idiotprufs

what the hell else are you gonna do with your time?

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How to Tell Your Teenaged Son From a Dead Rodent — Gerbil News Network

I am the proud father of two sons, now in their twenties, who–like most such humans–passed successfully through what are known as the “teenaged” years. During the same period I was the owner of two male cats. As I saw it, my job in the case of the former was to raise them into upstanding […]

via How to Tell Your Teenaged Son From a Dead Rodent — Gerbil News Network

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The Mysterious Case of the Vanishing Big Mac

mystery

The trip was brief.

The controversy has endured.

Four Big Macs were purchased. Four Big Macs were present in the take-out bag. Four Big Macs were removed from the take-out bag. One person claims to have never gotten a Big Mac. Three others claim to have eaten only one Big Mac apiece.

Accusations have flown. Accusations still fly.

That fateful night:

The names have been changed to…screw it, these are the actual names.

Lance: Give me my Big Mac.

Matt: You ate it.

Lance: No I didn’t.

Matt: Yes you did.

Lance: I think I would remember eating a Big Mac.

Matt: Evidently you don’t.

Lance: Hey Al, you ate my Big Mac didn’t you?

Al: (Al grunts something inaudibly as he consumes his Big Mac, and drools on himself.)

Me: Well I didn’t eat it.

Lance: One of you ate my Big Mac!

An hour later, sitting on Matt’s front porch.

Lance: I can’t believe you guys ate my Big Mac.

Matt: You ate the Big Mac!

Lance: Look at me, I have no sesame seeds on me. If had eaten a Big Mac, I would have sesame seeds all over me.

Me: Maybe the seeds fell off.

Lance: What about the lettuce? What about the secret sauce? There’s not a drop of secret sauce on my face…I can’t believe you guys ate my Big Mac.

Years later:

Lance: Remember that night you guys ate my Big Mac.

Matt: YOU ate the Big Mac!

Still more years later:

Lance: I really wanted that Big Mac that you guys ate that night.

Matt: (Says nothing in an act of silent frustration.)

More recently:

Lance: One of you ate my Big Mac that night.

Matt via email: There’s no dispute, Lance wolfed it down in two bites.

Lance: That’s not how it went down.

Like Amelia Earhart’s strange disappearance into the Bermuda Triangle; the years have offered no answers, only more questions.

So if you’re ever traveling on that mysterious stretch of road, and you have take-out, be wary.

!#@$%# Raccoons

raccoon

“Excellent!”

The following happened while I was employed as a quality control inspector at a steel coating plant outside of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania.

It was about 6:15 AM as I crossed the plant floor toward the offices. The lights weren’t turned on yet, and though the sun was rising outside, the interior of the building was still a dark tangle of shadows.

In the distance I could see a short stumpy figure climbing the ladder to where the cranes and catwalks are.

I wondered why Jim, the crane operator, would be climbing into the crane so early, and thought it peculiar that he was doing it in the dark. As I looked more closely, I realized that it wasn’t Jim at all; it was the biggest raccoon I had ever seen. (Yes, I mistook a huge raccoon for Jim, if you had ever met Jim, you would understand.) The raccoon then disappeared into the darkness of the rafters and catwalks.

“I’ve seen that raccoon,” Ken, one of the private inspectors, told me. “It comes up from the Ohio River at daybreak and just disappears into the building somewhere.”

Suddenly Rick the foreman, who was sitting at his desk, jumped up, twirled around, and yelled at us, “they ain’t clean.”

“What?” Ken said slightly startled.

“People think that raccoons are clean, but they ain’t clean. People think that raccoons are clean because they wash their food. They wash their food because they ain’t got no saliva; they don’t wash their food because they’re clean.” He stood glaring at us in silence for a moment before punctuating his tirade: “They ain’t clean!”

“Well..” was all that Ken got out.

“And they ain’t smart. People think they’re smart because they’ve got little people hands, but they ain’t smart. They ain’t clean and they ain’t smart.” He then stormed from the office as if he had been horribly offended.

Ken and I stood in a state of bewildered silence. Although neither of us said anything, we knew what each other was thinking: what the hell?

After a few moments, Ken broke the silence,”Wow, Rick really !#@$%# hates raccoons.”

We speculated about what frightful trauma must have occurred to instill such a level of hatred for a furry animal. Maybe as a small child he was attacked by a racoon. Maybe as a teen, a pack of racoon toughs bullied and taunted him. Maybe they knocked the books from his hands as he awkwardly made his way through the school hallway. (Rick had the physical presence of Ichabod Crane, without the grace.)

This is what I think happened: it was prom night, the night Rick had dreamed of since he was a little boy. He had his tuxedo. He had the corsage that he would tenderly pin to her gown. It was his night to shine.

She was a little late, but that’s fashionable right? He paced impatiently as the minutes stretched into hours. Periodically he’d stop to check his watch as he would mumble under his breath, “she’ll be here any minute now.”

“Don’t ask a raccoon to the prom,” his friends had advised. “They’d rather scavenge through garbage cans than slow dance to Bryan Adams songs.”

But Rick was infatuated.

The night came and went without a word from her. Rick’s never gotten past the heartbreak and devastation. Now he has an irrational hatred of all raccoons.

The source of Rick’s heartbreak.

Casino Worker Breaks Ankle; Is Euthanized — gooferie

Presque Isle Downs and Casino announced today that a blackjack dealer broke his leg during a game and had to be humanely euthanized. The dealer slipped on an errant ice cube and fractured his ankle, necessitating the on-call medical staff to erect a curtain behind which the employee was put down to end his suffering. […]

via Casino Worker Breaks Ankle; Is Euthanized — gooferie

Local Man Still Doesn’t Understand Erie Spring Cleanup Rules — gooferie

Upon hearing that Erie’s single-item Spring Cleanup program will begin soon, eastside resident Jody Porter immediately dragged nearly a dozen pieces of broken down furniture and electronic appliances to the curb in front of his house, where it will sit for the next month at least. Neighbors tried to remind him that the rules allow only one large […]

via Local Man Still Doesn’t Understand Erie Spring Cleanup Rules — gooferie

H.R. McMaster To Be Replaced By H.R. Pufnstuf — gooferie

The White House announced today that President Trump has chosen a replacement for outgoing National Security Adviser H.R. McMaster. In less than a month McMaster will be stepping down from his post. The Trump administration’s third National Security Adviser will be live action dragon H. R. Pufnstuf. A White House staffer, on condition of anonymity, […]

via H.R. McMaster To Be Replaced By H.R. Pufnstuf — gooferie

3 Run Over By Pay It Forward Truck — gooferie

Tragedy struck today as three people were struck by the Pay it Forward Truck. The three victims were running to the truck to be the first one to touch it, thus earning the $300 prize. The accident happened at mile marker 35 on Interstate 90. All three victims were taken to UPMC Hamot with undisclosed […]

via 3 Run Over By Pay It Forward Truck — gooferie

Putting One Thing on Top of Another Thing

blocks,

An example of my capabilities.

“Do you understand?” He was gaping at me the way someone would who had just tried to explain calculus to an ape. And not one of those clever apes that knows sign language but one those apes on the nature channel that’s eating its own poop.

“Seriously?” I responded.

“Yeah,” he spat the word at me in the most condescending arrogant voice he could conjure. “Did you understand what I just explained to you?”

Note: in fairness to him, the most condescending arrogant voice he could conjure was just his voice–the fact that he resembled a rat didn’t help.

Allow me to go back to the beginning and explain: I am referring to an experience I had as a temporary worker. When you’re a temporary worker, there are certain things about you that are presumed:

  • You possess the education of a 12th century manure mucker, your biggest aspiration is to one day be allowed to use a shovel.
  • You need everything explained to you at least a dozen times.
  • You need everything explained in a tone that one would use when explaining to a small child why he shouldn’t eat all the fingerpaint and vomit into the fish tank.
  • You need everything explained to you in monosyllabic language. (Ironically, the word monosyllabic is exactly the type of word that should never be used when explaining something to a temporary worker.)
  • You need everything explained to you with accompanying diagrams. These diagrams should be drawn in crayon if possible.
  • All diagrams should be drawn in non-threatening colors such as forest green or navy blue. Bright colors confuse and disorient temporary workers (fuchsia makes us crazy).

I was interrupted from my duties by Rat-Faced Guy, (not his actual name) who informed me that he needed my assistance.

He dragged me over to a line where juice was being packaged in small cans. As cases of these cans progressed down the line, a machine would lift every other case and then fling the cans into the air, spilling them across the floor. Evidently, that’s not how the machine was designed to operate.

Rat-Faced Guy (probably not his name) explained to me that the malfunctioning machine would be shut down, and I would step in to take its place. As the cases came down the line in pairs, it would be my job to pick up the first case of juice, and place it on top of the second case of juice. Then I would have to do that again and again, until the machine was operating properly again.

It was at point that Rat-Faced Guy (potentially his actual name, when I said Rat-Faced Guy, people seem to know to whom I was referring) asked me if I understood.

“So, you’re asking me if I understand putting one thing on top of another thing?” I asked him.

“Yeah.” He looked at me with his beady eyes, his wispy mustache twitching nervously.

“What if, instead of putting the first case on top of the second, I put the second case under the first case?” I proposed.

Rat-Faced Guy (probably his actual name) looked at me incredulously. “Why would you do that?”

“I’m a visionary,” I told him. “I’m like Henry Ford, Steve Jobs, or Thomas Crapper.”

“Just do it the way I told you,” squeaked Rat-Faced Guy (almost certainly his actual name).

For the next two hours, I stood in one spot, and successfully put one thing on top of another thing.

Perhaps now they will trust me with something challenging such as putting one thing next to another thing.

The sky’s the limit–except for stacking things: two is the limit for stacking things.

 

idiotprufs, rat cartoon

Rat-faced guy having lunch.

Angry Response from Eduardo a Bolivian Pudding Maker

Dear Mr. Idiotprufs,

I wish to register a complaint in the strongest terms possible.

In your recent blog post: What was That Crunchy Thing in My Pudding? you blatantly mischaracterized the nature of the pudding manufacturing industry in Bolivia. We have many fine pudding factories here in Bolivia, only some of which have Egyptian dung beetle infestations.

Let’s be honest, dung beetles remove the dung from the factories–how is that a bad thing?

In your post, you also described workers in a Bolivian pudding factory as “laughing hysterically” at the prospect of rat feces falling into a vat of pudding. I have worked in a Bolivian pudding factory for years and I have seen rat feces fall into vats of pudding literally thousands of times, not one time have I “laughed hysterically.”

And don’t attempt to point out the E. coli clusters that have been cropping up; they are statistical anomalies and nothing more.

I hope that you will take this letter to heart; I would hate to be forced to hunt you down like the American dog you are.

Best regards,

Eduardo, a Bolivian pudding maker.

PS: Seriously. Stop it or I’ll kill you.

scary

Stop it, or we’ll put something really nasty in your pudding.

Another Post From Gooferie

Stretched out on a chaise lounge under a warm, bright sun shielded by a natural canopy of palm trees, former Erie School Superintendent James Barker casually informed “Paco,” a waiter at the exclusive resort where he was staying, that he would like a second beverage of the kind that was provided to him earlier. As […]

via Dr. James Barker Would Like “Another One of Those, Please” — gooferie

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