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. […]
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.
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.
As this is the first day of Spring, this post is devoted to my favorite springs.
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.
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.
Good times…and the building blocks of the universe.
The springtail are omnivorous, free-living organisms that prefer moist conditions. Doesn’t that describe us all?
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.
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.
“That yak was my baby daddy!”
Some of my assertions about Coffee Springs, Alabama may not be entirely by the strictest definition of word: accurate.
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.”
Millcreek Mall management has announced the grand opening of a new store just in time for holiday shopping. Lard Emporium has opened in the space that housed the former Sears, which closed last year.
Gooferie spoke to Murray Benklinsky, CEO of Lard Emporium, Inc. “We did our market research, and it shows that Erie, Pennsylvania is definitely a lard eating town!”
As to what sort of items will be sold at the new shop, Benklinsky was effusive in describing the products that will be available. “You want lard? We got lard!” he told us. “The entire store is filled to the brim with lard! We got top shelf imported lard, the kind you used to have to drive to Buffalo to get. We also got budget lard by the bucketful! Not to mention candied lard for the kiddos, which would make a great stocking stuffer. Deep fried lard, flavored lard…
As the college football season progresses, I am filled with a new sense of hope and anticipation. I find that I can barely contain the my excitement.
This is my year; I can feel it.
For so many years my dream has alluded me. So many times, it has remained just beyond my grasp.
How many times can they deny me?
How long will injustice be allowed to prevail?
At what point will the Downtown Athletic Club acknowledge my achievements?
When will the Heisman trophy be mine?
As depicted by the trophy, I am still receiving the stiff arm.
In previous posts I have delved into great detail about my desire to win the Heisman Trophy.
Granted, I may not strictly meet the qualifications to win a Heisman Trophy: The Heisman Trophy is awarded to the outstanding college football player whose performance best exhibits the pursuit of excellence with integrity.
I don’t meet the definition of a student athlete in its purest form.
I don’t play college football at any level. I have never played college football at any level. I’ve never even played Madden.
Nor am I currently enrolled at any university, college or trade school. (I do constantly receive emails from Triangle Tech.)
And I will admit, I misspelled the word Heisman the first several times I typed it.
But this begs the question: when did the universities of our nation become so rigid?
I am brimming with excellence and integrity.
I’ve never been accused of double homicide. 1968 Heisman Trophy winner O. J. Simpson, I’m looking at you. Do you think the Heisman committee is proud to have that name on they’re list?
They gave Reggie Bush a Heisman Trophy (2005) and then snatched it away a few years later. Where’s that Heisman Trophy now? I’ll take that one. Evidently enticing a student athlete to your school by giving his mother a brand new home with a giant pile of cash in the living room, is frowned upon.
Tom Harmon was awarded the Heisman Trophy in 1940. He is considered to be one of the greatest football players in the University of Michigan’s history. He was also a war hero, having been awarded the Silver Star and Purple Heart, after his fighter plane was shot down over Japanese occupied China. He went on to have a long and successful career as an actor and broadcaster. He is also the father of collegiate football star and popular actor Mark Harmon. Tom Harmon was a great man who lived an extraordinary life.
However, his grandchildren went on to form the musical group Nelson, that has to count against him.
In 1984 Doug Flutie was given the Heisman Trophy. I’m sure he deserved the award; it’s just that he’s freakin’ tiny.
But this year is different. There something in the air this year: Covid 19. Trevor Lawrence was the front runner this year until Covid sidelined him for a couple of weeks.
It seems a pandemic was all I needed. As this thing spreads my chances just get better and better.
I’d ask you to wish me luck, but this year, I don’t think I’ll be needing it.
Update: in regards to my letter writing campaign to persuade the NHL to put my name on Lord Stanley’s Cup: they still won’t do it.
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.
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.
I will keep you updated.
“Hello, I’m Jack Elam, and every day is punch an idiot in the face day for me, idiot.”