idiotprufs

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

You’re Not Really a Bad Person

snidley whiplash

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

You’re not really a bad person.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No! You are not a bad person at all.

fire forest

Fires make everything nice and toasty warm.

The Toad-licker Injustice Must Stop

toad

I challenge you not to lick this toad.

Imagine the following scenario: you’re innocently walking down street, minding your own business, contemplating life, when you spot something out of the corner of your eye: on the grass sits a solitary toad. You make a mental note of the toad, but you don’t think much about it.

But as carry on with your day, you can’t shake one niggling thought: I could have licked that toad.

It’s a thought that persists with you through the following days. It grows from a gentle nagging into a full blown obsession.

Your days are filled with confusion and regret; your nights are haunted with sleepless torment.

And thus begins your journey as a toad-licker.

There’s no shame in being a toad-licker. You’re not hurting anybody. You’re still the same person you’ve always been, but people begin to see you differently.

Admittedly, a much higher than normal percentage of toad-kickers are criminally insane, but you’re not criminally insane; when the voices inside your head tell you to kill, you almost never listen to them.

Your friends begin to treat you differently. They subtly begin to remove you from their lives. The invitations to parties and get-togethers become less frequent. They say they fear you’ll suddenly produce a toad from your pocket and start licking it. They claim you’ll start licking a toad at a really inappropriate time.

You will produce a toad from your pocket and start licking it, but you’re discreet. Besides, if you can’t lick a toad at a funeral; when can you lick a toad?

Society tries to separate you. Society tries to ostracize you.

It’s not like you have Ebola, or the face of a goat, or you’re a Kardashian: YOU’RE NOT A FREAK!

I urge all of you to look into your hearts and give toad-lickers a chance; toad-lickers are people just like you and me…apart from all the toad-licking and the fact they rarely bathe.

Please, toad-lickers just need a little understanding…except for this guy–this guy’s a weirdo.

toad licker

This guy ruins it for everyone.

What Happened to Your Face?

So this happened to me once.

I had been working with this woman, Cathy, for about a month.

She was a normal person. And when I say normal, what I mean is, she was slightly more verbose than most and several degrees louder. She was like a howler monkey without the grace.

For the month we worked together, I sported a beard.

One weekend I decided to shave the beard. There was no particular reason for the removal of the beard, it was just the whimsical part of my nature that people find so endearing.

I went to work the following Monday morning, sans beard.

I walked past Cathy and I said hello as one would do.

She looked at me with pure horror and recoiled like I was Jeffrey Dahmer asking her over to my place for dinner.

I could tell by the expression on her face and the vacant look in her weird fish eyes, that she had no idea who I was.

“It’s Larry,” I told her.

After a moment I could see the light of recognition dawn across her face.

Then she looked at me said what I considered to be a remarkable thing: “Ew. Is that what your face looks like?” Then following a not unsubstantial pause, she said: “no offense.”

She then went on a lengthy diatribe detailing what a mistake it was for me to expose my face to light of day. But after every insulting (and frankly hurtful) thing she said, she would follow it with: “no offense.”

Well guess what, Cathy, I took offense then and I take offense now!

Why do people think they can say any horrible thing they want and it’s okay if they just punctuate it with, “no offense”?

If at the end of World War 2, Hitler had thrown his hands into the air and said, “listen everybody, no offense,” would it have all been okay?

No, Adolph! It’s not okay! And you’re not okay either, Cathy!

That day I told Cathy that despite her strong feelings toward my face, I thought she was a wonderful and precious and perfect person in every way.

Just like a liar would.

No offense.

me and the sloth
Me without the beard and with the beard…maybe I can see the confusion.

What the Hell is Going on?

drinking monkey

(image source: washingtontimes.com)

Here is an excerpt from an article from The Washington Times.

Right now the National Institutes of Health is spending $3.2 million to get monkeys to drink alcohol excessively to determine what effect it has long term on their body tissue.

I have so many problems with this:
  • Do you think it’s wise for an animal already prone to flinging it’s crap, to drink alcohol excessively? Crap flinging is the main reason I don’t get invited to parties anymore.
  • I don’t need $3.2 million to tell what the long term effect of drinking alcohol on body tissue: it’s really bad. In fact, alcohol is practically a cure for not having cirrhosis.
  • There’s already been long term documentation on the effects of drinking alcohol excessively. It was called Jersey Shore, and the results were horrifying. Odd skin discoloration, weird ceramic looking hair, annoying speech patterns, promiscuous behavior, and a general oafishness, were just some of the effects displayed during this study. And once they introduced the alcohol it got really bad.
  • What questionable methods are these researchers employing to get these monkeys to drink excessively? Do they give them low paying jobs, put them in loveless marriages, and constantly remind them of their unfulfilled potential? Do they make listen to bleak Russian poetry with its dark imagery and veiled critique of Stalinism, or worse: Sylvia Plath poems. Do they make them watch Jersey Shore reruns with the knowledge that these people are now wealthy and famous. The possibilities are all very disturbing.

And then I came upon this excerpt from the same article:

NIH also has handed out $69,459 to the University of Missouri to study whether text messaging college students before they attend pre-football game tailgates will encourage them to drink less and “reduce harmful effects related to alcohol consumption.”

We’re spending money trying to stop college students from drinking at football games. That’s like trying to stop plants from photosynthesising in the sunlight.

Meanwhile, we’re forcing alcohol, and likely Sylvia Plath, down the throats of innocent monkeys!

And how are these text messages supposed to work? Are they based on how well the warnings on the packs of cigarettes have worked? You could put the following warning on a pack of cigarettes:

Smoking can cause heart disease, lung cancer, strokes, bad breath, rabies, Ebola, explosive diarrhea, your left eyeball to pop out of it’s socket at really inconvenient times, dry mouth, and your penis may or may not fall off.

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

Why do we even bother putting people in prison when all we have to do is send out the following text message:

Dear Good People,

Please refrain from theft, assault, and most crucially–murder. Basically, don’t do anything illegal. You get the idea. After all, what are we–a bunch of drunken monkeys? lol.

Thank you for your time.

This is all very disturbing to me. I think I’ll join the monkeys and have a cocktail. I may even fling a little crap.

City Announces Sidewalk Sofa Beautification Program — gooferie

The City of Erie is currently experiencing a plethora of abandoned couches littering the curbs. To mitigate this Erie Code Enforcement has announced a sofa beautification contest. “Remember those fish? And the frogs?” asked Code Enforcement spokesman Andy Zimmerman. “It’s kind of like that.” Zimmerman said that local artists are being asked to “…drive around. […]

City Announces Sidewalk Sofa Beautification Program — gooferie

My Friend Philbert

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

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

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

There reasons for this were myriad.

He got heavily into scrapbooking.

I am heavily into not scrapbooking.

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

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

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

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

It caused a rift between us.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuchsia, however, can go screw itself.

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

How to Deal With a Pompous Loudmouthed Prick

Everyone knows someone who’s overbearing and obnoxious.

As you were reading that sentence, somebody’s name popped into your head.

A person who’s ego is so enormous, it blots out the sun.

A person who is aggressively ignorant.

A pompous loudmouthed prick.

And on occasion, that person points their pompous loudmouthed aggression in your direction.

How do you deal with it?

Do you simply try to keep your distance?

You can’t: his bloated face encroaches all boundaries.

Do you attempt to ignore him?

You can’t: his presence is tantamount to being locked in a room with a hundred diseased monkeys all throwing their feces at your face. Some would argue his presence is worse.

I have a solution that is guaranteed to be successful: shoot the pompous loudmouthed prick in the face with a crossbow.

It’s simple. It’s elegant. It’s crazy fun.

Once a person has been shot in the face with a crossbow, their primary concern immediately becomes the fact that they’ve just been shot in the face with a crossbow.

It takes an amazingly short amount of time for the pompous loudmouthed prick’s bloviating to transition to: “Holy shit, you’ve just shot in the face with a crossbow. I’m in a ridiculous amount of pain! There’s so much blood! Why are you laughing?”

Note: it’s probably best not cackle hysterically as the pompous loudmouthed prick bleeds out, but that’s entirely up to you.

I know what’s going through your mind right now: if I shoot somebody in the face with a crossbow, won’t there be ramifications?

Maybe. You probably won’t get invited to as many parties.

But do you really want to go to parties where pompous loudmouthed pricks aren’t being shot in the face with a crossbow?

Of course you don’t–nobody wants that.

I hope reading this post has been an aid to you; I know writing it has helped me.

The crossbow: dealing with loudmouthed pricks since the Middle Ages.

A Celebration of Spring(s)

spring

As this is the first day of Spring, this post is devoted to my favorite springs.

Spring Theory

This is much like String Theory, a theoretical framework in which the point-like particles of particle physics are replaced by one-dimensional objects called strings.

In Spring Theory, the universe isn’t made of strings, but of tiny little Slinkys.

The Slinky

There was nothing better than getting that classic childhood toy on Christmas morning.

You would rush to the top of the stairs and send it marching down the steps in that classic Slinky way. And as if by magic, that Slinky would transform into a ball of entangled metal by the time it reached the bottom of the stairs. That Slinky would provide seconds and sometimes minutes of joyful playtime.

slinky

Good times…and the building blocks of the universe.

The Springtail

The springtail are omnivorous, free-living organisms that prefer moist conditions. Doesn’t that describe us all?

creepy bug

Isn’t it just adorable?

Coffee Springs, Alabama

Coffee Springs is a tiny town in Alabama where, I’m guessing, coffee literally springs up through the ground–how fantastic is that?

Coffee Springs has a population of 228 people who are constantly buzzed on caffeine. The people of Coffee Springs have a hard time sleeping but they get a lot done.

Jerry Springer

Are you feeling badly about yourself? Do you feel like loser or an outcast? Just watch a handful of episodes of The Jerry Springer Show and I promise you will feel better about yourself.

Unless you’ve been cheating on your paint huffing alcoholic cousin with your other cousin (who dresses like vampire and drinks blood) while raising a child who was fathered by, based the indicators of the child’s behavior and appearance, a Malaysian yak, you’re probably good.

Jerry springer fight

“That yak was my baby daddy!”

Addendum

Some of my assertions about Coffee Springs, Alabama may not be entirely by the strictest definition of word: accurate.

But Spring Theory is real.

Three Bears Respond to Allegations

The Forest–That infamous flaxen haired denizen of the forest, Goldilocks, who rose to fame after an episode of trespassing, has again become the cause of turmoil for a family of bears.

“Our lives have been miserable since the story of ‘Goldilocks and the Three Bears’ has gotten out,” said an angry Mama Bear. “All of that girl’s wild claims have spread through the forest like an infestation of deer ticks.”

According to Mama Bear, her homemaking skills have come under great scrutiny since the event.

“I can’t go anywhere in the woods without some simpleton creature poking fun at my culinary skills,” Mama Bear said disgustedly. “‘Ooh, your porridge is too hot, ooh, your porridge is too cold’ it never ends. Do you know what it’s like to be mocked by squirrels…all squirrels do is collect freaking nuts!”

Papa bear was reluctant to comment about Mama Bear’s porridge. “If Goldilocks thought that porridge was hot, she should see Mama Bear’s temper when you criticize her cooking.”

“But seriously,” Goldilocks responded, “how do you make some of your porridge too hot and some of your porridge too cold? I mean, how do you do that?”

“Baby Bear was horribly traumatized by the whole incident,” Mama Bear said angrily. “Not only did that vixen eat all of his porridge and sleep in his bed, she broke his favorite chair.”

“It was a shame about Baby Bear’s chair,” Papa Bear conceded, “but not having to eat any of that porridge probably wasn’t the worst thing in the world for him.” 

“It hasn’t been all one sided,” Goldilocks responded. “When it got out that I broke a chair made for a bear just by sitting in it, let’s just say the term fat ass has been thrown out there a lot. And I’m fairly certain I got chiggers from Mama Bear’s bed.”

“What kind of maniac just busts into someone’s home, eats their food, and sleeps in their beds?” Mama Bear growled.

“If they didn’t want anybody in their house, they should have hidden the key to their front door better,” Goldilocks said defiantly. “The key was right there under the welcome mat–that’s practically an invitation to come in.”

“We just want to put all of this behind us.” Papa Bear said before adding one final thought. “Sometimes Mama Bear’s porridge isn’t that great…don’t tell her I said that.”

broken chair idiotprufs
Just some of Goldilocks’ handiwork.

Murder and Cheese Dip

Party table
What a lovely looking party…it’d be a shame if somebody ruined it.

What if murder wasn’t illegal?

What if murder was just a thing considered rude–something you wouldn’t do at a friend’s party?

Imagine you were invited to a party at a friends house. While at this party you have a bit too much to drink.

During the festivities you question the host’s taste in decor. You toss out phrases like: garish, glitteringly obnoxious, tasteless, and the truly unfortunate phrase: just plain butt-ugly.

During this party, you cause a perfectly nice couple to storm out after you ask them if they named their daughter Liz because she bears an uncanny resemblance to a lizard.

At some point during the night, you murder a guy named Mitch with a waffle iron.

And through an unfortunate accident, you ruin the cheese dip.

Now imagine the thing your friend is the most upset about is the cheese dip. In fact, everyone is mad at you because the cheese dip was really good.

“Did you have to hit Mitch in the back of the head with a waffle iron?” your friend yells at you. “You made him fall face first into the cheese dip…now no one will eat the cheese dip.”

The next morning you apologize profusely as you make your friend some pancakes. (You’d make waffles but the back of Mitch’s head ruined the waffle iron.)

You apologize for the remarks you made about the decor. The decor is perfectly lovely if you’re colorblind, or just plain blind.

You phone that nice couple and apologize for implying their daughter looks like a lizard. (Just because it’s true doesn’t mean it needs to be said.)

You apologize for insinuating that your friend’s wife dresses a tad slutty. Then you remember that you never actually said that out loud, so you apologize for that.

But most emphatically, you apologize for the cheese dip, because the cheese dip was truly delicious.

What you don’t apologize for is Mitch, because Mitch was a dick. Besides, it’s not like murder is illegal.

cheese dip
The cheese dip, prior to Mitch’s dead face.

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