idiotprufs

Illegal in 38 states–frowned upon in the rest.

Just a Quick Question for Bloggers

question

Has this ever happened to you?

You’ve just finished the perfect blog post, put the final touches on it, and edited it to your satisfaction.

But just as you’re about to hit the publish button, you notice the word count sits at 666 words. That’s a funny coincidence you think…but you’re hesitating to hit the publish button.

It doesn’t mean your blog post bears the mark of the beast, right?

It’s not like you have a fear of numbers. You don’t suffer from triskaidekaphobia after all.

(I just want you all to know I spelled triskaidekaphobia correctly on first try.)

Just because one blog post came out to 666 words doesn’t mean you’re the Antichrist–that’s clearly one of your cousins.

Your blog posts aren’t apocalyptic–they’re pretty bad–but not fire and brimstone bad.

(I did not spell apocalyptic correctly on the first try.)

So you dismiss this foolishness…then you go back and change the post to come out with 665 words.

Has this ever happened to you?

Addendum: I was just joking with that thing about your cousins…mostly.

fire and brimstone

You should have changed the word count.

 

There’s No Crying in Baseball–Just Obscene Gestures

Mr. met fired

Earlier this week, Mr. Met, the beloved mascot of the New York Mets found himself in hot water when he was caught on camera giving a fan the middle finger. A particularly amazing feat considering he has only four fingers on either hand.

It’s still unclear what provoked the outburst, but some insight was provided by Mr. Met’s long time friend, Otto the Orange.

“People think that because his head is a giant baseball with no discernable ears, they say anything they want without consequence,” Otto said, “but he’s a very sensitive soul and he really takes things to heart…plus he drinks heavily and he hates children.”

otto the orange

Otto the Orange, fellow mascot and bulbous headed freak.

The famous San Diego Chicken was contacted for comment. He said he wasn’t certain what had happened exactly, but he thought Mr. Met had really laid an egg with his actions. He then clucked hysterically, clutched his chest and fell over dead. He will be laid to rest later this week in an orange sauce with a side of green beans with miso and almonds.

the chicken

An Icon in the world of mascots…and so delicious.

“It’s difficult when you have a giant bulbous head that’s disproportionate to your body,” Charlie Brown of the Peanuts comic commented. “You tip over if the slightest breeze hits you, people laugh at you, but just wait for a rainstorm and they’re all gathering under your head for shelter.” Then he just sighed and said, “good grief.”

After being fired by the Mets organization Mr. Met’s future is uncertain.

“Well, I’m from New York City, I’m weird looking, and I’ve been publicly disgraced–I’ll probably just run for Congress.”

Mr. Met

Mr. Mets campaign poster–he’ll do well in NYC.

 

City Council Enacts Clown Ban — gooferie

Local clowns are crying on the inside today as Erie City Council has enacted a ban on clowns within city limits. Council decided to enact the law in a meeting today, after fielding numerous calls from citizens about the recent rash of clown sightings and associated “funny business.” Specifically, the ordinance bans fake lapel flowers, […]

via City Council Enacts Clown Ban — gooferie

Achilles Frustrated by Hole in Health Coverage

health care

The Greek warrior Achilles has recently become vocal about his dissatisfaction with his health care coverage.

“Ridiculous waiting lists, exorbitant dinars out-of-pocket, and an inexplicable hole in my coverage,” were just some of the phrases used by Achilles to describe his frustration.

It seems the trouble started when Achilles discovered, what he had previously thought to be a comprehensive policy, wouldn’t cover a simple arrow wound to the heel.

“If I get gored by a minotaur it’s covered,” Achilles said in exasperation. “Trampled by a centaur: covered. Struck down by a lightning bolt from Zeus: covered. Transformed into a goat by Hera: covered. Eaten by the Kraken: fully covered. I mean, what’s the point in that. If you get eaten by the Kraken, it’s pretty much game over at that point!”

Achilles paused to regain his composure. “Turned to stone by Medusa: covered. Mauled by wild animals: covered. Ax wound to the face: no problem. Arrow wound to the eye socket: covered. Arrow wound to the chest: covered. Arrow wound to the left forearm: very specifically covered. Arrow wound to any part of my body except my heel, and it’s covered. Erectile dysfunction: I have no idea what that is, but if I get it, it’s covered.

When pressed about the hole in Achilles coverage, Charon, the director of Styx River Health Care had the following response: “Achilles will be singing a different tune when he’s attacked by a cyclops or bitten by Cerberus. They always come crawling back…provided they can still crawl.”

“Is this how Trojan War heroes are treated?” Achilles asked in disgust. “The Trojan horse gets better treatment than I do, and he’s made of wood. I mean, look at how infected this wound is getting; it’s really starting to look nasty. I really think this wound is going to be the end of me.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Charon retorted. “I really don’t think Achilles’ heel will be his mortal weakness.”

health care

Recovering from a nasty bout of dry rot.

 

Let Me Explain

let me explain

This was an actual conversation I witnessed between a co-worker and a supervisor and the thoughts I had as I listened to the conversation.

It was our first week on a temporary job and my co-worker was keen to be hired in full time. So keen that he felt the need to explain in detail why he had called off the previous Friday.

Co-worker: I wanted to explain why I had to call off on Friday.

Supervisor: Okay.

Co-worker: I was in jail.

Me thinking: Oh no, don’t tell him that.

Co-worker: But it wasn’t my fault. My buddy got pulled over for running a stop sign and the cop took both our licenses. I just happened to have a warrant out for my arrest.

Me Thinking: You just happened to have a warrant out for your arrest?

Supervisor: You just happened to have a warrant out for your arrest?

Co-worker: It was from like, four years ago. I still owed money on a fine.

Me thinking: Don’t tell him why you were arrested.

Co-worker: It was for cocaine possession.

surprise

Co-worker: But I don’t use illegal drugs anymore…

Me thinking: The first non-damaging thing you’ve said.

Co-worker: …very often.

Me thinking: Of course.

Co-worker: In fact, out of all the times I’ve been in jail, that’s the first time I didn’t know somebody in there.

Me thinking: Seriously? Why would you tell him that?

Supervisor: It sounds like you had a rough weekend.

Co-worker: Yeah. I can’t remember the last time I didn’t get hammered on the weekend.

Me thinking: He couldn’t possibly make this worse.

Co-worker: At least I didn’t get (at this point he crudely described being raped by another man) by a big guy named Bubba.

Me thinking: I stand corrected.

Co-worker: And they took all the cash I had and put it toward what I owed on the fine. I’ve had to bum smokes off everyone today…I mean cigarettes–not weed.

Me thinking: Good catch, that’ll save the day.

Supervisor: Well, try to stay out of trouble next weekend.

A few minutes later on the job.

Co-worker: I think that went really well.

Me: Really? You think that went well?

Co-worker: People appreciate honesty?

Me: I certainly appreciated it.

Two months later.

The co-worker was brought on full-time–I was not.

A few weeks later.

The co-worker arrived at work drunk out of his mind, fell asleep on the job, and was fired.

The moral to this little story: people are stupid and they suck.

drunk person

“I’m ready for work.”

You Have Spoken

voted

After two days of intense voting the results are in.

It seems that nobody is concerned that I am a peon…and wisely so.

But it is very disconcerting that nobody seems to care about the mad scientists under Oprah’s house.

When Oprah and her minions of evil genius monkeys are ruling the world with an iron fist, don’t come crying to me–I tried to warn you. When everything is all weepy feelings and book clubs and the world reeks of monkey feces and buttermilk pancakes, it’s on you.

As I have always suspected about the readers of this blog: you’re very cold hearted. Very few of you care about the plight of toad lickers in this country. (But they’ll be ones right at home during Oprah’s reign.)

More of you care about Hillbillies and their weird faces. Have you considered maybe hillbillies have weird faces because they lick toads? I’ll bet you haven’t.

About the same amount of you care about having reasons for throwing rocks at things.

You probably want to throw rocks at hillbillies and their weird faces, or their toad licking brethren.

You’re all so heartless.

Many of you were concerned with the blowhard and his mostly jet black truck. (Throwing rocks at this guy and his mostly jet black truck would be wholly appropriate.)

But the most votes were cast for my former co-worker and his tragic conversation with a supervisor.

So my next post will be Let Me Explain.

Don’t throw rocks at my former co-worker–he has problems of his own.

stone

I’ll bet you want to throw this at a toad licker–you’re so heartless.

 

Help Me Finish Something!

I need help.If you’re anything like me (and if you are, you have my deepest sympathies) the draft section of your blog’s dashboard is littered with unfinished posts.

After tirelessly combing through dozens of drafts (for at least 10 or 15 minutes) I came up with this short list of possible drafts to finish and post.

I’m a Peon: At the time there seemed no need to finish this; it just seemed too self-evident.

Mad Scientists Living Under Oprah’s House: This was to be a post about how Oprah is genetically engineering a race of super smart and evil monkeys to help her take over the world. Again, just too self-evident.

I’m a Moron #Yolo: I had seen a tweet that read: Just took a dump on my bosses car. #Yolo. I imagined a post containing a series of subsequent tweets from this person, ending with the tweet: Just got to know my new cellmate Brutus and he’s roughed handed. #Yolo.

A Little Wrong or Horribly Wrong: This post stemmed from my overhearing a patron in a dining establishment complain that their order was horribly wrong because they received ice tea rather than lemonade. My supposition was that receiving ice tea rather than lemonade is only a little wrong. Had they received a glass of antifreeze or hemlock or alpaca pee, then their order would have been horribly wrong.

A Day in the ACME Complaint Department: I thought it would be funny to do a one-sided phone call (Bob Newhart style) of a person in the ACME complaint department taking a call from an angry Wile E. Coyote, because one of their products had again detonated in his face and slammed him into the side of a mountain.

road runner

This is about to go horribly wrong.

Reasons to Throw Rocks at Things: There has to be several.

Why do Hillbillies Have Weird Faces: This popped up on my search term page. Some poor individual came to this blog looking for an answer to that question; I fear I’ve let them down.

Toad Lickers Unite: It is high time we illuminate the plight of the toad licker in this nation.

homer simpson

Homer is just one of the many downtrodden toad lickers.

A Temper Tantrum and a Mostly Jet Black Truck: This is a true story about a giant blowhard of a man and how he parked his jet black truck in the wrong place.

Let Me Explain: Another true story about the time I witnessed a co-worker try to explain to a supervisor why he had called-off on Friday. His story began with “I got arrested” and then got increasingly worse.

Let me know which of these posts should be finished and published. (Or more than one–there is a plethora.)

I live to do your bidding.

 

Tales From an American Legion

 

american_legion_logo1

It’s a tradition. This is the third year I’m posting this on Memorial Day weekend for two specific reasons:

  1. I like it.
  2. Unapologetic laziness.

Years ago I worked at an American Legion post. I met a lot of people during my time there. Some of them were ordinary people, some were interesting, some were bizarre and some were bizarrely interesting.

One of the more interesting people was Jack.

Jack constantly spoke in non sequiturs. At first I thought that he was simply hard of hearing, but I began to realize there was a thread of continuity in the things he was saying. His conversations would go off in seemingly weird and irrelevant tangents, but they generally made it back to their original points.

I’ve often wished that I had written some of them down, unfortunately I’m a moron.

Here are a few of my favorites that haven’t been lost to my faulty memory:

Jack: I remember when I paid only ten dollars a week for rent.

Other patron: We don’t live in the fifties anymore Jack.

Jack: What! (slamming his fist against the bar in indignation) I haven’t ridden a bicycle in years.

Other patron: What?

Jack: I’d rather pay for my truck insurance than ride a bicycle.

Other patron: Again, what?

Jack: I can barely afford to pay my for rent and my truck insurance.

Or this one:

Me: Do you want another beer Jack?

Jack: (giving me a dismissive wave): I don’t know anyone named Dan.

Me: Firstly, I asked you if wanted another beer. Secondly, what about Dan sitting there right next to you?

Jack: (looking at Dan suspiciously) His last name isn’t White.

Me: So?

Jack: Then why would someone named Dan White want to buy me a beer?

Me: Obviously he wouldn’t. I can’t believe I’ve behaved so foolishly.

But this was my favorite:

Me: How are you doing today Jack?

Jack: You’re nuts!

Me: I hesitate to ask, but apart from the obvious, why do say that?

Jack: My wife was never an Eskimo.

Yeah. I still have no idea.

Eskimo

Probably not Jack’s wife.

But of all the interesting people I met, John was the most interesting.

John had a lot of stories to tell and a keen willingness to tell them, under one condition: you had to keep a cold rum and coke in front of him. He needed the proper “lubrication” to keep the vocal chords going.

John was man in his late eighties but still very spry. He had a weird sense of humor, which was probably a good thing because his wife seemed to have none at all. She was constantly reprimanding John for his jokes.

But that didn’t stop John.

John was a rifle bearer for the Honor Guard. One day after performing their duties, the members of the Honor Guard were returning to the post to have a few drinks together, as was their custom.

John walked calmly up to bar in full dress uniform, carrying his rifle, and wearing his eye-patch (John had to occasionally wear an eye-patch because of condition he had. He claimed he wore so he didn’t see double after he’s had a few too many) and stood there with a slight impish grin on his face.

He looked like pirate.

He then quickly pulled the rifle to his shoulder and discharged it toward the back of the bar.

The crack of the rifle echoed through the hall. If you’ve never heard a rifle discharged in a building, it’s loud. Beer flew into air, drinks were spilled, people scattered, some hit the floor. Even though I knew it was only a blank, it was still jarring to have a weapon discharged in your general direction.

A cloud of smoke hung in air the along with the pungent smell of spent gun powder. For a moment after the echo of the rifle had disappeared there was total silence. Then there chaos. Some people were laughing; some people were not. Some people were cursing, especially John’s wife, who unleashed a stream of foul language that to this day, I am certain has never been matched.

Once I made sure I still a whole person, I laughed, maybe as hard as I ever had in my life.

He later told me he thought it would be funny.

“When isn’t heart failure funny,” I told him.

John was reprimanded by the post, but that didn’t bother him. In fact, I’m not sure I ever saw anything bother him.

John was there that day on June 6th 1944. It’s estimated that 2,500 allied soldiers lost their lives on D-Day… but John didn’t. He had to hang around long enough to nearly scare me to death.

So this Memorial Day weekend, I’m dedicating this blog post to Jack, John and every other veteran who is no longer with us.

Vogon Poetry, Now Fourth Worst in the Universe

hitchhiker's guide

Do not let this Vogon read you his poetry.

Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy is quite clear on the point that Vogon poetry is the third worst in the universe:

“Vogon poetry is of course, the third worst in the universe. The second worst is that of the Azgoths of Kria. During a recitation by their poet master Grunthos the Flatulent of his poem “Ode to a Small Lump of Green Putty I Found in My Armpit One Midsummer Morning” four of his audience died of internal haemorrhaging and the president of the Mid-Galactic Arts Nobbling Council survived by gnawing one of his own legs off. Grunthos was reported to have been “disappointed” by the poem’s reception, and was about to embark on a reading of his 12-book epic entitled “My Favourite Bathtime Gurgles” when his own major intestine, in a desperate attempt to save humanity, leapt straight up through his neck and throttled his brain. The very worst poetry of all perished along with its creator, Paula Nancy Millstone Jennings (Paul Neil Milne Johnstone) of Redbridge, in the destruction of the planet Earth. Vogon poetry is mild by comparison.”

It is my endeavor to make it the fourth worst poetry in the universe:

There happened a witch who lived on a hill,

of diminutive size, but enormously shrill.

Unpleasing her countenance: all icky and warts,

when wickedly she cackles, how it twists and contorts. 

Her stench so loathsome like eggs and arm pit,

one whiff and you vomit in your mouth just a bit.

Small animals would flee, never again to be seen.

At least they weren’t trampled, as they well could have been.

Her sisters she’d gather, all cellulite and hate.

They would cackle and hiss and brag of the children they ate.

And eat they did much in their murky morass,

they had thick chunky thighs, like a hippo’s fat ass.

“We will taunt, we will curse, as well we see fit,

with toil and trouble and all that other Shakespearean shit.”

Their husbands did cower in a bleak silent hell,

for their wives weren’t just ugly, they’re mean as all hell.

But for these poor ladies, all their efforts did fail.

In the end it’s the hero who will always prevail.

Now the creatures just hide in dark and dank place,

chugging Coors Light and shoving fudge in their face.

Does this tale have a moral, I don’t know it just might,

but probably not: I’m not very bright.

And now Vogon poetry is the fourth worst in the universe. Thank you.

Have a happy towel day and please:towwel day

Why Yes, That is a Lizard in My Pants

car crash

That person drives like they have a reptile in their underwear.

Taunton, Mass– Earlier this week 39-year-old Amy Rebello-McCarthy was arrested for operating a motor vehicle under the influence of liquor, driving to endanger, a marked lane violation, and activities considered to be more than a little creepy.

After arriving on the scene, police noticed a drooling Rebello-McCarthy next to a 22-year-old Marvin K. Kyewalyanga smoking a cigarette near where gas was leaking.

The police also questioned a faceless bystander dressed in long black cloak and carrying a scythe, who said he was, “simply waiting for the inevitable.”

grim reaper

Mr. G Reaper, witness of the incident.

 

 

“He couldn’t recall his first or last name as he slurred his way through the conversation,” police said.

Later they realized Kyewalyanga was his name and not just drunken gibberish.

Upon further inspection, police noticed what appeared to be a firearm tucked in Kyewalyanga’s waistband. The weapon later turned out to be an airsoft replica and not the product of Mr. Kyewalyanga’s “just being glad to see them” as he initially indicated.

“I believe that was just an erection joke,” one astute officer commented.

According to police, Rebello-McCarthy hit a number of mailboxes, and a parked vehicle in the driveway of a home.

She also hit a birdbath and a doghouse; residents Woodstock and Snoopy were furious.

When the two were arrested and getting taken to the police station, Rebello-McCarthy revealed that she had a bearded dragon lizard hiding in her bra. (Unbelievably, that is not a euphemism.)

bearded lizard

The traumatized lizard.

“The bearded dragon lizard was transferred to the Taunton Police Department and turned over to the Animal Control officer. It faces no charges at this time,” Taunton police said on their Facebook page. “Just years and years of therapy.”

Addendum:

After closer inspection of Mr. Kyewalyanga’s pants, police discovered the Japanese movie monster Gamera was lurking about in there. Also, he was glad to see them.

gamera

Post Navigation

%d bloggers like this: