid.

I grabbed the bottle to find out exactly what kind of poison I had been scrubbing into my scalp.

Flea and tick shampoo for dogs?

Are you kidding me?

The warning label instructed dog owners to wear gloves while applying the shampoo to their dogs, and to avoid making contact with skin.

Not only was the shampoo all over my skin, some of it had run down to the tender bits.

I grabbed a different bottle of shampoo, squeezed a copious amount into my hand, and began to aggressively slather it over my body.

A stark and sudden realization paralyzed me: coconut!

What insufferable madness is this?

The combination of pesticide and coconut made my stomach to flip like Nadia Comaneci in the 76 Olympics. I began to wretch like a cat hacking up a hairball; something Nadia Comaneci has probably never done.

It was horrible.

I was nauseous the remainder of the day, and everything I ate tasted like someone had sprayed Raid on it.

Lance would point out my hair to people and say, “doesn’t he have a healthy and shiny coat?” Then he would laugh hysterically.

Note: I told you no one was innocent.

“Don’t you read labels?” Lance’s girlfriend scolded.

“I sorry. I didn’t realize there would be a bottle of napalm in the shower,” I responded.

“Don’t be a baby,” she told me.  “I use that shampoo on the dog all the time and he never complains.”

I thought this criticism to be unfair. The dog also humps your leg, licks himself in indiscreet places, and eats his poop. I do almost none of those things.

Through it all, at least I know I’m virtually parasite free.

Note: Don’t worry, Henry my tapeworm is fine and doing well.

nadia comeneci, idiotprufs

Nadia scored a perfect 10; my stomach did not.

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 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.”

Addendum:

I’ll bet you thought I was going to mention Justin Bieber somewhere in this post.

Well you were wrong…apart from this bit.

 

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