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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 abstract narrative format. The order in which they are presented does not necessarily dictate their sequence.

  1. The main character runs 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 rise and fall 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 the 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.

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.”

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.

 

Me and the Map Idiot

This shouldn't be hard to read.

This shouldn’t be hard to read.

It happened many years ago on the mean streets of Buffalo, NY.

We were on our way to the Federal Building, mired in rush hour traffic, to pick-up my roommate Al. He had enlisted in the Army Reserves, but at the last minute, decided that he didn’t want to go. He came up with a “brilliant plan” to get out of it. The plan must have worked because the day he was scheduled to ship out for basic training, I received a phone call to retrieve him.

I took my friend Joe with me to navigate. Not my best move.

Me: Do you see where we are on the the map?

Joe: Yeah, I’ve got it.

Me: Do you see where the Federal Building is on the map?

Joe: I’ve got my finger on it.

Me: Okay, how do I get here from there?

Joe: I don’t know.

Me: What? Why not?

Joe: Just give me a minute to figure it out.

Me: What is there to figure out? You just follow the little lines from one spot to the other.

Joe: It’s not that easy; it’s like a ninety degree angle.

Me: So?

Joe: Wait, now I can’t find the Federal Building. It disappeared.

Me: Pick your finger up.

Joe: Oh yeah, there it is.

Me: (waiting impatiently) You need to give me some form of instruction.

Joe: Take the next right.

Me: Right here?

Joe: Right here.

Me: Are you sure, this doesn’t look like a proper street.

Joe: Yes. Turn before we miss it!

I turned onto the weird little street per Joe’s instruction. It wasn’t a proper street.

Me: What kind of street is this? It’s barely wide enough for one car.

Joe: I don’t know. It’s just a really narrow street, with big weird curbs and a bunch of wires overhead.

Me: What are those wires for… holy crap, we’re on the Metro Rail line! We have to get off this.

I immediately hit the brakes and threw the car into reverse. As I turned the wheel attempting to back around, the rear wheels bumped up against the curb. Then I pulled forward and the front wheels bumped up against the other curb. I repeated this process several times until I had successfully wedged the car between the curbs on either side of the pathway. We couldn’t go forward. We couldn’t go backward. We were stuck.

Me: You’re gonna have to get out and push.

Joe: I don’t want to do that, there’s a bunch of people watching.

Me: Of course they’re watching; they’re waiting for the Metro Rail to come around the corner and smash the idiots into tiny pieces.

Conveniante mass transit to most. Impending doom to us.

Convenient mass transit to most. Impending doom to us.

Joe grudgingly got out and pushed. People watched.

As we attempted to extricate ourselves from the path of the Metro Rail, that was certain to come barreling around the corner at any moment and annihilate us, people were pointing and laughing at idiocy they were witnessing. After several attempts, we freed ourselves, bounding up over the curb with a thud. I pulled back onto the pathway heading in the opposite direction. Joe got back into the car and sat sheepishly. It was all very humiliating.

Joe: A homeless guy laughed at me.

Me: That’s rough for you.

Joe: He asked me if I was born this stupid.

Me: Perhaps he’s seen you read a map.

Joe: We were at a ninety degree angle.

Me: Okay Pythagoras.

Joe: Are we going to tell Al we got his car stuck on the Metro Rail track?

Me: We are not.

We pulled out of the Metro Rail pathway and back into normal traffic, and all was well…except for Buffalo PD patrol car that happened to be passing by at that moment. The officer did a double-take that would have made James Finlayson* proud, brought his vehicle to a screeching halt and poked his muscle-bound head out the patrol car window. And yes, he had a muscle-bound head.

*What? You don't know James Finklayson. He was an old-timey actor famous for his double takes.

*What? You don’t know James Finlayson. He was an old-timey actor famous for his double-takes.

Police Officer: Pull over.

We pulled over. He stormed up to our car with a scowl, and a definite sense of purpose. I began to explain to him what had happened, but before I could get the first word out, he interrupted me.

Police Officer: Do you even have a driver’s license?

Me: Yes sir, I have all my information right here.

He snatched the information from my hand as he glared at me. I could see myself cowering beneath him in his mirrored sunglasses.

Police Officer: That’s not a street.

Me: I know.

Police Officer: You know? The fact that you were driving on it would suggest otherwise. Why would you be doing that?

Me: (nodding toward Joe) Well, he was reading the map and giving me directions, and he said to turn there.

Police Officer: Did he really? You over there, Map Idiot, did you tell him to drive down the Metro Rail track?

Joe: We’re just trying to get to the Federal Building.

Police Officer (refocusing on me): Do you just go wherever Map Idiot tells you to go? If Map Idiot tells you to drive head-on into the Metro Rail, is that what you do? You’re not going to make it to the Federal Building if you’re dead.

Me: I’m sorry officer, normally I’m an excellent driver, (I had just seen Rain Man) but I’m from a small town, and I’m not used to driving in the big city.

I wish I could tell you that’s not what I said, but it’s exactly what I said. That’s right, I’m a rube. But it worked, the officer chuckled a little and immediately softened. He gave us instructions to the Federal building, told us to be careful, and sent us on our way. We safely reached the Federal Building where we found Al waiting for us.

Me: So you got out of it?

Al: Yes.

Me: What did you tell them?

Al: Something.

Me: Like what?

Al: Just something. I don’t want to talk about it.

Me: Okay.

Al: So, did you have any trouble getting here?

Me: Nope.

Joe: The police officer didn’t even give us a ticket.

Al: Why would you get a ticket?

Me: No reason. I don’t want to talk about it.

It was a quiet ride home.

What the map of Buffalo evidently looked like to the Map Idiot.

What the map of Buffalo evidently looked like to the Map Idiot.

Gerald the Neighbor Kid

You're stupid and you don't know anything.

You’re stupid and you don’t know anything.

“Hey Neighbor.” The voice penetrates your eardrum like a knitting needle. “Watcha doin’?”

It’s a voice that sends chills down your spine. Chills that reach the bottom of your spine, make a quick U-turn and travel back up your spine, then back down again, just to ensure that they’ve done the job properly.

“Gerald…you’re here.” You stop what you’re doing and stand motionless. “Are you here to pee on my garden some more?”

“I’ve told you I’m not the one doing that,” he claims.

You turn slowly to find Gerald standing before you, soaking wet, finger in his ear trying to remove some stubborn water.

“I don’t know who you thought that moat was going to keep out,” he says to you.

“I don’t know, Gerald. I had a few thoughts,” you say in exasperation. “So, learned how to swim did you?”

“I’ve been taking lessons.”

“That’s great.”

“And those piranha you put in the moat: they don’t do any good either,” he informs you.

“Obviously not, I don’t see a single tooth mark.”

“All you have to do is throw some steaks into the other side of the moat, it completely distracts them.”

“I should have gone with the electric eels.”

“You see,” Gerald continues, ignoring your electric eel comment as he works the water from his other ear. “piranha are really more scavengers than hunters. I guess that you didn’t know that.”

“I guess I didn’t,” you agree.

“You don’t know lots of things,” he tells you. “Would you like to know something else that you don’t know?”

You feel compelled to hear what Gerald has to say next, even though you know that it will make you want to knock the freckles from his ruddy little cheeks.

Note: under no circumstance would you ever strike or do harm to child in any way–that’s what the piranha were for.  You’re just kidding–mostly.

“Just what is it that I don’t know, Gerald?”

“Well,” he says, wiping his nose on his sleeve, “that cement barrier you built around your house is useless too.”

“Well that’s apparent.”

“All I needed to get past that, was a ladder and a blanket to throw over the razor-wire.”

“It was that easy for you was it?”

“Yeah. I don’t know where you’re getting your ideas on how to keep people out, but you’re not being very smart about it,” he admonishes you.

“What would you suggest I do, Gerald.”

“An electrified fence would be far more effective, I suppose.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” A tiny flame of hope flickers in your mind.

“But there are ways around that too,” he tells you, quickly dousing your tiny flame. “And that Beware of Bigfoot sign that you put up, wasn’t fooling anyone.”

“Do you mean, apart from the twenty or so Bigfoot hunters that camped out on your fathers front lawn, convinced that they had found irrefutable proof that Bigfoot exists?” You challenge Gerald’s assessment.

“That really ticked off my dad.”

You chuckle to yourself. “I know it did.”

“He says you’re a bad neighbor,” Gerald informs you.

“Does he?”

“And he uses bad words when he says it.”

“Does he really?” You feel a weird sense of satisfaction.

“Did you know that one of those Bigfoot hunters smashed my dad’s mooning garden gnome with a shovel?”

“Yes.” Your spine stiffens slightly. “It was definitely the Bigfoot hunters that did that.”

“Anyway, do have anything to eat; all of that swimming and climbing made me hungry.” Gerald was hungry most of the time.

“I could make you a peanut butter and jelly sandwich,” you offer.

“How many times do I have to tell you this: I’m allergic to peanuts?”

“I can’t image how I could have forgotten that.”

“You can’t remember anything,” he scolds, “you’re always offering things that have peanuts in them.”

“Forgetfulness is my curse…among other things.”

“You should write this down so you don’t forget.” Gerald instructs. “I’m allergic to peanuts, shellfish, cats, pomegranites, bees…”

“Gerald!” Gerald’s list is interrupted by the sound of his father screaming over your barriers. “What did you do with my steaks?!”

“Uh oh. I think I have to go now. I’ll be back later to tell you some more things that you don’t know,” he assures you as he turns to leave.

“I’ll be eagerly waiting,” you tell him as he leaves.

You stand there for a moment in silent contemplation.

“Allergic to bees are you?” You say to yourself in what could be described as an ominous and sinister tone.

You should be ashamed of yourself.

Not nearly as effective as one might hope.

Not nearly as effective as you might hope.

Loo review – City of Westminister “Loo of the year” award winner

I seldom reblog, but I feel this is more or less a public service announcement…if you happen to be in Westminster and you suddenly need the use of a public restroom.

Ask, Ask and Maybe We’ll Answer: Battle of the Pancake Syrups

The Nudge Wink Report has answered a burning question of mine with great skill and alacrity.

nudgeandwink's avatarnudge. wink. report.

Now that staff performance appraisals are done for another year, it’s time to move on to:

Ask, Ask and Maybe We’ll Answer” here on NWR.

This week’s question comes from Larry in Pennsylvania, writer of the WordPress blog: idiotprufs. Larry, we’re happy you found your way to The Nudge Wink Report. We hope what’s about to happen doesn’t make you regret your decision to become a fan of NWR. And you are a fan.  Right?

Larry’s question is:

If Mrs. Butterworth and Aunt Jemima had a bare-knuckle boxing match, who would win?


Tom: Most people don’t know this, but “Mrs. Butterworth” and “Aunt Jemima” were actually ill-advised code names for famous cars. Sweet!

“Mrs. Butterworth,” obviously, was “The General Lee” from the hit TV show The Dukes of Hazzard. By process of elimination it’s then easy to deduce that “Aunt Jemima” was how Doc and…

View original post 905 more words

What Do These Movies Have in Common?

Bluto from Animal House,

Animal House.

De Niro Idiotprufs

Analyze This.

rodney dangerfield

Back to School.

groundhog caddyshack

Caddyshack.

bill murray stripes

Stripes.

ghostbusters

Ghostbusters

groundhog day

Groundhog Day

One has mobsters.

One has ghosts.

Two are set in universities.

Two have groundhogs.

Four have Bill Murray.

All of them are classic comedies.

Most importantly, they are just some of the movies that owe a writing credit to the great Harold Ramis, who we lost on February 24th eleven years ago.

harold ramis

Rest In Peace, Dr. Egon Spengler.

Some Decisions are Poor

idiotprufs bad tattoo

Does this image even need a snarky caption?

Not since Adolph Hitler’s “Victory In Russia” tattoo has there been a worse decision.

Note: Napoleon had his tattoo removed while he was on Elba.

Petition This

I'm Batman...for now.

I’m Batman…for now.

A resident of Westland, Michigan has filed an official petition with the Obama administration, asking the President to denounce the choice of Ben Affleck as the next Batman, and have the role recast.

The petition filer couldn’t be reached at his residence, his mother said that he was in the basement, and he didn’t want to be bothered.

Following in these footsteps of brilliance, I am now in the process of filing the following petitions:

  • Sack John Kerry as Secretary of State, and replace him with Levi from the Amish Mafia.
  • Replace the stodgy old image of the bald eagle on U.S. currency, with a hilarious drawing of Woody Woodpecker.
  • Create a third house of Congress comprised completely with losing contestants from the Bachelorette.
  • Every family in the country gets a helper monkey named Mojo.
What could be more helpful than this?

What could be more helpful than this?

  • Judge Judy: Chief Justice of the Supreme Court.
  • Any time the President is introduced, Kid Rock’s “American Badass,” plays in the background.
  • Only men who have a history of sexual deviance, may run for Mayor of New York City. (Sorry, this is already happening.)
  • Anthony Weiner’s cellphone to be rigged, so it can only send or receive images from fat guys named Earl, who constantly make fun of his name.
  • The closing bell on Wall Street to be replaced with a recording of Porky Pig, stammering the words, “that’s all folks.”
  • Justin Bieber will be deported unless he puts his shirt back on, and stops acting like an idiot.
  • President Obama will be constitutionally compelled to refer to Vice President Biden as his “Little Buddy” ala the Skipper and Gilligan.
  • Ben Affleck will have the constitutional right to go to the petition filer’s home, and slap the crap out of him.

If I have missed anything, let me know.

Introducing your new congressmen.

Introducing your new congressmen (American Badass, plays in the background)

 

 

Top 15 Cameraman Gripes on the Set of Amish Mafia

The Children of the Corn--all grown up.

The Children of the Corn–all grown up.

Number 15

Horse chigger bites itch like crazy.

Number 14

The way Steve is always referring to his beard as “The Babe Magnet.”

I couldn't find a picture of Steve, so here's one of Weird Al Yankovic.

 Weird Al Yankovic doing his best impression of Steve.

Number 13

They can never remember their lines.

Number 12

How they turn everything you say into something risqué by punctuating it with, “’tis what she sayeth.”

Number 11

The way they laugh hysterically after they intentionally lead you through a pile of horse crap.

Number 10

The Amish have no idea how to make a good martini.

Number 9

Sick of hearing Amish guys use the same tired pick-up line: hey baby, doth thee need your butter churned.

Number 8

The way goats smell when they’re wet.

Number 7

The way goats smell when they’re dry.

Number 6

Those smart-ass cameramen from Jersey Shore, sarcastically griping about how hard it was filming babes in bikinis on the beach.

Number 5

The way their body oil gets in all the equipment (sorry, also from Jersey Shore).

Number 4

The way Levi’s always parading around in nothing but his “Home of a Barn-Raising boxer shorts.

What it would look like if Al Capone had been from rural Pennsylvania instead of Chicago...and if he were fictional.

What it would’ve looked like if Al Capone had been from rural Pennsylvania instead of Chicago…and if he’d been fictional.

Number 3

It gets tiresome constantly having to fight off territorial crows every time you break for lunch.

Number 2

They’re constantly rambling on about their favorite movie, Witness.

Number 1

The way they all giggle uncontrollably every time someone says they’re from Intercourse.

I wonder what the school mascot is?

I wonder what the school mascot is?

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