idiotpruf

The blog that prevents scurvy…as long as you eat orange slices while you read it.

Denouement–it’s Fun to Say

poe

Edgar Allan Poe: novelist, short story writer, and poet…something is missing.

In a previous post I stressed the importance of reading.

But it’s not just that you read; what you read is of equal importance.

The novel: Novels are essentially piles and piles of words endlessly strung together. Novelists are concerned with things like setting, theme, plot resolution, and character growth. Do friends become enemies? Do enemies become friends? Are obstacles overcome?

Important questions need to be answered in novels.

  • Does Captain Ahab’s obsession with the white whale drag him under?
  • Does Edmund Dantes’ quest for revenge ruin his chance for happiness?
  • Does Jay Gatsby reunite with his long-lost love?
  • Does Sydney Carton seek redemption by going to the gallows for another?
  • Does Lucy ever let Charlie Brown kick the football?

Seriously, novels are just exhausting–I would avoid them.

Note: The word denouement is fun to say–it’s all Frenchy.

hallucination

Reading novels makes young children have disturbing hallucinations…it’s a fact.

The short story: Short stories are just novels for people with short attention spans. They are primarily written by lazy novelists who probably had a little too much to drink the night before, and couldn’t be bothered to write a proper novel.

Don’t waste your time with short stories.

Poetry: The key element of poetry you need to recognize is that if can even remotely understand it, it’s not proper poetry. When a poet writes a poem about a leaf being blown from a tree, falling to the ground, and being trampled underfoot. He’s not actually writing about a leaf being blown from a tree, falling to the ground, and being trampled underfoot.

The leaf represents hopelessness, and the futility of a life marred by series of tragic events. The leaf being blown from the tree represents a life spiraling into an alcohol fueled abyss of despair. The leaf being trampled underfoot represents the crushing weight of an uncaring world and inevitable grip of death.

It’s all so confusing and depressing. I once spent the better part of an afternoon curled up in the fetal position, sobbing uncontrollably after reading a collection Sylvia Plath poems. (Sylvia Plath was one depressing chick.)

For the sake of your mental health stay away from poetry.

Note: This does not apply to limericks. Limericks are short humorous poems with a strict meter and rhyme scheme. They tend to revolve around an odd man from a small island off the coast of Massachusetts.

Nantucket

Nantucket: evidently there was once a man from there.

The humor blog: Humor blogs are unsurpassed in pure entertainment value. They are practically happiness in written form.

Many humor bloggers are attractive people; the rest are stunningly attractive people. Humor bloggers are the best sort of people; the sort of people you want to praise continuously and occasionally bask in their reflected glow.

They have breath that is perpetually minty fresh, and they seldom sweat.

Humor blogs are read by highly intelligent people. They are read by people who are witty and charming. They are wholly unlike those dullards who read books of poetry.

Humor blogs enrich your life, and they give meaning to your otherwise drab existence.

Whenever a humor blog is read, somewhere a small child laughs.

Humor blogs are to be read, read again, memorized, and repeated aloud in public.

You have your mission–so get to it.

laughing kid

Congratulations, you just made a small child laugh.

 

National Lost Sock Memorial Day — Natalie Mepham: Writer, Dreamer, Loud Gum Chewer

I can’t imagine why it would, but in case it slipped your mind, I wanted to remind you that National Lost Sock Memorial Day is next Wednesday May 9th. Below is an example of an obituary you can use for your lost socks. It is with deep sorrow in my heart that I am writing […]

via National Lost Sock Memorial Day — Natalie Mepham: Writer, Dreamer, Loud Gum Chewer

Welcome to Facebook! Please Accept Our 137,000 Page Terms of Use Policy — Jamison Writes

If enough users agree to The Terms, maybe Lord Zuckerberg will finally put the doors back on the bathroom stalls and stop broadcasting our personal phone calls over the company PA system.

via Welcome to Facebook! Please Accept Our 137,000 Page Terms of Use Policy — Jamison Writes

Erie County Drug Raid Takes 0.12% of Drugs Off the Streets — gooferie

A law enforcement task force headed by the state Attorney General’s office arrested 15 people on drug charges today, and action that has removed over one tenth of one percent of all the drugs in Erie County. “Efforts like this are crucial cutting off the drug supply in Erie, to stop drugs from getting to […]

via Erie County Drug Raid Takes 0.12% of Drugs Off the Streets — gooferie

Home is Where the Heart is…and a Bit of Predator

Westfield ny

Home is where the heart is…in fact, that’s where I keep most of my shit.  –Pliny the Elder (slightly paraphrased)

This post is about my hometown, and five reasons why it is awesome. (This post is not about modesty.)

Reason #1: the best chicken wings on the planet

Western New York is really good at two things: lake effect snow and chicken wings. Lake effect snow sucks, but chicken wings are great. And the best chicken wings on the planet can be found in Westfield, NY at Larry’s Cantina.

How do I know the chicken wings at Larry’s Cantina are the best on the planet? Because I am a chicken wing expert. (Did I mention this post is not about modesty?)

Note: I can’t vouch for the chicken wings on other planets; I’m sure the chicken wings on that planet Predator is from are badass.

Predator

“Our chicken wings are badass.”

Reason #2: Mad Dog 20/20

mad dog

That’s right, Mad Dog 20/20 is produced in my hometown by Mogen David. Mad Dog 20/20 is classified as a flavored fortified wine. Flavored fortified wines are sometimes referred to as “bum wines” by cynics. Cynics can bite me. (This post is not about tact.)

The Urban Dictionary claims it’s the drink high school kids sneak off to the rock quarry to drink. That’s ridiculous…it was a gorge.

Mad Dog 20/20 has numerous virtues:

  • It’s practically a cure for not having liver disease.
  • It relieves you of that pesky problem of having too many brain cells.
  • It would survive a nuclear holocaust.
  • It comes in several delicious artificial flavors and colors that glow in the dark.
  • If you’ve ever wondered what the sweetest thing in the world is: there’s your answer.
  • Predator loves it.
Predator

“Mad Dog 20/20 is badass.”

Reason #3: Grace Bedell

Bedell

Grace Bedell statue in Westfield, NY.

On October 15, 1860, a few weeks before Lincoln was elected President of the United States, Grace Bedell sent him a letter from Westfield, New York, urging him to grow a beard to improve his appearance. Lincoln responded in a letter on October 19, 1860, making no promises. However, within a month, he grew a full beard.

His inaugural trip from Illinios to Washington D.C. took him through Westfield, NY where he stopped to meet Grace.

Grace later recounted the events:

“He climbed down and sat down with me on the edge of the station platform,” she recalled. “‘Gracie,’ he said, ‘look at my whiskers. I have been growing them for you.’ Then he kissed me. I never saw him again.”

I know what you’re thinking: that’s a sweet story, but it would have been more impressive if she had written something like:

Dear Mr. Lincoln, if you should become president, this slavery thing really has to go.

P.S.  Avoid the theater.

Hey, it’s our thing–leave it alone!

Predator

“Grace Bedell is badass.”

Reason #4: my aunts and uncles

If modern cinema and television have taught us anything through mega-hits such as Harry Potter, Twilight, and The Walking Dead, it’s that witches, vampires, werewolves, and various incarnations of the undead, are quite popular in current culture.

The town of Westfield, NY is polluted with my aunts and uncles.

Note: you get what I’m implying.

Reason #5: simply put: it’s my hometown and that makes it awesome (this post is not about modesty or tact)

This blog is read by thousands of intelligent and influential people (a few of which aren’t imaginary).

And since this is my blog: I make the rules. And according to those rules, that makes my hometown awesome.

Note: I’ve heard this blog is wildly successful on Predator’s planet.

Predator

“idiotprufs is badass.”

Addendum

Westfield, NY is also awesome because there are absolutely no mimes there.

There was one once, but we took care of that.

Westfield, NY

Westfield, NY: notice the dearth of mimes.

Agency Goes Bankrupt — gooferie

DevelopDevelopErie, the agency set up to promote the economic revitalization of struggling DevelopErie, an agency set up to promote economic revitalization in struggling Erie County, has gone bankrupt, according to court documents filed yesterday. County Executive Kathy Dahlkemper issued a press release which, in its entirety, reads, “Swear to God, can’t catch a break.”

via Agency Goes Bankrupt — gooferie

The Great Broccoli Fiasco

broccoliApart from a few facts that may be the products of my faulty memory, this story is completely true.

It came from the kitchen, and it was horrendous. It stung your nostrils, and it turned your stomach.

Note: my roommate’s name in this story was Al, but for the sake of brevity and ease, I will be referring to him simply as: Pathetic Pea-Brained Weed-of-a-Man.

Me: what is that horrendous smell?

Pathetic Pea-Brained Weed-of-a-Man: it’s probably me.

Me: it is a sickening and repulsive stench, but it’s a different kind of sickening and repulsive stench.

Pathetic Pea-Brained Weed-of-a-Man: I think it’s coming from the refrigerator.

Me: but there’s nothing in the refrigerator apart from a bottle of ketchup, some old pizza, and mysterious yellow stain that seems to move about on its own.

Pathetic Pea-Brained Weed-of-a-Man: the stain scares me; it’s shaped like a spider.

Me: (opening the refrigerator door, only to be staggered by the smell) it is coming from the refrigerator and it is foul.

Pathetic Pea-Brained Weed-of-a-Man: it must be the anchovies on that left over pizza; they taste like the ass-end of a rhinoceros.

Me: well, I’ll have to defer to your expertise in ass-tasting related matters.

Note: anchovies are lumps of decaying fish, infused with all of the salt in the world–they’re delicious.

Pathetic Pea-Brained Weed-of-a-Man: I know how to get rid of it.

He grabbed the pizza box from the fridge and hurled it onto the roof below the kitchen window of our apartment.

Me: brilliant.

Pathetic Pea-Brained Weed-of-a-Man: of course it’s brilliant; I’m the one who did it.

Me: your brilliance is only matched by your humility.

Pathetic Pea-Brained Weed-of-a-Man: it’s my humility that makes me great.

(Pathetic Pea-Brained Weed-of-a-Man is sometimes a walking oxymoron…usually he’s just a plain moron.)

So the problem was solved…or was it?

Not only did the odor not dissipate, it grew in strength.

The next day:

Pathetic Pea-Brained Weed-of-a-Man: why hasn’t the smell gone away?

Me: it wasn’t the anchovies.

Pathetic Pea-Brained Weed-of-a-Man: anchovies taste like the ass-end of a rhinoceros.

Me: we have to do something; air fresheners won’t cover it up.

Pathetic Pea-Brained Weed-of-a-man: air fresheners won’t cover up the ass-end of rhinoceros?

Me: probably not, but I was referring specifically to the smell in the kitchen.

Pathetic Pea-Brained Weed-of-a-man: well we’ve checked everywhere.

Me: is there anything in the vegetable crisper?

Pathetic Pea-Brained Weed-of-a-man: the what?

Me: the drawer where you keep the vegetables.

Pathetic Pea-Brained Weed-of-a-man: the what now?

Me: I’ll show you.

I slid open the vegetable crisper to reveal a bowl of expired broccoli and possibly the most rancid smell that has ever stimulated my olfactory senses.

Me: how can vegetables possibly smell that bad?

Pathetic Pea-Brained Weed-of-a-man: I didn’t even know that drawer was there.

Me: we have to get rid of them.

Pathetic Pea-Brained Weed-of-a-man: I have an idea.

So Pathetic Pea-Brained Weed-of-a-man grabbed the bowl of tainted broccoli and flushed it down the toilet.

The problem was solved…or was it.

It seems pouring a bowl full of broccoli down a toilet is the equivalent of pouring a bucket full of concrete down a toilet; it was a mess. There was literally a waterfall of human waste pouring down the kitchen wall of the downstairs neighbor.

She was unhappy…loudly.

A few days later we had a typical western New York snowstorm which dropped about four feet of snow on us.

The landlord came to shovel the snow from the roof outside our kitchen window. He struggled with something that was solidified to the roof. It turned out to a pizza with anchovies.

He was unhappy…loudly.

Note: if you were unaware: anchovies smell like the ass-end of a rhinoceros.

rhino butt

New Study Reveals Last Previous Study Totally Bogus — Gerbil News Network

CAMBRIDGE, Mass. It was, said Dr. Phillip Reiff as he relaxed after dinner last night, “the biggest ‘Eureka!’ moment” of his career. “We thought the science in this area was fairly well-established,” he tells this reporter as he finishes a glass of Malbec, then orders a double espresso and a slice of cheesecake from a waitress at […]

via New Study Reveals Last Previous Study Totally Bogus — Gerbil News Network

Donner Party Disappointment

donner party

They seem like a fun bunch.

Absolutely the worst party I’ve been to in my life.

It was in a horrible location: a difficult to navigate snow-covered mountain pass more suited for ox-drawn wagons than a proper vehicle. Seriously, rent a hall.

The only music they had was some old guy with a fiddle who couldn’t play it properly because he’d lost several fingers to frostbite.

Everyone was just dour. There was a lot of wailing and weeping–it was a real mood killer.

They ran out of hor d’oeuvres almost immediately; the food was the biggest disappointment.

It was a terribly planned party–I left early.

Don’t get me wrong, I prefer it to a family get-together at my aunt’s house, but I’d rather be stripped naked, chained to the back of a jeep, and dragged through a field of broken glass, than go to a family get-together at my aunt’s house.

I just hope things picked up after I left.

Addendum:

The Donner Party is sometimes referred to by historians as the Donner-Reed Party.

But I’m certain Donner-Reed would throw a fantastic party.

donna reed

“I throw fantastic parties.”

Rise of the (Coffee) Machines (Short Story) – by Oliver Giggins

GeeksBearingGifs's avatar

When the apocalypse came and the robots rose up, it wasn’t begun by a military program. It wasn’t due to a prototype, or a mistake.

In fact, robots had been common place for years. So no one batted an eye-lid when a coffee-chain brought on robots as cleaning staff. Why should they? Robots don’t need paying and don’t complain.

But then they didn’t see…

You see, there are some things Man was not meant to know. Some things Man was not meant to do. Some things Man should never have contemplated.

One of them was programming robots to “clean the cafe up” without giving any of those terms a proper definition.

It didn’t take long before the cleaning robots realised the quickest way of controling rubbish was atomising customers on entry.

And they may have been right as from that point on, the place was spotless.

Needless to say, eventually the…

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