idiotprufs

Illegal in 38 states–frowned upon in the rest.

Archive for the tag “funny”

Tales From an American Legion

 

american_legion_logo1

It’s a tradition. This is the third year I’m posting this on Memorial Day weekend for two specific reasons:

  1. I like it.
  2. Unapologetic laziness.

Years ago I worked at an American Legion post. I met a lot of people during my time there. Some of them were ordinary people, some were interesting, some were bizarre and some were bizarrely interesting.

One of the more interesting people was Jack.

Jack constantly spoke in non sequiturs. At first I thought that he was simply hard of hearing, but I began to realize there was a thread of continuity in the things he was saying. His conversations would go off in seemingly weird and irrelevant tangents, but they generally made it back to their original points.

I’ve often wished that I had written some of them down, unfortunately I’m a moron.

Here are a few of my favorites that haven’t been lost to my faulty memory:

Jack: I remember when I paid only ten dollars a week for rent.

Other patron: We don’t live in the fifties anymore Jack.

Jack: What! (slamming his fist against the bar in indignation) I haven’t ridden a bicycle in years.

Other patron: What?

Jack: I’d rather pay for my truck insurance than ride a bicycle.

Other patron: Again, what?

Jack: I can barely afford to pay my for rent and my truck insurance.

Or this one:

Me: Do you want another beer Jack?

Jack: (giving me a dismissive wave): I don’t know anyone named Dan.

Me: Firstly, I asked you if wanted another beer. Secondly, what about Dan sitting there right next to you?

Jack: (looking at Dan suspiciously) His last name isn’t White.

Me: So?

Jack: Then why would someone named Dan White want to buy me a beer?

Me: Obviously he wouldn’t. I can’t believe I’ve behaved so foolishly.

But this was my favorite:

Me: How are you doing today Jack?

Jack: You’re nuts!

Me: I hesitate to ask, but apart from the obvious, why do say that?

Jack: My wife was never an Eskimo.

Yeah. I still have no idea.

Eskimo

Probably not Jack’s wife.

But of all the interesting people I met, John was the most interesting.

John had a lot of stories to tell and a keen willingness to tell them, under one condition: you had to keep a cold rum and coke in front of him. He needed the proper “lubrication” to keep the vocal chords going.

John was man in his late eighties but still very spry. He had a weird sense of humor, which was probably a good thing because his wife seemed to have none at all. She was constantly reprimanding John for his jokes.

But that didn’t stop John.

John was a rifle bearer for the Honor Guard. One day after performing their duties, the members of the Honor Guard were returning to the post to have a few drinks together, as was their custom.

John walked calmly up to bar in full dress uniform, carrying his rifle, and wearing his eye-patch (John had to occasionally wear an eye-patch because of condition he had. He claimed he wore so he didn’t see double after he’s had a few too many) and stood there with a slight impish grin on his face.

He looked like pirate.

He then quickly pulled the rifle to his shoulder and discharged it toward the back of the bar.

The crack of the rifle echoed through the hall. If you’ve never heard a rifle discharged in a building, it’s loud. Beer flew into air, drinks were spilled, people scattered, some hit the floor. Even though I knew it was only a blank, it was still jarring to have a weapon discharged in your general direction.

A cloud of smoke hung in air the along with the pungent smell of spent gun powder. For a moment after the echo of the rifle had disappeared there was total silence. Then there chaos. Some people were laughing; some people were not. Some people were cursing, especially John’s wife, who unleashed a stream of foul language that to this day, I am certain has never been matched.

Once I made sure I still a whole person, I laughed, maybe as hard as I ever had in my life.

He later told me he thought it would be funny.

“When isn’t heart failure funny,” I told him.

John was reprimanded by the post, but that didn’t bother him. In fact, I’m not sure I ever saw anything bother him.

John was there that day on June 6th 1944. It’s estimated that 2,500 allied soldiers lost their lives on D-Day… but John didn’t. He had to hang around long enough to nearly scare me to death.

So this Memorial Day weekend, I’m dedicating this blog post to Jack, John and every other veteran who is no longer with us.

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 other Shakespearean shit.”

Their husbands did cower in a bleak silent hell,

for their wives weren’t just ugly, they’re mean as all 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 dark and dank place,

chugging Coors Light and shoving fudge in 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

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

Nutella or Montague: What’s in a Name?

nutella

A delicious snack, but a terrible name for a French child.

According to Ole Bill Shakespeare what you call a thing doesn’t alter its nature; “that which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet,” and all that.

Note: not to give anything away, but regardless of the lovely sentiment, things didn’t end well for Juliet.

It seems a court in Northern France disagrees with the Bard of Avon, and has taken a tough stance toward families who give their children odd names.

When one couple in Valenciennes tried to call their child Nutella, the shocked registrar immediately informed the local prosecutor, who took the case to court in the northern city. (But not before first making himself a quick snack, Nutella really is delicious.)

The judge argued that giving the child the name of a chocolate spread was against the girl’s interests as it might lead to mockery and unpleasant remarks. “Children can be horribly cruel to other children who happen to have odd names,” the Honorable Peanut Butter N. Jelly told the court as he wiped a tear of remembrance from his eye. “Besides, Nutella is clearly a boys name.”

The parents did not turn up at the hearing in November, and in their absence the judge ruled that the girl’s name should be shortened from Nutella to Ella. Her full name is now a much more respectable Ella Phant Butt. “Let’s see school children just try to make fun of that,” the court said.

The same court in Valenciennes made similar arguments in January this year before overturning the decision of another couple to name their child Fraise, the French word for strawberry.

The judge said that in particular the girl might face derision from people using the uncouth expression “ramène ta fraise” – a slang saying that translates as “get your ass over here.”

The parents opted instead for Fraisine, an elegant name popular in the 19th century which roughly translates as “get your non-strawberry ass over here.”

“French parents can choose whatever name they want for their offspring,” a registrar said, “but we will occasionally seek to ban or change a moniker that might be deemed against the child’s interests…or if we’re bored, or someone’s just being a real prick about things.”

“I don’t think it’s very funny,” said known prick Jacques Faucheux, father of court renamed Son-Of-Flaccid-Penis Faucheux.

A family was told in 2009 that they could not name their child after the French cartoon character Titeuf.

titeuf

French cartoon character Titeuf–forget the name, I want my children to have that hairstyle.

Note: I’ve never been more glad to live in the United States; I fully plan to name my first child Magilla Gorilla, and I don’t want the courts messing around with my daughter’s name.

Magilla

The name Magilla Gorilla just oozes class.

But the French courts don’t reserve this right for just human names. A dog owner in eastern France has been forced to change the names of his dogs, Itler and Iva, because they clearly “make people think of Adolf Hitler and Eva Braun.”

The unnamed owner argued that the names, Itler and Iva, had nothing to do with Adolph Hitler and Eva Braun. He grudgingly changed his dogs’ names to Iliso and Isio 4, but admitted he probably shouldn’t have shaved the swastikas into their fur.

And finally, in France you cannot call a pig Napoleon, due to a law aimed at preserving the image of the Emperor which remains on the statute books.

For shame George Orwell. For shame.

Animal Farm

Napoleon from George Orwell’s Animal Farm. For shame George Orwell.

 Addendum:

Jacques Faucheux has petitioned the court to have his son’s name (Son-Of-Flaccid-Penis Faucheux) changed. And he was a real prick about it.

The court granted his petition, and changed his son’s name to My-Fathers-A-Prick Faucheux.

Another petition is pending.

My Sincerest Apologies

sea monkeyA few months ago I detailed how distraught I was after discovering I had missed National Toothache Day.

This pales in comparison to that oversight.

Yesterday was National Sea-Monkey Day.

I MISSED NATIONAL SEA-MONKEY DAY!

What the hell? It feels like I just woke up on December, 26th and thought to myself: it feels like I missed something yesterday–why do I crave eggnog?

Sea-Monkeys have been such a huge part of my life and this blog. I even wrote an entire post about how Sea-Monkeys are preferable to my aunts and uncles.

(But to be fair, a rotting bloated corpse infected with Ebola is preferable to my aunts and uncles.)

I’ve laughed with Sea-Monkeys. I’ve wept with Sea-Monkeys. I can’t think of a single important event in my life of which Sea-Monkeys weren’t an integral part.

(Except maybe when I lost my virginity–there were no Sea-Monkeys involved with that–I’m not a weirdo.)

Sea-Monkeys are fantastic companions:

  • They’re great listeners.
  • They almost never interrupt you.
  • They don’t hog the bathroom–they go right in the bowl.
  • They never take the last beer.
  • They laugh with me, not at me.
  • They hate mimes as much as I do.
  • They never touch the remote–they’re happy with what I want to watch.
  • They never get anchovies on the pizza–anchovies are their natural enemies.
  • They’re really into William Blake.
  • And if for some reason they do act up a little, I can just leave a bottle of cocktail sauce by their bowl. They’re brine shrimp–they get the picture.

I want to extend my deepest and most sincere apologies to all of the Sea-Monkeys out there: I will never let you down again.

Final Note: There is absolutely no truth to the rumor that I once guzzled a bowl of Sea-Monkeys on a drunken dare. It is a heinous fabrication of the worst kind. A vicious, nasty, horrible, deliciously salty lie.

fish

The anchovy–natural enemy of the Sea-Monkey.

 

Update: More Bigfoot Sightings at Speed’eez Sports Bar and Grill

idiotprufs

A photo of Bigfoot at Speed’eez Sports Bar and Grill (as always, Bigfoot ducked just out of sight as the picture was taken).
(image source: goerie.com)

North East, Pa.–Since the first reports of Bigfoot sightings in the small town of North East, Pennsylvania at Speed’eez Sports Bar and Grill, there have been some changes.

It seems his presence has dramatically increased in recent weeks as his wife, Lady Bigfoot, has left him. Evidently she grew weary of his nights of cavorting at Speed’eez, downing 32 ounce mugs of Yuengling Lager, and gorging himself on Buffalo wings, while she was back in the forest, foraging and flipping over dead logs looking for grubs.

“Do you know how much effort it takes to keep your home tidy when you live in the forest?” Lady Bigfoot demanded. “There are bugs everywhere and raccoons get into everything.”

According to reports, Lady Bigfoot’s failing patience was finally exhausted when Bigfoot came home with suspicious blonde hairs stuck to his fur. He claimed the hairs were from a border collie, but that only lead to additional and somewhat disturbing questions.

Reportedly, in the wake of Lady Bigfoot’s departure, Bigfoot’s mood has become dour and he has grown ill-tempered. “He’s always bitching and moaning about something,” one patron of Speed’eez commented, “but you can’t really say anything…he’s so freaking huge.”

The list of things that irritate Bigfoot is myriad and growing:

  • The way squirrels smell when they’re wet.
  • The unnerving noise chipmunks make when they’re having sex.
  • Every song the B-52s have ever recorded.
  • How everyone refers to him using the generic term Bigfoot. His given name is Rupert; why does nobody use it?
  • The inexplicable way Lady Bigfoot always shaved her armpits but absolutely nothing else.
  • The creepy way rabbits chew their food.
  • Girls named Traci that dot the I with a smiley face.
  • When the Jersey Devil pops by unannounced, and you just can’t get him to leave.
  • Justin Bieber (to be fair, all of animal kingdom hates Justin Bieber, especially badgers).
  • When people mistake him for a bear; bears are uninformed and dull-witted creatures.
  • That idiot Poe; he always laughs a bit too loudly at those Jack Link’s messin’ with Sasquatch commercials.
  • Chiggers.
  • The way nobody can take a picture of him that doesn’t turn out blurry and out of frame.
  • Those morons from The Animal Planet. They’re always crashing through the forest, making a racket, and using the term squatchy. What the hell does squatchy even mean.
  • The way deer just crap anywhere they want.
  • The way unicorns crash around with absolutely no regard for where they’re sticking those horns.
  • The way bartenders get pissed when he tips them with grubs and tree bark.
  • When hippies come out to the woods, sit around a campfire, smoke pot, and recite really bad Haiku.
  • Hippies.
  • Haiku.
  • Bigfoot hunters that think they know so much about him. They’ve never once sat down with him, had a beer, and talked. He has opinions; he’s not a bear.

However, in recent days Bigfoot’s spirits have been buoyed by the arrival of friends. Yeti has made the trip from the Himalayas, and The Skunk Ape has arrived from Florida.

But with the arrival of Bigfoot’s friends, a few problems have arisen.

“The only thing ‘Abominable’ about Yeti are his manners,” one of the bartenders related. “If have to listen to him tell one more story about how much a yak can crap, I’m going to lose it.”

“Of course The Skunk Ape smells horrible,” said a patron named Bob, “but what’s worse…he hogs the jukebox and plays nothing but Steve Perry solo stuff.”

Tensions came to a head when Poe accused Bigfoot of giving him deer ticks. Later that evening Poe was found in the street, stomped into the pavement, and covered with giant foot prints. The other patrons seemed to be okay with it.

The local authorities instituted a ban on all mythological creatures while an investigation is conducted.

“I can’t believe this happened right before my busy season,” an exasperated Tooth Fairy commented.

poe beaten up

An artist’s rendition of Poe. Oddly, this was before the attack.

 

 

Happy National Limerick Day

limerick

Nantucket: I hear there was once a man from there.

Today is the day we celebrate the limerick, that popular form of poetry with five lines, a predominantly anapestic meter, and a strict (AABBA) rhyme scheme.

Note: I had no idea that ABBA also did limericks! Man, they were some talented Swedes!

The limerick is a fun and whimsical form of poetry that tends to revolve around an odd man with an unusual ability who is from a small island off the coast of Massachusetts.

Within the family of poetry, the limerick is that fun uncle who tends to drink too much at family get-togethers, but whom everybody loves to be around. (Unlike his dull-witted and boring brother the Haiku–Haiku is just so full of himself.)

Note: in my family that uncle gets drunk, crashes his car into a bus full of orphans then pees on the responding police car. Everybody hates him.

Since today is also International Nurse Day and Nutty Fudge Day, I thought I’d write a limerick about Nurses and Nutty Fudge, but every attempt came out so filthy.

So instead I wrote this:

This blog attempts humor without rhyme,

and at that it fails most all of the time.

So I ran and I hid

for offend some I did,

punched in the face I was by an mime.

And now you know why this blog doesn’t do poetry.

Final note: for all those people who live in Limerick, Pennsylvania: this day is not about you.

limerick pa

Limerick, Pennsylvania: there was once man from there also, but nobody cares.

The Miserable Reason This Blog Still Exists

Stupid Deer.

Stupid Deer.

It was a night in early March and western New York was being pounded by a typical lake-effect snowstorm.

As I plowed through the snow that was quickly accumulating, I tried to stay focused on the road to avoid any mishaps. I caught the image of a deer crossing sign out of the corner of my eye. These deer crossing signs are littered all over the countryside, they serve as a warning to motorists to slow down and proceed cautiously. While I’ve seen plenty of deer on country roads in western New York, I have never seen a deer anywhere near a deer crossing sign.

I amused myself with the mental image of lazy county workers driving around and throwing up deer crossing signs wherever they felt like it, swilling Pabst beer from cans, and laughing at the unsuspecting motorists who put false trust in the ill-placed signs.

I was jolted from my daydream by a brown blur in the road.

Holy crap it was a deer.

I slammed the brakes on: the worst thing you can do on slippery roads; I was skidding out of control.

Quick, I thought, steer away from the skid. No wait, that’s wrong you idiot.

Steer into the skid.

Steer into the skid!

It was too late. I had slid off the road and into a ravine. Everything was going black.

Stupid deer.

As I regained consciousness, I found myself in a small country cottage. There was a woman standing over me. She told me that her name was Annie and that she was nurse. Even though it seemed that I only had a bump on the head, she told me that I was badly hurt and that I needed rest. She seemed kindly, not at all unhinged or sinister.

She told me that she read my blog and that she was my number one fan. I let her read something new that I was working on. It was a new passion of mine: Jersey Shore fan fiction.

(Since Jersey Shore had been taken off the air my life had devolved into a drab and listless existence devoid of any meaning.)

As she brought me lunch, she told me that she didn’t like my Jersey Shore fan fiction. “I find it vulgar and disturbing,” she told me. “Especially the parts about Snooki.”

I informed her that I was done with humor and that Jersey Shore fan fiction was now my entire focus. She became enraged and dumped hot soup in my lap.

She quickly apologized and claimed that it was an accident.

“What about the fork you stuck in the side of my head?” I demanded.

“I don’t know how that happened?”

“Why would you even serve soup with a fork–that’s just weird?”

She became flustered and stormed from the room. I knew I had to get out of there.

I pulled the fork from the side of my head and began to gather my things as quickly as possible, hindered by the fact that my scrotum had just been scalded by piping hot split pea soup.

I made it as far as the front door when I heard a chilling voice from behind me.

“Where do you think you’re going?” she growled.

I peed a little bit. Something clanged against the back of my head, and everything went black again.

I awoke again with Annie standing over me. This time I was strapped to the bed and Annie was holding an ax.

“Don’t break my legs,” I pleaded.

“I’m not going to do that,” she said.

“Then don’t chop off my foot and cauterize the wound with a blow torch.”

“What? Where are you getting this?” she seemed confused.

“From Misery. You know, Stephen King.”

“You thought that I was playing the part of some twisted character from a Stephen King novel?”

“No,” I hesitated. “I thought that you were playing the part of a twisted character from a movie based on a Stephen King novel. There were really quite a few differences between the two, and it would really help me out if I knew which one you were going for.”

“I can’t believe that’s what you thought I going to do, that is so hurtful. And after I took the time to clean the split pea soup from your scrotum.”

“I thought you…wait, you did what?”

“You’re using very hurtful words,” she said wiping a tear from her face.

“It just seemed liked the direction that things were heading. You stabbed in the head with a fork. You hit on me the back of the head with what felt like a bedpan. I’m strapped to this bed. Now you’re standing over me holding an ax, and I seem to being wearing adult diapers…and then there’s the thing about my scrotum.”

“Of course you’re wearing adult diapers–who has to wash those sheets, me or you?” she demanded.

“You I guess,” I said meekly.

“That’s right. And I’m holding this ax because I was chopping firewood so that I can build a fire to keep you warm. You don’t appreciate anything I do for you.” She threw the ax to the floor, grunted in indignation and stormed from the room again.

I didn’t see her for hours.

When she returned she was very calm and she had an emotionless look on her face that frightened me.

“I’ve made a decision,” she said coldly. “I have decided that you will write another humor post, and its subject will be your precious Jersey Shore.”

I refused. I would never sully the purity of Jersey Shore by mocking it.

“I anticipated that would be your reaction,” she said as her lips curled like burnt paper into a sinister grin. “I’d like you to meet someone.”

“Hello, I’m Doctor Phil, and I’m here to talk about your feelings.” Dr. Phil entered the room like a giant bald horror.

“I don’t want to talk about my feelings,” I blurted out as fear gripped me.

“Then we’ll talk about how your feelings effect the feelings of others, and how effecting the feelings of others effects how you feel.” His voice was a relentless monotone.

“But I don’t…how do the two of you even know each other?”

“Annie has had some issues in the past, I’ve helped her with them.”

“Bang up job on that one Dr. Phil, have you seen my adult diapers?”

He just shook his head at me as if he were scolding a child. “How does it make you feel to know that your critical statements hurt the feelings of others?”

“Stop using the word feel or words derived from the word feel–it’s really creeping me out.”

“I felt that you might feel that way.” His head was shiny and his voice was hypnotic.

“Break both my legs; I only use them when I walk,” I pleaded, but Annie had left the room. “I LOVED YOU IN FRIED GREEN TOMATOES!” I screamed through the wall.

“Now let’s listen to the song Feelings, the Engelbert Humperdinck version.”

I broke almost immediately.

I wrote the post that she wanted. It was about how CNN’s The Situation Room would be different if it were actually hosted by The Situation, instead of that pasty-faced, abless dullard, Wolf Blitzer.

Pasty-faced dullard.

Pasty-faced dullard.

He thinks Janet Reno is a dude.

The Situation thinks NAFTA is where you get auto parts.

It was brilliant political and social commentary. If Dave Barry had read it, he would have thrown roses at my feet…or rocks at my head.

When Annie read it, she wept tears of joy.

I convinced her to undo my constraints so that we could celebrate properly.

“There’s one problem with this post,” I told her as she poured the champagne, “nobody’s ever going to read it.” I grabbed the laptop and hurled it into the fireplace. It shattered into pieces and began to burn.

As Annie fell to her knees screaming, I made my escape.

I’ve tried to write Jersey Shore fan fiction since then, but the pain is too great. So I am stuck writing this pathetic little humor blog.

I’ve started wearing adult diapers all the time; I like the freedom they give me.

Stupid Deer.

Seriously. You can't spell out the word cross? Stupid deer.

Seriously. You can’t spell out the word cross?
Stupid deer.

Bigfoot and Buffalo Wings

speedeez sports bar

Location of recent Bigfoot sightings.

North East, Pa. — In what is being described as indisputable proof of the existence of Bigfoot, there have been repeated sightings in the small town of North East, Pennsylvania, but it’s not in a way you would suspect.

The reclusive creature hasn’t been spotted in one of the many wooded areas in the region. Nor has he been seen in a fog shrouded field, or even lumbering across a quiet country road.

It seems Bigfoot has been spotted frequenting Speed’eez Sports Bar and Grill, a local establishment in the small town.

Jen, a bartender at Speedeez Sports Bar and Grill, who has reportedly spotted Bigfoot...and served him several beers.

Jen, a bartender at Speed’eez Sports Bar and Grill, who has reportedly spotted Bigfoot…and served him Yuengling.

When asked to describe the incredible encounters, Jen reported the following: “Well, he isn’t much different most of the people who come in here: he’s hairy, smells a bit, a little uncouth, and he drinks a lot. Yeah, he fits in here. Also, he has really big feet…but surprisingly dainty hands.”

Speed’eez owner, George Mcdannel, had the following response after being asked if the recent Bigfoot sightings in his establishment surprised him: “Of course I’m not surprised, we have a wide range of quality craft beers and a selection of delicious chicken wings; why wouldn’t Bigfoot come in here?”

While Bigfoot’s sudden appearances have caused quite a stir in the small community, not all of the patrons of Speed’eez are thrilled with the creature’s presence.

“I laughed a bit too loudly at one of those Jack Links Messin’ With Sasquatch commercials and he got his fur all up in a bunch,” a patron who is known as ‘Poe’ had to say. “Also, he keeps kicking my ass at bar trivia. Seriously, how does a bipedal hominid that lives in the woods know so damn much about 19th century Russian literature? Plus, I’m pretty sure he has chiggers.”

Another patron, Bob, had the following complaint: “He pours money into the jukebox, and plays nothing but Journey songs; it’s really pissing me off.”

I was able to track down the big guy and get this brief interview:

Idiotprufs: This isn’t the type of setting people would expect to spot Bigfoot.

Bigfoot: Yeah. Normally I like to stay a little more hidden: in a grove of trees or behind a big rock.

Idiotprufs: So what brings you out?

Bigfoot: Sometimes you just have to get out of the wilderness. It’s cold and wet out there and that’s where the family is.

Idiotprufs: You need a little time away from the family?

Bigfoot: Are you kidding? Bigfoot kids are hairy, messy, smelly, screaming little bastards. For the life of me I don’t know why those Bigfoot hunters can’t find me because there’s always a racket going on.

Idiotprufs: That sounds terrible.

Bigfoot: And there are bears out there.

Idiotprufs: You don’t like bears?

Bigfoot: Heavens no, they’re slow dimwitted creatures. You’ve heard the old saying about what bears do in the woods? It’s true, they do it all over the place, it’s disgusting. Ironically every time I try to take a leak, some idiot with a camera pops up out of nowhere.

Idiotprufs: So you come here to relax?

Bigfoot: Absolutely. And do you have any idea how hard it is to get food delivered to your home when your address is: Next To The Big Rock In The Woods.

Idiotprufs: And the people here leave you alone?

Bigfoot: Mostly they leave me alone. The people here are respectful, except for that idiot Poe… I don’t have chiggers!

After the interview, I asked Bigfoot to pose for a few photos, to which he graciously agreed. Unfortunately they all turned out inexplicably blurred and out of frame.

Artist's rendition of Bigfoot running from an idiot with a camera.

Artist’s rendition of Bigfoot running from an idiot with a camera.

Smith’s Unveils New Product

gooferie

SMITHSSmith’s Provisions, longtime purveyor of meat products for the Erie area, has announced that it is adding organic tofu to their list of products available for purchase.
The tofu made its debut at the new Erie County Farms last week, prompting long time Smith’s customer Neil Osbourne to declare, “What the hell is THAT?” as he loaded his cart with hot dogs and walked away from the tofu display at great speed.
Emily Haines, another loyal Smith’s buyer, remarked, “I’ll bet if you put enough Greek sauce on it, it might be OK.”
Smith’s spokesman Frank Hamm stated that they have already sold almost one package of the bean curd, and are expecting sales to double in the coming weeks.

UPDATE : Smith’s Organic Tofu has been discontinued due to lack of sales.

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