idiotpruf

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

Archive for the tag “Family”

Dragons, Lies, and Dragonflies

dragonfly

They’re really hard to catch.

You’re at the big family picnic when you hear a high-pitched screeching coming from behind. It’s like some kind of wildly malfunctioning siren or a giant deranged braying donkey. The noise is so shrill, so piercing, you can feel it in your chest. You wheel around expecting to find some kind of harpy or mythological beast of misery—you’re close.

“Look at my daughter.” Your Aunt Zelda screams at you as she points to a filthy and disheveled child.

“I’ve seen her before,” you tell Aunt Zelda, “but keep up the grooming regimen, it’s really paying off.”

“What I mean is: do you know how your Little Cousin Erina has come to be in this state?”

“I’m guessing the combination of bad genetics and decidedly questionable parenting.” You feel confident in your answer.

“Specifically, the condition of her face,” Aunt Zelda snaps.

“Her face? That’s all on you and her father and possibly a radon leak in your home.”

Aunt Zelda is now visibly agitated—you can tell because there is some color in her normally pasty complexion.

“The gunk around her mouth; I want you to tell me what that is,” she demands.

“The final reason the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania needs to begin proceedings toward the termination of parental rights?”

“You’re full of little jokes today aren’t you?”

“I’d like to think I carry my wit with me every day,” you tell her.

“It’s dragonflies!” Aunt Zelda screams at you.

“You shouldn’t allow your child eat dragonflies,” you advise Aunt Zelda, “you’re giving the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania ammunition they don’t even need.”

“She ate the dragonflies because you told her to,” Aunt Zelda snaps at you, her face achieving a level of color previously thought not possible.

“I never told anyone to eat dragonflies,” you defend yourself.

“You told the children if they eat enough dragonflies they would turn into a dragons.”

“That was more of a cautionary tale than actual instructions.”

“Well she believed you and now she’s eaten five dragonflies.”

“She’s eaten five dragonflies?” you exclaim, genuinely impressed, “dragonflies are hard to catch.”

“In the future, I would appreciate it if you would refrain from telling my daughter lies.”

“You don’t know it’s not true,” you defend yourself.

Your Cousin Bucky notices Little Cousin Erikka’s face as he’s passing by. “There’s chocolate all over your kid’s face, Aunt Zelda.”

“That’s not chocolate,” Aunt Zelda screams at Cousin Bucky, ” it’s dragonflies.”

Cousin Bucky stops in his tracks as he absorbs the information. “Are you sure it’s wise to let your child eat dragonflies, especially with the whole family court thing coming up?”

“I didn’t let her eat dragonflies, you moron.”

“Still, you should probably monitor her insect consumption,” Cousin Bucky says, “because the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania already has more than enough ammunition.”

“Really? Do they have enough ammunition? Do they really?” Aunt Zelda snaps at Cousin Bucky.

“Do you not know…because they have a lot of ammunition,” Cousin Bucky assures Aunt Zelda

“Daughter Erina ate the dragonflies because this moron told her she’d turn into a dragon if she ate enough dragonflies,” Aunt Zelda pokes a crooked finger at you.

“I don’t think you have anything to worry about,” Cousin Bucky tells Aunt Zelda.

“I have nothing to worry about?” Aunt Zelda questions.

“I doubt it’s the case eating dragonflies will actually turn her into a dragon,” Cousin Bucky says matter-of-factly.

“You don’t know it’s not true,” you admonish Cousin Bucky. “You’re not an expert on dragons or dragonflies?”

“I suppose I’m not,” Cousin Bucky agrees.

“Obviously eating dragonflies doesn’t turn you into a dragon,” Aunt Zelda says, “she ate five of them and she’s not a dragon.”

“She ate five?” Cousin Bucky says with surprise. “They’re really hard to catch.”

“They are hard to catch,” you agree. “But clearly, five dragonflies are not enough to trigger the Dragon transformation.”

“Should I eat more?” Little Cousin Erina asks.

“I guess that depends on how badly you want to be a dragon,” you advise.

“Yay, more dragonflies,” Little Cousin Erina cheers.

“You’re not eating any more dragonflies,” Aunt Zelda scolds.

“I think you’re missing the key point in this entire situation,” you tell Aunt Zelda.

“And what would that be?”

“The fact that your daughter desperately wants to be a dragon.”

“I wouldn’t bring that up to the people from social services,” Cousin Bucky advises Aunt Zelda.

“Why do you want to be a dragon?” You ask Little Cousin Erina.

“Because dragons can breathe fire and burn alive any person they don’t like,” Little Cousin Erina tells you with glee.

“That was a bit chilling,” you say.

“I definitely would not bring that up to the people from social services,” Cousin Bucky tells Aunt Zelda.

“Really, Nephew Bucky,” Aunt Zelda snaps. “Are those your words of wisdom for me?”

“Do you really not know…because that sounded horrible.”

“Look, a dragonfly,” Little Cousin Erina squeals with delight as she runs off in the direction of the dragonfly.

Aunt Zelda stares in silent rage at you and Cousin Bucky before she turns to pursue her daughter.

“Look at that,” Cousin Bucky says in amazement, “she’s caught another one.”

“And now she’s eating it,” you reply.

“It’ll be good having a dragon in the family,” Cousin Bucky says.

You just nod in agreement.

dragon

Little Cousin Erina–post transformation.

The Big Family Picnic: The Aftermath

idiotprufs nerds

A lovely family having a picnic–this is not your family.

The big family picnic has hit your community like a tsunami and is now slowly receding back into the ocean.

Your local emergency room has been taken off high alert and much of their staff has been given a well deserved vacation.

Once again your family has overtaxed their staff, frayed their nerves, and extinguished their stock of gauze, sutures and eye patches.

They’ve treated various members of your family for the following injuries, ailments, and assorted issues:

  • Contusions.
  • Abrasions.
  • Cuts.
  • Lacerations.
  • Puncture wounds.
  • Broken bones.
  • Bone bruises.
  • Minor burns.
  • Severe burns.
  • Indian burns–you have an uncle who’s a jackass. (Actually you have several.)
  • Food poisoning.
  • Alcohol poisoning.
  • Lead poisoning.
  • Radiation poisoning.
  • Smoke inhalation.
  • Bite wounds–some animal, some human, some unidentifiable, and one that appears to be from a Bigfoot.
  • Stab wounds.
  • Gunshot wounds.
  • Crossbow wounds.
  • Ax wounds.
  • One particularly gruesome wound seemingly caused by medieval mace.
  • Asphyxiation in one individual who appears to have been strangled with a garter snake.
  • One garter snake bite.
  • Several cases of acute mental distress.
  • One case of a crippling fear of barbecue implements.
  • One barbeque implement lodged in a bodily orifice it has no business being anywhere near.
  • Dysentery.
  • Scurvy.
  • The plague.
  • Acute jock itch. (Don’t ask.)

The source of many of the problems was your uncle and his trunk full of games/weapons:

  • Horse shoes.
  • Horse whips.
  • Croquet mallets.
  • Croquet balls.
  • The little hoops you knock the croquet ball through that can be used to puncture human skin.
  • Lawn darts–your family is the reason lawn darts were made illegal in the State of New York and why a similar measure concerning bocce balls is currently making it’s way through state legislation.
  • Bocce balls.
  • Softballs.
  • Softball bats.
  • Vampire bats.
  • Dueling pistols.
  • Unexploded ordinance.
  • A board with a nail through it–this has the dual purpose of breaking open pinatas and killing barn rats.
  • A big stick with a jagged point that your uncle refers to as his eye-poking stick.

Once again your aunt has brought a cauldron of potato salad with way too much eye-of-newt in it. It results in stomach cramps, vomiting, and explosive diarrhea. Also, your cousin grows a tail.

Your aunt claims she had nothing to do with the locust swarm, but it seems like a bit of a coincidence that it happens every year.

Another aunt accosts you because you told her daughter that if she ate a dragonfly she would turn into a dragon.

Note: Have you ever eaten a dragonfly? You don’t know this isn’t true.

Your uncle–the volunteer firefighter–has inadvertently set fire to himself, a pavilion, and an old-growth forest. Unfortunately your uncle was only one still standing at the end of the day.

As the big family picnic passes and dissolves into repressed memories and a series of panic filled nightmares, your only hope is that all the injuries–apart from some of the more radical skin grafts–heal before the next big family picnic.

Your family seems horrible.

I’m just saying.

locust

Doesn’t every family’s picnics involve a swarm of locusts?

Just a Quick Clarification

floppy eared dog

There may be some readers of this blog who have made an inference (due to no fault of my own) based upon things they think they may have read in this blog.

It is my desire to stem any disinformation that may persist and to eliminate even the most infinitesimal chance of confusion.

To be perfectly clear: I have absolutely no firsthand knowledge that any of my aunts have a pseudo-penis.

If you are laboring under the impression that one of my aunts has a pseudo-penis, that’s on you.

That being said, I have absolutely no firsthand knowledge that my aunts don’t have a pseudo-penis.

I mean, it’s statistically unlikely that any of my aunts have a pseudo-penis, but I do have a lot of aunts.

But saying that something is statistically unlikely is pretty much the same as saying it is possible.

So let’s just leave it at this: while statistically unlikely, it’s entirely possible that one or more of my aunts have a pseudo-penis…but you didn’t get that from me.

I have a cousin that’s half spider monkey. She doesn’t have a pseudo-penis, but she does have a prehensile tail. She’s a pleasant enough girl, but the way she wolfs down grubs at the dinner table is quite off-putting.

Her mother on the other hand (who may or may not have a pseudo-penis) is a horror. Remember the mother alien from Aliens? That big, ugly, drooling, murderous beast. That thing was a cherub compared to my cousin’s mother.

aliens

A cherub in comparison…and this thing doesn’t have a pseudo-penis.

I do have an uncle who menstruates. You may think that’s not physiologically possible, but he does it. He thinks nobody knows–everybody knows.

Grandma calls him a medical miracle, but that’s just because freak of nature sounds bad in the Christmas letter.

His wife has a pseudo-penis.

Correction: it is statistically possible that his wife has a pseudo-penis. I don’t want anyone getting the wrong idea.

I trust this post has cleared things up.

And maybe certain family members will be less angry with me…they’re so touchy.

Final Note: aren’t you glad I didn’t include a picture of pseudo-penis in this post?

monkey

See how useful a prehensile tail can be.

So I’ve Ruffled Some Feathers

 

mad baby

“My feathers have been sufficiently ruffled.”

It seems I’ve ruffled some feathers.

Some big, fat, whiny, bitchy, crybaby feathers.

It’s not that this blog hasn’t generated negative reactions in the past. It has and that disapproval has been manifest in many forms:

  • Through the WordPress comments function.
  • By email.
  • Unfriending me on Facebook.
  • Friending me on Facebook for the sole purpose of unfriending me.
  • Tweeting about me with the hashtag: jackass.
  • Sniper fire.
  • I’ve been accosted by mimes. (They don’t say much, but their gesticulated scorn is withering.)
  • Women flee at the sight of me. (To be frank, this was happening long before I started this blog.)
  • Small children bite me with their sharp little adolescent teeth.
  • A vicious diatribe was nailed to my front door, written in blood. (This one surprised me; Grandma needs all the blood she has.)
  • Random baboon attacks.
  • Skywriting.
  • Strategically placed billboards with shockingly filthy messages.
  • The song “You Suck” is constantly being dedicated to me on the radio.
  • Vitriolic letters to the editor of The Bolivian Free Press. (The Bolivian Free Press is an odd name for a newspaper in a country where the primary language isn’t English. It’s almost as though I made it up.)
  • Llamas spit on me, then act like it was an accident.
  • Lorenzo Lamas spits on me, then acts like it was an accident.
  • I get junk mail addressed to: That Ass Who Writes The Blog.
  • The letters in my alphabet soup randomly form death threats.
  • I am frequently presented with that time honored and always effective middle finger.

But it was the following passage from a recent post, Home is Where the Heart is…and a Bit of Predator, in which I detailed reasons my hometown is awesome, that has caused the cheese to slide off the crackers of a few people:

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.

It has been suggested that this passage is defamatory, and this blog is guilty of slander.

That is ridiculous–defamation in written form is clearly libel.

Note: seriously, if you don’t know the difference between slander and libel, you shouldn’t run around all willy-nilly accusing anyone of either.

Nevertheless, a few points of clarification.

None of my aunts or uncles are werewolves. Sure their behavior is a tad monstrous when the moon is full, but it’s monstrous during all phases of the moon. They’re not any better when the sun is up…I guess my point is it’s pretty much a perpetual state.

None of my aunts or uncles are vampires; they’re bloodsuckers of an entirely different ilk.

None of my aunts or uncles are members of the undead. The stench of rotting flesh that follows when they arrive, and their seeming inability to communicate in even monosyllabic fashion, are probably just coincidences.

Witches? Granted, I’m not referring to the type of stereotypical green-skinned, broom-traversing witches such the wicked witches from the Wizard of Oz.  However…

Note: if only I could dispatch them with a bucket of water.

Remember this one important thing: it isn’t libel if it’s true.

Addendum

Wouldn’t it be awesome to have a troop of flying monkeys to do your bidding?

flying monkey

A flying monkey toting Toto. (Not the rock group, he’d need a bigger basket.)

Are Sea-Monkeys Better Than Your Family?

Sea-Monkey family

What a lovely family.

It’s the question people have been asking themselves for ages: are Sea-Monkeys better than my family?

Don’t be ridiculous, of course Sea-Monkeys are better than your family.

Sea-Monkeys aren’t constantly shoving pictures of their potato-faced baby in your face, forcing you to lie about how cute their potato-faced baby is.

(Their baby isn’t cute: it has a potato face.)

Sea-Monkeys don’t get angry when you use the phrase “potato-faced” to describe their baby.

Note: turnip-faced doesn’t seem to be any more agreeable than potato-faced. Your family appears to have a bizarre bias against root vegetables that Sea-Monkeys don’t possess.

Sea-Monkeys don’t show up to family picnics all liquored-up on Coors Light, and vomit into your aunt’s potato salad.

Sea-Monkeys don’t get all pissy when you comment that your aunt’s potato salad was destined to be involved with vomit related incident at some point before the day was over.

Unlike your aunt, Sea-Monkeys aren’t overly sensitive about their disgusting potato salad and chunky hippo thighs.

Unlike your family, Sea-Monkeys tend to be very fit. It’s probably all the swimming they do, coupled with their general reluctance to shovel fatty foods into their fat gaping yaps.

Unlike your in-laws, Sea-Monkeys don’t sit around at family functions, guzzling Wild Turkey and openly lamenting their obviously questionable life choices.

Sea-monkeys don’t drink bourbon at all.

Unlike your brat cousin, Sea-Monkeys don’t scream at the top of their lungs until your aunt fills her face full of candy.

Sea-Monkeys understand that shoving sugar into an already intolerably loud and manic child, is the last thing you should do.

As brine shrimp, Sea-Monkeys are bottom feeders.

(Sorry, that last entry is from the list of how Sea-Monkeys are exactly like your family.)

Sea-Monkeys never set fire to their face.

Note: to be fair, it is difficult to start a fire inside a bowl of water. Still, your bone-head uncle could do it, and burn off his eyebrows in the process.

Unlike your aunts, Sea-Monkeys aren’t a gaggle of cackling hags who put curses on their nieces and nephews; Sea-Monkeys rarely dabble in the black arts.

Sea-Monkeys don’t disgust you.

Sea-Monkeys aren’t reading this blog and becoming enraged.

Sea-Monkeys have a far better sense of humor than your family.

And Finally…

When you refer to someone as a “miserable squinty-eyed back stabbing rat-bastard” you’re almost never talking about a Sea-Monkey.

sea monkey

You must admit, this Sea-Monkey is the spitting image of one of your aunts.

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