idiotprufs

Illegal in 38 states–frowned upon in the rest.

Archive for the tag “blogging”

What the Hell?

The following search terms popped up on search terms page in this order:

  • fat naked hillbillies
  • floppy breasted women
  • what mushrooms not to eat out of cow poop

What the hell is wrong with you people?

And more importantly: what’s wrong with me that those search terms direct people to this blog?

mushrooms

Dig in.

Advertisements

A Promise of Continued Dreck

drooling smiley

I was recently asked if I ever get writer’s block.

Of course I don’t; it’s what’s great about having a blog as stupid as this one: I can write whatever nonsensical gibberish pops into my head.

Take for example, the following passage from a post about phobias:

Walloonphobia: the fear of Walloons. Walloons can burst at any moment making a loud popping sound and startling you.
(My apologies, I thought this was the fear of balloons. Walloons are the French-speaking population of Belgium; it’s perfectly normal to be startled when Walloons burst and make a loud popping noise.)

What kind of stupid scattered brain comes up with that?

I’ve worked very hard to set a low a standard as possible for this blog while still forming semi-coherent sentences.

But it hasn’t been just my hard work and dedication responsible for the ridiculously substandard tangle of words before you. I’ve been genetically blessed with an extended family of what could be described generously as complete imbeciles.

Aunts, uncles, and cousins so completely and impenetrably stupid, there was really no way for it to not to filter to me. Even as I’m typing this, I’m drooling uncontrollably and I have peed myself because can’t remember how to use the bathroom.

Have you ever seen a tree with most of its branches rotting and riddled with an infectious disease. A disease so heinous the tree needs to be cut down, chopped into bits, burned, and its ashes buried in a deep hole under three feet of reinforced concrete, just to preserve the rest of forest.

That tree is healthy compared to our family tree–we wish we were that tree. Sometimes we’ll get together, drool on ourselves, pee ourselves, and scrapbook about how much we wish we were that diseased tree.

I will give you this assurance: I long as I am authoring this blog it will remain awful. And if you should happen to run into any of my aunts or uncles, give them a hardy thank you.

But don’t touch them–they tend to be sticky.

tree disease

We wish we were this tree.

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.

 

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.

 

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

It’s not About Me

egomania

An artist’s rendition of myself.

I’ve been asked why this blog doesn’t have an about page.

Do you think I’m egomaniac who can’t stop talking about himself and who constantly refers to himself in the third person?

Well, idiotprufs doesn’t do that.

There are many valid reasons why I don’t have an about page and many of them have nothing to do with the outstanding warrants. Here are just a few.

  • All of the outstanding warrants. (Since when did society get so touchy about not wearing pants?)
  • When this blog did have an about page, it seemed to be a repository for diatribes of hate. I had to block Grandma from leaving comments altogether.
  • To prevent stalkers. I am constantly being stalked by women. Mostly it’s because they have subpoenas for me. But that’s still stalking.
  • Plausible deniability. If I blog about having a cousin who’s half spider monkey, I can claim it’s a different blogger who coincidentally has a cousin who’s half spider monkey. (It’s really me…don’t tell anyone.)
  • I’m trying to keep a low profile because of the alien abductions. I’m tired of all their probing. Not anal probing, they just ask me a lot really personal questions…although most of the questions are about my anus.
  • I’m trying to reduce the amount of times I get pepper-sprayed to ten or twelve times a year.
  • I’m boring. If you need to read about me to be entertained, you have serious problems. (The fact that you’re reading this blog right now is an indicator that you may have issues.)
  • I’m still being hunted by the mimes. It’s just a good thing all their weapons are imaginary. Stupid mimes.
  • I’m very reclusive. I’m like Howard Hughs without the money, fame, or achievement. It’s just me alone in a room with jars of toenail clippings.
  • Pure and unapologetic laziness. An about page is just so much effort.

I may relent in the near future and post something about myself–I’m horribly weak. (See, there’s something about me.)

Final Note: while I may have none of the achievements of Howard Hughs, I am dating Katherine Hepburn. Actually, it’s Katherine Hepburn’s ghost. She’s cheating on me with Spencer Tracey’s ghost. It’s all very disturbing.

Hepburn

“You’re no Howard Hughs–except for the debilitating paranoia.”

Dear Critic

the critic

Due to recent events, I believe it’s time to dust-off this post from several years ago.

Dear critic,

I want to extend my deepest apologies to you. I know that I have failed you, as a blogger, and as a man.

I understand that my blog is not what you desire it to be.

But know this: I feel your pain.

Every time I stumble upon a blog about a person dealing with their battle with depression, I think to myself: why aren’t you blogging about pumpkins, or carving pumpkins into jack-o-lanterns, or pumpkin pie, or any gourd based pastry? How dare you blog about something that is important to you?

Every time I come across a blog about photography, I think: why so many pictures? Mountains, rivers, trees, children at play, it nauseates me? Why aren’t you blogging about foot fungus or calligraphy? Why aren’t you blogging about foot fungus, written in calligraphy? Shame.

I recently found a blog devoted strictly to the music of the Beatles. I know what you’re thinking: what about the Spice Girls? When are Scary, Sporty, Baby, Ginger, and Posh going to get their due? I have always felt that Victoria Beckham doesn’t get nearly the amount of press she deserves. You can suck up to Sir Paul McCartney all you want; he isn’t going to be your friend.

And when I find a blog about food, I think: why aren’t you blogging about your collection of toenail clippings? And if you don’t have a collection of toenail clippings, why not? All you need are toenail clippers, a mason jar, and a bit of a creepy bent. Time is wasting.

When I discover a blog about politics, I think: why aren’t you blogging about mimes…strike that, mimes suck.

You took me to task for not commenting on the Charlie Hebdo incident. You felt that, I, as a humor blogger (as lighthearted and funny as mass murder is) had a duty to stand up for freedom of speech. But isn’t freedom of speech also the right to choose what not to write about?

Note: Sorry, I was starting to make a serious point there. I will now counter it with a goofy image of baby chicks in jester hats.

Silly Chicks

That’s better.

And finally, when I come across a blog devoted to criticizing other blogs, I think: well done, you are doing yeoman’s work. Keep it up, you make the sun shine brighter.

So dear critic, in the future I will strive to do better.

Best regards,

idiotprufs

P.S. Oscar Wilde once wrote that sarcasm is the lowest form of wit and yet the highest form of intelligence. If it the case that sarcasm is beyond your grasp: you suck.

Victoria Beckham

Don’t worry Victoria, we’ll get your face out there.

 

 

Taglines and More Taglines

taglines

Because they haunt your dreams.

“Striving every day to do the least idiotic thing possible, generally failing.”

The above statement had been the tagline of this blog since its inception–sadly, it’s also been the guiding principle of my life–but it felt as if it was time for a change. (For the tagline, my life’s an irreparable heap.)

So I decided to change it this:

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

Well, it’s time for a change again. So I’m trying out a few possibilities.

idiotprufs: what happens when you don’t listen to that nagging little voice in your head.

idiotprufs: the blog that is wanted by the authorities for questioning.

idiotprufs: just do it. (Evidently, the people at Nike think they own everything.)

idiotprufs: the blog that got so drunk last night, it can’t remember where it left its pants.

idiotprufs: the last blog you will ever read…after you’ve stabbed your eyes out with a shrimp fork.

idiotprufs: the blog that makes my friends deny they know me.

idiotprufs: the reason most of my aunts no longer speaks to me. (I wish I had started it sooner.)

idiotprufs: the reason I’ve been burned in effigy by Bolivian pudding makers.

idiotprufs: reading it will make your breath perpetually minty fresh.

idiotprufs: the blog labeled a bitter disappointment by its parents.

idiotprufs: the blog that was a banana slug in a previous life.

idiotprufs: the blog that is…um…interesting.

Note: The above tagline is an actual quote from someone after reading this blog; I think she thought it was more polite than saying, “it made me vomit uncontrollably.”

idiotprufs: the blog that was abandoned in the wilderness, but found its way home.

idiotprufs: the new black–black is now forest green.

idiotprufs: it’s addictive like heroin, but without the needles.

idiotprufs: the subject of dozens of lawsuits.

idiotprufs: it’s only libel if isn’t true.

idiotprufs: it’s better than chugging a bowl full of Sea Monkeys.

idiotprufs: the blog that requires you to have all your shots.

idiotprufs: the crayon drawing of the literary world.

idiotprufs: not everybody that reads it suffers from a debilitating brain aneurysm…but it helps.

idiotprufs: it’s like something Mark Twain would write, but without all that annoying humor and wit.

idiotprufs: five minutes of your life that you will never get back.

idiotprufs: it’s like that rash that just won’t go away.

idiotprufs: reading it prevents scurvy.

idiotprufs: the blog that has resulted in almost zero cases of rabies.

idiotprufs: it’s practically a cure for not being an ax-wielding maniac.

idiotprufs: the blog that has never caused cancer in lab rats. (However, it is a death sentence for yaks.)

idiotprufs: Bigfoot’s favorite blog next to Outdoor Life.

idiotprufs: overlooked by the Pulitzer committee for purely political reasons.

idiotprufs: the blog that ran into Piers Morgan’s blog in a crowded bar, and beat the crap out of it.

idiotprufs: the real reason Edward Snowden fled the country.

idiotprufs: the only blog read aloud in Buckingham Palace.

idiotprufs: the blog that openly wonders if men from Nantucket ever get sick of being facetiously asked if they’re “the guy” from the limericks.

idiotprufs: the blog that caused Justin Bieber to snap.

idiotprufs: only stupid, repugnant, ugly people don’t like it.

idiotprufs: the blog that is being carefully monitored by the NSA.

idiotprufs: the greatest thing on the internet since that piano playing cat.

idiotprufs: the real father of Snooki’s baby.

idiotprufs: the blog that makes your eyes do this:

kimberly goodman

What did I just read?

idiotprufs: it’s considered a vile profanity in Portuguese.

idiotprufs: virtually none of the death threats were credible.

idiotprufs: developed in a secret underground laboratory below Martha Stewart’s house, by a race of super-smart ferrets.

Note: Mr. Squeakers, a ferret that escaped from Martha Stewart’s compound, described her home as wreaking of buttermilk pancakes and fear, but he also described it as being very tastefully decorated.

idiotprufs: the blog that’s destined to rule the world with an iron fist!

I kind of like the last one.

I’ve Been so Busy…and Invertebrate

She turned me into a banana slug...I got better.

She turned me into a banana slug…I got better.

You may have noticed my recent absence from the blogging world.

You probably didn’t notice it right away. It just suddenly dawned on you one day that a persistent irritant had disappeared. Like when you suddenly realized the itching had stopped because that annoying rash had finally gone away.

But you’re not rid of me yet. You can get all the restraining orders and pepper-spray you want, but I’m not going anywhere.

Take that, Beth.

Note: the previous line was for comedic effect only. I am not following or harassing a woman named Beth in any manner that could be construed as a violation of any court order.

Note to the note: my lawyer advised me to add that last note.

You see, I’m like herpes: you will never truly be rid of me. I’ll always be there lurking, just waiting to show up and ruin your weekend.

It’s been a rough few months.

Anyway, I’ve been preoccupied recently.

Miming

I’ve taken up the silent art in an elaborate scheme to infiltrate the world of mime and sabotage it from the inside.

I planned to work tirelessly to become the world’s most prolific and prominent mime.

Upon reaching the pinnacle of miming, I would embark on a downward spiral of debauchery and scandal that would permanently stain the miming world.

Unfortunately I was unable to bring my plan to fruition; it seems miming is way harder than it looks. Also, I’ve discovered I’m allergic to white face-paint, berets, and being punched in the groin by small children. (They have little fists of steel.)

I do however plan to go forward with the downward spiral of debauchery and scandal.

Note: the previous line was for comedic effect only. I have no intention of committing any acts that could be considered debaucherous or scandalous. (My lawyer is so freaking priggish.)

Juggling Chainsaws

My attempt at learning to juggle chainsaws was going along swimmingly…until suddenly it wasn’t.

Learning To Write With My Left Hand

Upon falling victim to an unforeseeable and unpreventable accident–again my lawyer’s words–I have lost all use of my right hand.

Well…that’s not strictly true; it makes a interesting paperweight.

Would it be so difficult to print the words, NOT TO BE USED FOR JUGGLING OR ANYTHING COOL, somewhere on a chainsaw?

Note: perhaps I should have learned how to mime chainsaw juggling.

chainsaw hand

Where’s the warning, Husqvarna?

I Spent Several Weeks As A Banana Slug

If you’ve read this blog in the past, you will know that my aunts are a great big gaggle of witches.

You will also know that I have on occasion angered them. Maybe it was something I said. Maybe it was something I did. Perhaps it was something I wrote in this blog about their chunky thighs, potato-faced children, or their general tendency to be evil hags.

But usually it’s my mere existence that sets them off.

Anyway, they turned me into a banana slug.

It’s ridiculously hard to use a keyboard when you’re a banana slug. You get brilliant ideas, but you just can’t execute them.

On the upside, banana slugs have voracious sex lives. There is nothing in this world sexier than a banana slug…to another banana slug.

Take that, Beth. You’re no banana slug.

banana slug

Sexy!

I’ve Had No Good Ideas

I’m just kidding; I’ve never had any good ideas.

I promise I will post again soon, and it will be my usual level of crap.

hand

It’s also useful for scaring small children after they’ve punched you in the groin.

Post Navigation

%d bloggers like this: