idiotprufs

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

Archive for the tag “comedy”

How to Deal With a Pompous Loudmouthed Jerk

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 has small moons orbiting it.

A person who’s head is so bloated, it affects the tides.

A pompous loudmouthed jerk.

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

How do you deal with it?

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

It’s simple. It’s elegant.

Regardless of what you’re doing or saying, once you’ve been shot in the face with a crossbow, your primary concern immediately becomes the fact that you’ve been shot in the face with a crossbow.

It takes an amazingly short amount of time for the pompous loudmouthed jerk’s focus to shift from their bloviating to: “Holy shit, you just shot in the face with a crossbow. I’m in a ridiculous amount of pain!”

Note: unless you shoot them in the mouth, then they don’t say much of anything.

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. I don’t know exactly what happens to you after you shoot somebody in the face with a crossbow, you probably won’t get invited to as many parties.

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

Of course you don’t–nobody wants that.

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

Just one of the small moons orbiting the Pompous Loudmouthed Jerk’s bloated ego.

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.

Christmas and Rutabagas

rutabaga

It’s Christmastime again: the perfect opportunity to brighten the spirits of a loved one with the gift of the rutabaga.

What’s so special about the rutabaga you may ponder–what isn’t so special about the rutabaga is my response.

  • They can be roasted.
  • They can be baked.
  • They can be boiled as a flavor enhancer in soups.
  • They can be boiled as a flavour enhancer in soups in Great Britain. (You wouldn’t believe how much tastier the soup is with that extra U in the word flavour.)
  • They can be thinly julienned as a side dish, in a salad or as a garnish.
  • They can be thinly julienned and used to cleanup oil spills in the driveway.
  • They can be mashed into a paste and used to degrease engines.
  • They can be mashed into a paste and used as a beautifying face cream. (It won’t make you more attractive, but it will cover up your butt-ugly face.)
  • You can make rutabaga ice cream.
  • You can make a rudimentary boiled rutabaga stew that was a staple of famine ridden Europe during the war and pretend you’re living in famine ridden Europe during the war–because pretending is fun.
  • You can chuck them at Joy Behar’s head. (It’s such a huge target.)
  • You can chuck them at the heads of people you’re ambivalent about.
  • You can chuck them at the heads of people you like. (The thunk of a rutabaga bouncing off a human skull is surprisingly satisfying.)
  • You can fill your child’s stocking with them. (But ensure they’re fresh; they can attract flies.)
  • You can use them to attract flies.
  • You can carve them into lanterns as was the old Irish tradition.
  • You can carve them into lanterns and chuck them at Joy Behar’s head. (Hopefully the beginnings of a new tradition.)
  • And finally, you can make the traditional Finnish Christmas dish Lanttulaatikko.
rutabaga dish

Lanttulaatikko is a delicious Finnish Christmas dish–you can also chuck it at Joy Behar’s head.

Addendum: Don’t make rutabaga ice cream…it sucks.

Ballot Initiative: Punch an Idiot in the Face Day

jack elam you sure ask a lot of questions
happy face idiot
wifes feet dont smell enough
cartoon scientists pictures
punch an idiot in the face day
bug eyed cartoon characters
job interview with gator boots
school counselors dumb
my idiot neighbor

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.

Bitter disappointment.

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.

Brilliant.

I will keep you updated.

jack elam at idiotprufs

“Hello, I’m Jack Elam, and every day is punch an idiot in the face day for me, idiot.”

 

 

Lost and Found?

 

On a recent trip to the supermarket a remarkable, odds defying thing occurred. A thing so against the odds of probability, I would not hesitate to use the term incalculable to describe it.

What was this thing? Was I abducted by aliens? Did I encounter Bigfoot and the Loch Ness Monster? Did I win the lottery as I was being struck by lightning?

Nothing that likely happened.

I was able to select my groceries without impediment. I was able to find a checkout lane astoundingly vacant of other shoppers. And most crucially, I was able to complete a successful transaction without incident.

None of the following things happened:

  • The cash register malfunctioned.
  • The cash register malfunctioned then burst into flames.
  • The cashier burst into flames.
  • A price check for an item that mysteriously seems to have never had a price.
  • A price check for an item the store claims they don’t even sell. (That really happened!)
  • A twenty minute argument between the customer ahead of me and the cashier over the validity of a ten cent coupon for instant vanilla pudding.
  • Further complications when it’s discovered the coupon is from the nation of Sikkim.
  • A twenty minute argument over what year the nation of Sikkim ceased to exist and to what extent that might have an effect upon the validity of the coupon in question.

But none of those things happened. Upon returning home, I was putting away my groceries and reflecting upon the ease of my trip to the supermarket. I contemplated the possibility of this day marking a turning point for me and my endeavors in commerce. Then I had a stark realization: I’m missing something; the cashier didn’t give me one of my bags.

Of course.

I returned to the store. I returned to check out lane where I had been cashed out. I returned to the cashier who had cashed me out.

I explained to the cashier that I had not received one of my bags. She looked at me and loudly exclaimed: “I have never seen you before in my life!”

Of course.

The level of certitude with which she made this claim was astounding. If I had asked her if she had met the ghost of Elvis on the surface of Mars, she couldn’t have been more certain of a thing not happening.

I pulled the receipt from my pocket.

“Is your name Veronica?” I asked her.

“Yes,” she replied.

“Is this cash register number six?” I asked.

“Yes,” she said again with slight unease.

“Then I would say you saw me not more than fifteen minutes ago,” I told her.

“Oh yeah,” she shouted as if in a moment of great discovery. It was a reaction comparable to Archimedes famous bath when he hit upon the principle of buoyancy and ran through the streets naked and shouting “eureka”.

Note: In Greek, eureka means: hey everybody, check out my penis.

She directed me to customer service (I sneer derisively at the term “customer service”) where my missing bag was said to be.

At customer service I was told, “the bag sat here so long, we put it back on the shelf.”

“It’s only been fifteen ####ing minutes,” I said, in complete control of me faculties. Then I burned the store to the ground.

I eventually got my groceries back and I didn’t burn the store to the ground…yet.

“I shouldn’t have made that crack about what bears do in the woods.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Vineyard Sues Fox Over Grape Assessment

grapes for testing

The grapes in question.

North East, Pa.–A local vineyard owner has made news this week after launching a lawsuit against grape tester Myron P. Fox. It seems the vineyard owner in question, Glenn A Farmer, has contested Mr. Fox’s assessment of the grapes in his vineyard. Specifically, Mr. Farmer has taken issue with Mr. Fox’s assertion that the grapes contained an abnormally low sugar content.

“This is ridiculous,” Mr. Fox, said, “the refractometer doesn’t lie.”

“The refractometer might not lie,” Mr. Farmer responded, “but the sack of crap using the refractometer does. He didn’t even properly test the grapes, he just declared them low in sugar content.”

“First of all,” Mr. Fox said in his defense, “when I arrived to test the grapes, there was nobody to be found. I waited around forever before Mr. Farmer bothered to show up.”

“I was running a little late,” Mr. Farmer admitted.

“He’s always running a little late,” Mr. Fox said condescendingly, “It was over an hour before he arrived. When he did arrive, he was completely unapologetic.”

“Mr. Fox can shove his refractometer up his butt,” Mr. Farmer said bitterly.

When it was pointed out to Mr. Fox that there seemed to be an animosity between the two that went beyond a simple grape testing, Mr. Fox had an explanation: “Mr. Farmer and I used to work together and one day he accused me of stealing his lunch.”

“I could smell the marinara sauce on his breath,” Mr. Farmer asserted.

“Okay. I may have eaten his lunch the one time,” Mr. Fox acquiesced, “but it wasn’t very good; I threw most of it away.” He then paused reflectively for a moment. “And I might have been banging his wife at the time, but is there really a need to hold a grudge.”

When told of Mr. Fox’s admission, Mr. Farmer scowled and muttered several curse words under his breath.

“The bottom line,” Mr. Fox said, “if I don’t have access to the grapes, I have to assume they’re sour.”

mr.fox

“If he didn’t want he lunch eaten, he should have hidden it better.

Race Results Overturned by a Hare

turtle wins

The result in dispute.

LAS VEGAS, NV–In a shocking turn of events, the Nevada Gaming Commission has vacated the results of the infamous Tortoise vs. Hare race. The gaming commission, following an extensive investigation, has determined the results to have been unduly influenced by outside manipulation.

“Our suspicions were first piqued by the fact that hares tend to be very quick animals, while tortoises tend to be extremely slow animals, almost painfully so. Have you ever found yourself stuck in line at the supermarket behind a tortoise? It’s just a nightmare,” the gaming commissioner said.

The commissioner also reported suspicious activity in wagering surrounding the race. “Basically just the idea that anyone would bet heavily on a tortoise to defeat a hare in any kind of race is highly suspicious.”

Adding to the questions swirling around the race was the Hare’s sudden rise from a hole in the ground in a field, to a lush garden in a penthouse.

“I’ve invested wisely,” the Hare told us, “if you think one rabbit’s foot is lucky, I’ve got four of them.”

When pressed about alleged connections to a notorious Las Vegas bookmaker, the Hare refused comment, only pausing to mutter, “I’ve no plans to become hasenpfeffer.”

The Tortoise maintains his victory to be hard fought and legitimate. “Slow and steady wins the race,” the Tortoise reminded us.

“We have heard the ‘slow and steady’ argument before,” the commissioner replied, “but our research indicates, being slow is not a desired trait when you’re trying to win a race of virtually any kind. In fact, it tends to be quite a detriment.”

The Tortoise has filed an appeal and plans to appear before gaming commission. They’re still waiting for him to arrive; he is very slow.

gambler

The Hare’s associate claims to be on the up and up.

 

Come See the Erie Frogs: Not Everbody Gets Eaten

erie frog

Big creepy frog.

If you been through Erie, Pennsylvania, you may have noticed a big creepy frog along the side of the road. You may have noticed several big creepy frogs along the side of the road. In fact, you may have noticed big creepy frogs everywhere.

There are, in fact, about 100 eight feet tall frog sculptures littered about Erie and the surrounding area.

erie frog

The frogs are part of the Lake Erie Art Project.

“Art isn’t meant to be beautiful; it’s meant to drive us and open us up to our fears and vulnerabilities…and if we can make small children wet themselves, so much the better,” one official said of the frogs. “We took that core philosophy and we ran with it; we ran like Forrest Gump.”

erie frog

The small one hasn’t stopped crying.

“You see,” the official went on to explain, “we felt there just wasn’t enough creepy shit in Erie. Don’t get me wrong, Erie is creepy: we have Bigfoot sighting on Presque Isle, haunted cemeteries, and roving bands of inbred cannibals, but we needed something extra.”

rocky frog

Another victim of the Erie frogs.

“And the rumor that the frogs come to life and devour people has been an unexpected bonus. If we can leave visitors of Erie scarred for life–we’ve done our job.”

erie frog

Another poor soul who got a little bit too close.

 

“So come to Erie and see our frogs,” the official said, “not everybody gets eaten.”

erie frog

“Welcome to Erie. You look delicious.”

I’m a Horrible Person

futurama

I know.

I’ve recently discovered I’m a soulless monster. My children are doomed to be soulless monsters. My children’s children are doomed to be soulless monsters. In fact, all of my descendants have a bleak soulless future.

It sucks.

All of this was pointed out to me by a woman who was quite certain I was pure evil.

What did I do to incur such condemnation–such wrath?

Did I murder someone?

No.

Did I steal from anyone?

No.

Did I punch a mime in the face at a child’s birthday party?

No–and he was really asking for it.

Did I harm any person in any manner?

No.

Did I club a baby seal?

Of course not.

Did I club Seal the singer?

Never. His music brings such joy to the world.

Did I smash a neighbor’s garden gnome with a shovel then pee on its remains?

Not that he can prove.

Did I get in the 12 items or less line with more than 12 items?

No.

Did I use the word less when the word fewer applied?

Apparently.

Did I keep a library book overdue for an extended period of time?

No.

Was the library book I kept overdue for an extended period of time, a self-help book titled: How to be Prompt, responsible, and Stop Compulsively Lying About not Keeping Library Books Overdue for Extended Periods of Time?

No???

Did I casually comment that I didn’t care for the movie Dances with Wolves?

Yes!

Evidently this is the worst thing a human can do. Not only does it reveal a horribly flawed taste in cinema, but it is also a mark of disrespect for the Native American culture.

Ridiculous! Did you realize the director’s cut of the movie is four hours long? If it were an erection, I would have had to call a doctor. And I can have a lot more fun with an erection than I can with a DVD of Dances with Wolves.

I quite enjoyed Braveheart, does that mean I hate the English?

Of course not. I love the English and their delicious muffins that perfectly hold in the buttery goodness.

I liked King Kong, does that mean I don’t like giant apes, and want to drop them from skyscrapers?

I love giant apes in every incarnation, from Mighty Joe Young to Grape Ape.

grape ape

He’s a giant ape and he’s grape–what’s not to like?

I really enjoyed Mississippi Burning, does that mean don’t like the KKK?

Okay…that was a bad example.

I thought The Children of the Corn was creepy and disturbing, does that mean I think children and corn are creepy and disturbing?

Well…I don’t think corn is creepy and disturbing.

I liked Roadhouse, does that mean I have a flawed taste in cinema?

Probably, but what are you gonna do?

I didn’t like Out of Africa, does that mean I don’t like…

I have no idea what that movie is about; it was so dreadfully boring, I quit paying attention early on.

I think Lawrence of Arabia is one of the greatest movies ever made, does that mean I don’t like the Turks?

To be honest, I spend precious little time contemplating the Turks.

I liked The Road Warrior, does that mean I want cataclysmic events to wipe out the majority of the world’s population?

I’ll get back to you on this one.

The point is, I didn’t like Dances with Wolves because I didn’t like it. It’s just an opinion and I’m allowed to have it.

If you’ve read this blog to any extent, (and if you have–I apologize) you understand my personal preferences are a little off in many regards.

I’ve had many people express their distaste for this blog, and I’m perfectly fine with it. (They’re all stupid-heads anyway.)

dances with wolves

If the movie had been about this dancing dog, I would have loved it.

Questions, Tattoos, and Questions about Tattoos

questionThroughout the course of my life I’ve been asked many questions:

Is that how your face has always looked, or were you involved in some unspeakable incident involving farm equipment, a vat of boiling acid, and a pack of ravenous ostriches?

Yes, but the ostriches weren’t ravenous–they were only slightly peckish.

Do your understand your Miranda rights as they’ve been read to you?

I’ve never met Miranda, I’m sure she’s a wonderful girl, but I don’t know why the police are always going on about her.

Did you think it wise to urinate on that police officer’s foot?

My buddy Jack Daniels thought it would be hilarious.

Did you smash my garden gnome with a shovel?

Not that you can prove, but yes.

But this is the question I’ve received the most:

Do you really have a tattoo of Winnie the Pooh with his head stuck in a honey pot on your left buttock?

 

Sadly, it was only drawn in marker and my monthly shower has caused it to fade to near imperceptibility.

But it has caused me to ponder something: if I were to get a tattoo, what would that tattoo be and where would it be placed?

I’ve come up with a few possibilities.

Winnie the Pooh with his head stuck in a honey pot on my left buttock.

It’s a classic and it has to be considered.

Dolph Lundgren’s face tattooed on my face so that I look like Dolph Lundgren.

I haven’t been perfecting my Dolph Lundgren impression over the past 20 years for nothing.

dolph lundgren

“If he dies–he dies.”

A brightly colored butterfly on my forehead.

It would distract from the carnage left behind by the unspeakable incident involving farm equipment, a vat of boiling acid, and a pack of slightly peckish ostriches.

Charles Manson’s face on my chest.

I need to cover the tattoo of Ellen Degeneres’s face on my chest with something less offensive.

That Miranda chick the police are always going on about.

miranda

Carmen Miranda.

This seems like an odd person for a cop to bring up moments after you’ve peed on his foot.

Mimes, everywhere a tattoo can be put.

If I’m going to do something I may regret in the future–I might as well really regret it.

There are so many great possibilities I am in an absolute quandary.

If you have any suggestions about my tattoo, I’m keen to hear them.

It’s a classic.

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