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Archive for the tag “comedy”

Names and Other Temporary Things


wrong tattoo

A mother’s effort to honor her young children went terribly wrong when the tattoo she got of her son’s name was spelled incorrectly — so she took what some might call an unusual approach. Fortunately her friends and family convinced her not to have her armed amputated, but to rename her son after the tattoo.

“Kevin,” the two-year-old son of Johanna Sandstrom, of Sweden, was renamed “Kelvin” after a tattoo artist inked the wrong name on her arm.

Sandstrom’s tattoo read: Nova & Kelvin which was clearly a mistake.

“I had never heard the name ‘Kelvin’ before,” she said. “There isn’t anyone who names their kid Kelvin; lots of people name their kids Fahrenheit or Celsius, but never Kelvin. So when I thought more about it, I realized that no one else has this name. It became unique. Now we think it is better than Kevin.”

It also seemed a lucky stroke for Sandstrom’s daughter, whose name was changed from Ass-faced Hag to Nova, following the erroneous tattoo.

When asked to explain the mistake, the Swedish tattoo artist simply said, “in my previous job I wrote the assembly instructions for Ikea products; I was bound to screw this up incomprehensibly.”

Sandstrom told the newspaper she’ll make sure to check “10,000 times” before she gets the name of her third child, Freja, tattooed.

“Or maybe I’ll just get a skull with a snake slithering through it’s eye socket,” she added, “it’s 50/50 right now.”

skull tattoo

This was supposed to read, Freja.

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Which is the Worst?


hard choices

 

Which of these scenarios is the worst?

scenario #1

You’re locked in a small room filled with disease riddled monkeys that screech at the top of their disease riddled lungs, and with incredible precision, hurl their disease riddled feces at your face…and they’re smug.

 scenario #2

You’re taken into the desert on an oppressively hot day, stripped naked, tied to ant hill populated with crazy stinging Amazonian bastard ants, and honey is slathered over your naughty bits.

scenario #3

You’re given a vat filled with puss and random toad bits, and you have to eat every last drop…and you can’t have any salt.

(You could substitute your aunt’s potato salad here–it’s same difference.)

scenario #4

You have to swim a mile through raw sewage and dead rats, and you have to use the breaststroke.

scenario #5

You have to spend the day with your aunts, uncles, and cousins at the family reunion.

I know what you’re thinking: they’re all pretty horrible, but which one is the worst?

potato salad

Your aunt always uses too much eye of newt.

Uncle Finster’s Picnic and Brightly Colored Marshmallows


colored marshmallows

You went to the annual kickoff-to-Summer picnic at your Uncle Finster’s house.

Normally you would avoid your Uncle Finster’s house the way a small rabbit would avoid a pit of vipers. A big fat pit of bulbous, sweaty, bitchy, chunky-thighed, drooling, self-congratulatory, vain, big-mouthed, half-wit, vipers.

And those are just your aunts.

But this year your grandmother has declared this summer will likely be her last and any of her grandchildren who don’t attend every family function, to be vindictively and purposely speeding her descent into the grave—she’s a lovely woman.

As you arrive, you’re immediately met by Uncle Finster’s wife, your Aunt Sally. She’s standing with her hands on her hips and an expression of accusatory smugness on her face.

Note: Sally’s maiden name was Snaggle-faced Bar Sinister Hag, but for some reason people just call her Sally.

“Did you bring it?” Aunt Sally demands.

“If you’re referring to either fear, trepidation, or an overwhelming desire to be elsewhere, I never come here without it,” you reply.

“Do you always have to be a smartass?”

“Evidently,” you admit.

“I meant the Jell-O dessert–did you bring the Jell-O dessert,” Aunt Sally wants to know.

“I brought the Jell-O dessert,” you confirm as you hand her a large container.

“You didn’t put those tiny little colored marshmallows in it did you?” Aunt Sally asks. “You’re Uncle Finster hates those tiny little colored Marshmallows in his Jell-O.”

“I can’t stand that hippie Jell-O,” your Uncle Finster confirms.

“No, Uncle Finster, I didn’t put those tiny little colored marshmallows in the Jell-O; I know how much you hate those tiny little colored marshmallows. In fact I’m well aware of the list of things you hate: things that colorful, things that are joyous, laughing children, puppies, opossums that aren’t dead, potpourri, shredded wheat, pinecones, anything that’s purple, people who live on islands, words containing the letter Q, human emotion, lime flavored foods, and seedless watermelons.”

“Lime is disgusting and seedless watermelons aren’t natural,” he screams at you.

“They aren’t the only things unnatural,” you say as you wipe the spit from your face.

“Remember that time you put those tiny little colored marshmallows in the Jell-O: your Aunt Sally had a heart attack,” Uncle Finster accuses you.

“First: grabbing your chest and screaming, “you’ve given me a heart attack” isn’t the same as actually having a heart attack. Second: I’m sure her sedentary lifestyle and lard based diet would be the primary factors in regards to any heart issues Aunt Sally may experience.”

“What’s going on?” Your Aunt Jackal forces her way into the conversation. “You didn’t put those tiny little colored marshmallows in the Jell-O again did you?”

Note: your Aunt Jackal was meant to be named Jaclyn, but there was a clerical error with the birth certificate. Oddly, the name Jackal is far more suited to her.

“There are no tiny little colored marshmallows in the Jell-O,” you assure her.

“You’re still a bitter disappointment,” she tells you before she walks away to get another cocktail..

jackal

You’re Aunt Jackal in her natural habitat. She’s probably just killed something.

“Did I hear something about there being tiny little colored marshmallows in the Jell-O?” Your Uncle Brad asks. “Are you trying to ruin the annual kickoff-to-Summer picnic?”

“There are no tiny little colored marshmallows in the Jell-O,” you tell him.

“Everyone is talking about how you put tiny little colored marshmallows in the Jell-O again,” your Cousin Bucky tells you as he joins the conversation, “I like the way you stir things up.”

“I have an announcement to make,” you shout as you stand on a piece of lawn furniture.

“I hope it’s not that you’re a bitter disappointment,” your Aunt Jackal says, “because we already know.”

“Don’t worry about her,” Cousin Bucky whispers to you, “Aunt Jackal’s drunk…and a bitch.”

Undaunted you continue, “I can assure everyone here, there are absolutely no tiny little colored marshmallows in the Jell-O.”

You stand waiting for a response as your family silently gapes at you.

The silence is finally broken by a scream from Aunt Sally, “This is lime Jell-O filled with chunks of seedless watermelon.”

“I did do that,” you tell the family, “but what else can you expect from a bitter disappointment?”

Aunt Sally clutches her chest.

Aunt Jackal drunkenly scowls at you.

Cousin Bucky gives you a thumbs-up.

Summer has been officially kicked off.

green jell-o

This would be great if it contained chunks of seedless watermelon.

 

Woman Who Checks All 52 Boxes on Man’s List of Female Ideals Rejected After Shocking New Development Reveals She is Imaginary — Natalie Mepham: Writer, Dreamer, Loud Gum Chewer

Despite going on 77 dates in three years, long-time bachelor Tom Avery has yet to find a woman that meets his specifications. While his close friends suggest it might be helpful to eliminate a few of the requirements he has for his future wife, he maintains that all 52 of them are absolutely necessary. Since […]

via Woman Who Checks All 52 Boxes on Man’s List of Female Ideals Rejected After Shocking New Development Reveals She is Imaginary — Natalie Mepham: Writer, Dreamer, Loud Gum Chewer

Bigfoot Returns to Small Town Establishment

idiotprufs bigfoot

An artist’s rendition of Bigfoot as he hurries to the restroom after one too many Yuengling Lagers.

North East, PA–It seems the ban of all mythological creatures from Speed’eez Sports Bar and Grill in the town of North East, Pennsylvania has been lifted by new management.

The ban was implemented after a series of disturbing incidents involving Yeti, The Skunk Ape, a unicorn named Sparkles, a bevy of mischievous leprechauns, and local resident, Bigfoot.

The series of events culminated when one the patrons, an individual known as Poe, was found in the parking lot severely beaten and covered with giant footprints.

Todd Luke, the new manager of Speed’eez explained the ban’s reversal, “Sure, Bigfoot is loud, smelly, he tips with tree bark, he plays nothing but Steve Perry solo stuff on the jukebox, his hair gets into everything, and he’s probably responsible for the recent outbreak of Lyme Disease, but Poe’s a dick.”

It was originally believed the assault on Poe had been precipitated by Poe’s constant reference to an embarrassing infestation that Bigfoot may or may not have.

“I don’t have genital chiggers,” Bigfoot responded.

However, it has come to light there may have been another reason for the severe beating: Bigfoot believed Poe was making inappropriate advances toward his wife, Lady Bigfoot.

“It’s a completely ridiculous accusation,” Poe said. “While I will admit I’m attracted to extremely tall, hair covered women and that a pre-historic ape-like creature with rudimentary speech skills seem like the type of woman, some might say the only type of woman, who would date me; absolutely nothing untoward happened.”

“We shared a plate of Buffalo Wing and tree grubs once, that’s all there was to it,” Lady Bigfoot explained. “He’s not my type: he doesn’t smells like pinecones and his forehead doesn’t protrude nearly enough.”

She paused momentarily before adding, “and he’s kind of a dick.”

Despite the past tensions, it seems all is back to normal at Speed’eez Sports Bar and Grill.

“I’m glad we were able to get this all straightened out,” Poe said as he began to scratch his groin. “Hey, what do genital chiggers feel like?”

speed'eez north east pa

A photograph of Bigfoot at Speed’eez Sports Bar and Grill. Unfortunately, as always, he ducked just out sight as the picture was taken.

Antics of “Extreme” Notaries Irk the Calling’s Old Guard — Gerbil News Network

FRAMINGHAM, Mass. The housing market in the Boston area is hot so times should be good for Ed Rensell, a retired insurance broker who depends on occasional notary public fees to cover income gaps left by his pension. “It’s only $2 a document, but that’s a cup of coffee at McDonald’s,” he says as he glares with envy across the […]

via Antics of “Extreme” Notaries Irk the Calling’s Old Guard — Gerbil News Network

Vogon Poetry, Now Fourth Worst in the Universe

hitchhiker's guide

Do not let this Vogon read you his poetry.

Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy is quite clear on the point that Vogon poetry is the third worst in the universe:

“Vogon poetry is of course, the third worst in the universe. The second worst is that of the Azgoths of Kria. During a recitation by their poet master Grunthos the Flatulent of his poem “Ode to a Small Lump of Green Putty I Found in My Armpit One Midsummer Morning” four of his audience died of internal haemorrhaging and the president of the Mid-Galactic Arts Nobbling Council survived by gnawing one of his own legs off. Grunthos was reported to have been “disappointed” by the poem’s reception, and was about to embark on a reading of his 12-book epic entitled “My Favourite Bathtime Gurgles” when his own major intestine, in a desperate attempt to save humanity, leapt straight up through his neck and throttled his brain. The very worst poetry of all perished along with its creator, Paula Nancy Millstone Jennings (Paul Neil Milne Johnstone) of Redbridge, in the destruction of the planet Earth. Vogon poetry is mild by comparison.”

It is my endeavor to make it the fourth worst poetry in the universe:

There happened a witch who lived on a hill,

of diminutive size, but enormously shrill.

Unpleasing her countenance: all icky and warts,

when wickedly she cackles, how it twists and contorts. 

Her stench so loathsome like eggs and arm pit,

one whiff and you vomit in your mouth just a bit.

Small animals would flee, never again to be seen.

At least they weren’t trampled, as they well could have been.

Her sisters she’d gather, all cellulite and hate.

They would cackle and hiss and brag of the children they ate.

And eat they did much in their murky morass,

they had thick chunky thighs, like a hippo’s fat ass.

“We will taunt, we will curse, as well we see fit,

with toil and trouble and all that Shakespearean shit.”

Their husbands did cower in a deep and dank well,

for their wives weren’t just ugly, they’re mean as hell.

But for these poor ladies, all their efforts did fail.

In the end it’s the hero who will always prevail.

Now the creatures just hide in a dark and dank place,

chugging Coors Light and stuffing their face.

Does this tale have a moral, I don’t know it just might,

but probably not: I’m not very bright.

And now Vogon poetry is the fourth worst in the universe. Thank you.

Have a happy Towel Day and please:towwel day

The Mysterious Case of the Vanishing Big Mac

mystery

The trip was brief.

The controversy has endured.

Four Big Macs were purchased. Four Big Macs were present in the take-out bag. Four Big Macs were removed from the take-out bag. One person claims to have never gotten a Big Mac. Three others claim to have eaten only one Big Mac apiece.

Accusations have flown. Accusations still fly.

That fateful night:

The names have been changed to…screw it, these are the actual names.

Lance: Give me my Big Mac.

Matt: You ate it.

Lance: No I didn’t.

Matt: Yes you did.

Lance: I think I would remember eating a Big Mac.

Matt: Evidently you don’t.

Lance: Hey Al, you ate my Big Mac didn’t you?

Al: (Al grunts something inaudibly as he consumes his Big Mac, and drools on himself.)

Me: Well I didn’t eat it.

Lance: One of you ate my Big Mac!

An hour later, sitting on Matt’s front porch.

Lance: I can’t believe you guys ate my Big Mac.

Matt: You ate the Big Mac!

Lance: Look at me, I have no sesame seeds on me. If had eaten a Big Mac, I would have sesame seeds all over me.

Me: Maybe the seeds fell off.

Lance: What about the lettuce? What about the secret sauce? There’s not a drop of secret sauce on my face…I can’t believe you guys ate my Big Mac.

Years later:

Lance: Remember that night you guys ate my Big Mac.

Matt: YOU ate the Big Mac!

Still more years later:

Lance: I really wanted that Big Mac that you guys ate that night.

Matt: (Says nothing in an act of silent frustration.)

More recently:

Lance: One of you ate my Big Mac that night.

Matt via email: There’s no dispute, Lance wolfed it down in two bites.

Lance: That’s not how it went down.

Like Amelia Earhart’s strange disappearance into the Bermuda Triangle; the years have offered no answers, only more questions.

So if you’re ever traveling on that mysterious stretch of road, and you have take-out, be wary.

[satire] CRY WOLF: St. Paul’s Student Joins Gang, Falls Into Life of Crime After Hair Gets Too Long — The Paper Wolf

Cry Wolf Satirical News (COVINGTON, La.) St. Paul’s School is well-known for its haircut policy requiring any student whose hair grows past a certain length to cut it, as well as shave any facial hair they have, or face disciplinary action. A St. Paul’s student has reportedly joined a gang and fallen into a […]

via [satire] CRY WOLF: St. Paul’s Student Joins Gang, Falls Into Life of Crime After Hair Gets Too Long — The Paper Wolf

“Say Shoo to Me One More Time”

Being held for public indecency.

Traffic at the intersection of routes 28 and 85 in Rayburn Township, Pennsylvania, was shut down by a pair of cows having amorous relations. According Trooper John Corna, troopers “kept trying to shoo them off the highway, but that just got the bull mad and it started to escalate.”

Of course it made him mad, wouldn’t it make you mad if you were trying to have an intimate moment with your lady friend, and a man started shooing you?

Well, it really ticks off bulls.

In a previous post about bull-riders, I detailed a few things that bulls hate. I may have left that list a tad incomplete. So in the interest of completion, (pun intended) more things that make bulls angry:

  • Bull-riders.
  • Rodeo clowns.
  • Circus clowns.
  • Circus Peanuts. (the candy, not the legume) Bulls hate anything loaded with saturated fat and preservatives.
  • Circus peanuts the legume. Bulls hate anything that is too salty.
  • Peanuts the comic strip. They find Charlie Brown to be too wishy-washy.
  • Ronald McDonald. Not only does he remind them of rodeo clowns, but he also sells millions of hamburgers.
  • Any grown man that wears too much make-up and brightly colored striped socks.
  • Boy George.
  • Boy-bands.
  • Boy-bands that wear clown make-up.
  • Boy-bands that wear clown make-up, and interrupt them mid-coitus.
  • People who use the term coitus.
  • Obnoxious motorists who honk their horns at them while they’re trying to have an intimate moment with their lady friend.
  • Motorists who can’t seem to figure out how a 4-way stop works, even with their “superior” human brains…and who interrupt them while they’re trying to have an intimate moment with their lady friend.
  • State troopers who keep yelling “shoo” at them while they’re trying to have an intimate moment with their lady friend.
  • Any person who yells “shoo” at them while they’re trying to have an intimate moment with their lady friend.
  • The word shoo.
  • Shoes.
  • Homophones.
  • Homo sapiens.
  • Homo sapiens with branding irons.
  • Branding irons.
  • Bulls hate pretty much everything about branding irons.
  • Matadors.
  • All men in goofy outfits.
  • The musical Cats.
  • Musicals.
  • When people burst into song for no apparent reason.
  • When people burst into song for no apparent reason, while they’re trying to have an intimate moment with their lady friend.
  • And finally: idiots who try to milk them.

If I have left anything off the list, I apologize.

It’s really irritating when you want to finish something, but can’t; just ask the bull.

bull

“Say shoo to me one more time.”

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