idiotpruf

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

Archive for the tag “comedy”

My Top Ten Previous Lives and Other Nonsense

Napolean

I may have been Napoleon in a previous life.

I’ve noticed when people talk about reincarnation or previous lives, they’ve always been someone famous or influential or important. They’ve always been Napoleon or George Washington or the guy who invented the ShamWow.

Why is it that no one has ever been a banana slug or Igor the twelfth century serf who mucked out stables, and was crushed by a runaway manure cart?

After much deliberation I’ve come up with my top ten previous lives:

TEN

Big stupid dinosaur–Jurassic Period.

NINE

Small clever dinosaur, eaten by a big stupid dinosaur–Jurassic Period.

EIGHT

Big stupid dodo bird that jumped from a cliff in a fruitless attempt to fly–whenever the hell we lived.

dodo bird

Look at those tiny ineffectual wings, no wonder we’re extinct.

SEVEN

Mayan who first met Francisco Hernandez de Cordoba, and thought to himself: these Spaniards seem nice, I’ll introduce them to my people, nothing bad could come from that–sixteenth century, near the time of the fall of the Mayan Empire.

SIX

Wendall Newton, Sir Isaac Newton’s stupid cousin who laughed when the apple fell on Isaac’s head. Later he ate the apple and choked, it had a worm in it–seventeenth century.

FIVE

Pierre, Marie Antoinette’s advisor and later headless corpse. He advised her: just tell them to eat cake–eighteenth century.

FOUR

Adolph Hitler, but not the infamous one; just a poor lad born at the wrong time in Germany with a very unfortunate name–early twentieth century.

THREE

Raccoon who was shot, but later gained fame as Fess Parker’s hat–mid twentieth century.

TWO

Big stupid tuna fish caught in a net. Later became part of a casserole that Edwina Fornwaller took to a pot-luck dinner. It was dry and not well received–late twentieth century.

ONE

Bigfoot. Spent time lurking just out of sight, and being captured in grainy indistinguishable photographs–whenever.

fess parker

Here I am on Fess Parker’s head. Don’t I look awesome?

Lucky the Leprechaun Busted

idiotprufs, luck the leprechaun

The troubled leprechaun.

Golden Valley, Minnesota–In a shocking turn of events, the longtime mascot of Lucky Charms cereal, Lucky the Leprechaun, was charged with driving while under the influence, resisting arrest, and attempted bribery, according to Minnesota state police.

Upon pulling him over, he was found with several empty bottles of Irish whiskey, and a half-eaten box of Lucky Charms cereal. “I guess Lucky Charms cereal is like crack to leprechauns,” the arresting officer said, “no wonder they’re ‘magically delicious.”

“Don’t you know who I am?” The leprechaun kept yelling according to the arresting officer. Then he offered the officer three wishes and ‘all the Lucky Charms he Could snort’ if he would let him go.

It would seem that Lucky’s trouble had started with his pot of gold and an ill-advised wager. Apparently, he had bet his entire pot of gold on the New England to win the Superbowl.

Police said it was a colleague who had prodded Lucky into the wager.

“That idiot Cap’N Crunch,” Lucky would rant. “It’s all about Tom Brady, It’s all about Tom Brady, he kept telling me.”

“He was a lot of trouble,” one of the booking officers reported. “Every time we tried to take his mug shot, he would disappear right before the camera flashed, then he would reappear and laugh hysterically…it was really annoying.”

At the bail hearing, Lucky plead his case before the judge. “There’s so much pressure being an internationally known cereal mascot. Everyone expects you to keep up a certain image: clean-cut and wholesome. But have you read the literature? That’s not how leprechauns are. We’re tricksters who like to smoke and drink and tell stories. Honestly, I hate kids: they’re loud and annoying and for some reason, they’re always sticky. Why the hell are they always so damn sticky?

He paused for a moment to compose himself.

“And the other cereal mascots really get on my nerves. That wimp the Trix Rabbit is always popping in unannounced, griping that he never gets any Trix because Trix are for kids. Just take some you pathetic fur ball, they’re just kids, what are they gonna do? That giant-nosed freak Toucan Sam, flying around and crapping all over my carpet…you shouldn’t have to lay down newspaper just because a friend comes around. And don’t get me started on Tony The Tiger; he’s obnoxious, he smells, and I’m pretty sure he has chiggers…does any of this sound “lucky” to you?” He then began to weep uncontrollably. His tears were green.

The judge released Lucky into the custody of General Mills pending trial.

A spokesman for General Mills said, “We certainly hope Lucky can straighten out his personal life. If not, we’re looking into gnomes.”

Note: Authorities are still unclear as to how a naked Justin Bieber wound up in the trunk of Lucky’s car; they both claim to have no memory of what happened the night before.

idiotprufs, leprechaun

Mayoral Edicts of Mortal Consequence

idiotprufs, death is forbidden

If it’s on a sign, you must obey it.

It’s been a while since I first reported, Guilio Cesare Fava, the mayor of a Falciano Del Massico ordered the residents of the small town in southern Italy not to die. He stated that there was no room in the cemetery, therefore all residents were ordered by official edict, to refrain from entering the afterlife until the proper permits could be obtained and provisions made for a new resting place.

He also reportedly said, “death is depressing and icky and we’ll have none of it around here.”

With the combination of red tape, the propensity for governmental committees to move forward with the pace of an Icelandic glacier and the confusion manifested by the fact that nearly every member of Falciano Del Massico’s town council is named Luigi, the situation has shown little improvement. Compounded with the fact that some of the residents of Falciano Del Massico have taken it upon themselves to violate the mayors edict, things have grown even more dire.

“It’s just so frustrating,” Guilio said. “Just the other day I was standing in line at the market and the guy in front of me just dropped dead…the gall of it.”

Violators of the mayors edict have been placed into wooden boxes and buried in the ground. The punishment seems harsh, but law and order must be maintained.

 

idiotprufs, grim reaper

“Edict? I have a job to do.”

Sick and Tired

glaring look

“What’s wrong with you?”

I am sick and tired of people who think they are better than me.

People who think they are better than me just because they don’t eat crayons–there’s no law against eating crayons.

Do you know what all serial killers have in common: they don’t eat crayons. They occasionally eat people, but never crayons. Would you prefer I went around murdering people and eating them? I’ll bet you would because you’re all judgmental that way.

I’m sick and tired of people who think they are better than me just because they’ve never slapped a mime in the face–there’s no law against slapping mimes in the face.

Okay, there is a law against slapping mimes in the face–but there shouldn’t be! When did this country become the type of fascist police state where you can’t slap a mime in the face?

I’m fed up with those of you who think you’re so superior just because you’ve never licked a toad and then urinated on a police car. Police cars are inanimate objects: they don’t care if you urinate on them.

The police officer gets a little angry when you urinate on him.

It makes the toad furious.

And so what if I like to spend my evenings skulking in a dimly lit room, chugging bottles of Orange Jubilee Mad Dog 20/20, eating from a 64 pack of Crayola Crayons, with the B-52’s greatest hits blaring at full volume on the stereo as I fingerpaint pictures of giraffes and other even-toed ungulates on the walls.

Sometimes I do it dressed up like a rodeo clown.

There’s nothing weird about any of that…except for listening to the B-52’s–I shouldn’t do that.

Think about this: if I didn’t do weird and unspeakable things this blog wouldn’t even exist.

I should probably stop.

mad dog 20/20

Perfectly paired with Crayola brand dandelion crayons.

Just Stop Talking!

Bad decision sign

This conversation actually happened at a place where I worked, involving myself, a female supervisor, and a coworker named Bill who makes very questionable decisions.

Supervisor: I think I should go on a diet and shed a few pounds before summer.

Bill: You don’t need to lose weight; you’re pleasantly plump.

(Several moments of painfully awkward silence.)

Supervisor: I’m what?

Bill: you’re pleasantly plump.

Supervisor: I’m plump am I? Plump is what I am? I’m plump?

Bill: no, you’re pleasantly plump.

Me: (whispering discretely in Bill’s direction) stop saying the word plump, dude.

Supervisor: so my plumpness is pleasant to you?

Bill: I like a girl with meat on her bones.

(Another long and horrifying awkward silence.)

Me: wow, I can’t believe you thought the word meat would be helpful.

Supervisor: so I’m plump and meaty. (turning to address me) Do I look pleasantly plump to you?

Me: (frightened): pleasant is certainly not a word I would employ at the moment.

Supervisor: (growling) but am I plump?

Me: NO!

Bill: There’s nothing wrong with having some junk in your trunk.

(She literally became so angry she couldn’t speak.)

Me: you really need to stop all of the words that are coming out of your mouth, Bill.

Bill: (holding his hands wide apart) but I like women who have…

Me: STOP!

I can only guess at how Bill was going to finish that sentence; I am certain it would have resulted in his homicide.

The supervisor tortured Bill for weeks, screaming “watch out, there’s fat coming through,” every time she walked past him.

It was funny–for me.

The moral of this story: don’t be a dumbass.

Christmas turkey

Remember: plump and meaty is fine when describing your Christmas Turkey, but not when describing your boss.

Holy Crapper

outhouse in the woods

In a previous post I listed the name Thomas Crapper as a visionary with the likes of Henry Ford and Steve Jobs.

I know what you’re thinking: Thomas Crapper, a visionary? The toilet guy?

Yes. Thomas Crapper, the toilet guy, was a visionary. While Thomas Crapper didn’t actually invent the flush toilet, his innovations regarding plumbing, sanitary fittings, and improvement of the toilet were responsible for indoor bathrooms.

If you don’t think that’s visionary, just try to imagine the first time he discussed the possibility with his friends:

Thomas Crapper: you know how outhouses are filthy and disgusting places?

Friend #1: yes. Nasty business, outhouses.

Thomas Crapper: and you know how we put them a certain distance from our homes because of the horrible stench, not to mention the disease and the vermin?

Friend #1: I certainly do.

Friend #2: ha, vermin’s a funny-sounding word.

Thomas Crapper: I’m going to propose moving it all inside the home.

Friend #1: that’s insane.

Thomas Crapper: I’m thinking we could put it in a small room near the bedroom.

Friend #1: is all this crazy talk because we keep making fun of your surname? Because if it is we can stop.

Friend #2: ha, Crapper is a funny-sounding name; I’m not stopping.

Thomas Crapper: I’ve come up with this innovation, I’m going to call it: the floating ballcock.

Friend #2: HA! That’s a funny-sounding name–you are the gift that keeps on giving, Thomas.

Thomas Crapper: we could even put it in the same room that we bathe.

Friend #1: now you’ve gone off the deep end. Next you’ll be telling us about a machine that will allow men to fly.

Thomas Crapper: well, there are these two brothers named Wilbur and Orville, and they have an idea.

Friend #2: ha, Wilbur and Orville, those are funny-sounding names.

wright brothers Kittyhawk

“I’ll bet we could put a toilet on this thing.”

Dear Disgusting Swine

dirty pigDear Disgusting Swine,

In a previous post, you detailed your disappointment in relation to the Crayola company’s decision to discontinue the Dandelion crayon in their 24-pack of crayons. It seemed your distress stemmed from the fact that you find Dandelion crayons to be the tastiest of the colors available in the Crayola 24 pack.

You disgusting swine.

Your assertion is absolutely ridiculous and the height of irresponsibility. But being a fair-minded person, I decided to eat a 24-pack of Crayola crayons before composing this letter.

It was disgusting, you pig-swine.

But just to ensure absolute certainty in my position, I ate a second 24-pack of Crayola crayons: it wasn’t as disgusting as the first 24-pack, but it wasn’t good.

As I began to write this response, I snacked on a third pack of 24 Crayola crayons. Admittedly some of the colors are growing on me: Yellow-Orange, in particular, has a refreshing citrusy tang, but Dandelion is still awful.

You filthy disgusting pig-swine.

After several days of consuming crayons, I have come to an unswayable conclusion: Dandelion is the most offensive of the colors available in the Crayola 24-pack of crayons. In fact, the only thing I’ve ever tasted worse than the Dandelion Crayola crayon is my aunt’s potato salad, and that tastes like a diseased monkey peed into a vat of battery acid and death.

In conclusion: you are ignorant filthy disgusting pig-swine. (And you probably smell like moldy pinecones.)

Best regards,

Ron Smith, Director of Erie County Health Department.

dandelion crayon

Dandelion has been retired by Crayola and is now living in Boca Raton, Florida.

Putting One Thing on Top of Another Thing

blocks,

An example of my capabilities.

“Do you understand?” He was gaping at me the way someone would who had just tried to explain calculus to an ape. And not one of those clever apes that knows sign language but one of those apes on the nature channel that eats its own poop.

“Seriously?” I responded.

“Yeah,” he spat the word at me in the most condescending arrogant voice he could conjure. “Did you understand what I just explained to you?”

Note: in fairness to him, the most condescending arrogant voice he could conjure was just his voice–the fact that he resembled a rat didn’t help.

Allow me to go back to the beginning and explain: I am referring to an experience I had as a temporary worker. When you’re a temporary worker, there are certain things about you that are presumed:

  • You possess the education of a 12th-century manure mucker, your biggest aspiration is to one day be allowed to use a shovel.
  • You need everything explained to you at least a dozen times.
  • You need everything explained in a tone that one would use when explaining to a small child why he shouldn’t eat all the finger paint and vomit into the fish tank.
  • You need everything explained to you in monosyllabic language. (Ironically, the word monosyllabic is exactly the type of word that should never be used when explaining something to a temporary worker.)
  • You need everything explained to you with accompanying diagrams. These diagrams should be drawn in crayon if possible.
  • All diagrams should be drawn in non-threatening colors such as forest green or navy blue. Bright colors confuse and disorient temporary workers (fuchsia makes us crazy).

I was interrupted from my duties by Rat-Faced Guy, (not his actual name) who informed me that he needed my assistance.

He dragged me over to a line where juice was being packaged in small cans. As cases of these cans progressed down the line, a machine would lift every other case and then fling the cans into the air, spilling them across the floor. Evidently, that’s not how the machine was designed to operate.

Rat-Faced Guy (probably not his name) explained to me that the malfunctioning machine would be shut down, and I would step in to take its place. As the cases came down the line in pairs, it would be my job to pick up the first case of juice and place it on top of the second case of juice. Then I would have to do that again and again until the machine was operating properly again.

It was at that point that Rat-Faced Guy (potentially his actual name, when I said Rat-Faced Guy, people seem to know to whom I was referring) asked me if I understood.

“So, you’re asking me if I understand putting one thing on top of another thing?” I asked him.

“Yeah.” He looked at me with his beady eyes, his wispy mustache twitching nervously.

“What if, instead of putting the first case on top of the second, I put the second case under the first case?” I proposed.

Rat-Faced Guy (probably his actual name) looked at me incredulously. “Why would you do that?”

“I’m a visionary,” I told him. “I’m like Henry Ford, Steve Jobs, or Thomas Crapper.”

“Just do it the way I told you,” squeaked Rat-Faced Guy (almost certainly his actual name).

For the next two hours, I stood in one spot, and successfully put one thing on top of another thing.

Perhaps now they will trust me with something challenging such as putting one thing next to another thing.

The sky’s the limit–except for stacking things: two is the limit for stacking things.

idiotprufs, rat cartoon

Rat-faced guy having lunch.

Angry Response from Eduardo a Bolivian Pudding Maker

Dear Mr. Idiotprufs,

I wish to register a complaint in the strongest terms possible.

In your recent blog post: What was That Crunchy Thing in My Pudding? you blatantly mischaracterized the nature of the pudding manufacturing industry in Bolivia. We have many fine pudding factories here in Bolivia, only some of which have Egyptian dung beetle infestations.

Let’s be honest, dung beetles remove the dung from the factories–how is that a bad thing?

In your post, you also described workers in a Bolivian pudding factory as “laughing hysterically” at the prospect of rat feces falling into a vat of pudding. I have worked in a Bolivian pudding factory for years and I have seen rat feces fall into vats of pudding literally thousands of times, not one time have I “laughed hysterically.”

And don’t attempt to point out the E. coli clusters that have been cropping up; they are statistical anomalies and nothing more.

I hope that you will take this letter to heart; I would hate to be forced to hunt you down like the American dog you are.

Best regards,

Eduardo, a Bolivian pudding maker.

PS: Seriously. Stop it or I’ll kill you.

scary

Stop it, or we’ll put something really nasty in your pudding.

What was that Crunchy Thing in My Pudding?

I think I just ate something that broods.

I think I just ate something that broods.

You’re enjoying a delicious cup of pudding; savoring it’s smooth, creamy, crunchy goodness.

Wait a minute–crunchy?

Crunchy is not an adjective that’s generally associated with pudding. What did you just bite into? What did you just swallow? You feel a subtle unease in the pit of your stomach. Your mind begins to race, pondering the crunch causing possibilities.

Was it a clump of dirt? That would be bad, but it could be worse; it could be much worse.

The pain in your stomach grows a little.

That crunch had an exoskeleton feel to it. You may have just eaten an insect. What kind of insect could it have been? Your mind immediately leaps to most disgusting insect possible: the Egyptian dung beetle. Beetles that use rolled balls of dung for food or brooding; it definitely had the feel of something that broods.

The sick feeling in your stomach intensifies.

Stop it. Dung beetles are far too large to fit in your cup of pudding; it’s almost certainly a smaller insect.

You think it could have been a bedbug, but it was too large to be a bedbug. Unless it was a cluster of bedbugs, or worse: an abnormally large mutant bedbug…that probably just fed on someone with hepatitis.

You begin to feel a little dizzy

Then it hits you, the worst case scenario: what if it was a piece of rat feces? What’s the acceptable amount of rat feces in pudding? You hope it’s not measured in chunks. What if the rat had Bubonic Plague? You may have just become ground zero for an outbreak of the Black Death.

Done in by Bill Cosby and his cursed spokesperson affability.

And you thought Bill Cosby couldn’t get creepier.

You vomit.

As you try to catch your breath, you notice absolutely nothing offensive in your vomit.

You inspect it very carefully (which in itself is a little weird) and still you find nothing. It was probably just your imagination.

You feel silly, regulations involving food production are far to strict for it to have been anything else.

Meanwhile, in a pudding factory on the edge of small village in a remote part of Bolivia:

First worker: Hey, I think something just fell into the vat of pudding.

Second worker: What was it?

First worker: It looked like something with an exoskeleton, something that broods, possibly an Egyptian dung beetle.

Second worker: Why would there be an Egyptian dung beetle here in Bolivia?

First worker: I don’t know. Why are we speaking English in Bolivia?

Second worker: Stop asking stupid questions and stir the pudding.

First worker: Maybe it was a chunk of rat feces. I wonder what the acceptable amount of rat feces in pudding is.

Second worker: Is there an unacceptable amount of rat feces in pudding?

They both laugh hysterically.

Where do you want to take this ball of dung and brood? How about the nearest Bolivian pudding factory? Perfect.

“Where do you want to brood?”
“How about the nearest Bolivian pudding factory?”
“Perfect.”

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