With his vacation time approved, Erie resident Turner Donaldson has finished preparations for his three-day journey through the West 12th Street Popeye’s drive-thru. “I drive by every day and see how busy it is,” said Donaldson. “I figured I’d plan my vacation around getting some of that chicken. I’m actually taking four days’ worth of […]
via Local Man to Embark on Grueling 3-Day Trip to Popeye’s Drive-Thru — gooferie
Recently I jokingly asked someone if they could recommend a brand of cigarettes, because I needed a hobby, and I planned to take up smoking. This was met with a glassy-eyed stare and an earnest lecture against the evils of smoking.
I felt it was time to revisit an old post extolling the many reasons people should start smoking.
Note: so many of my jokes are met with glassy-eyed stares, I could use them to hypnotize people.
See how happy you could be.
(image source: wpclipart.com)
The plight of tobacco executives in our country.
With the combination of class action lawsuits and the implementation of restrictive legislation, the poor tobacco executives in our country have taken a terrible beating over the past several years. It has resulted in a precipitous tumble in their social standing; they have gone from being filthy stinking rich, to being only extremely well off. If we don’t take immediate action, where will it end?
The fate of our tobacco executives if we don’t take immediate action.
(image source: andertoons.com)
The word emphysema is really fun to say.
It’s a word that just rolls off your tongue. Em-phy-se-ma: one syllable just flows into the next. Try saying it once. Try saying it several times in a row. Try saying it quickly. Try saying it quickly several times in a row (unless you have emphysema: you might pass out).
The great thing about emphysema is that once you have it, it never goes away. And emphysema will affect nearly every aspect of your life; so you will have no trouble working it into daily conversation:
Not only will you have fun with the word emphysema, but so will your friends and family, long after you’re gone:
In a twist of irony, you won a scrabble tournament playing the words, healthy alveoli.
(image source: snapdesign.com)
You need to know what they’re talking about.
You’ve seen them huddled together, enjoying their cigarettes, with their furtive glances and secretive whispers.
They’re outside of the bar, the restaurant, the bank. They’re outside any and every place of business. They assemble in the wind, the rain, and the snow. They assemble regardless of scorching heat or an F5 tornado. Nothing deters them.
What can they be talking about? It must be of incredible importance. They must be solving the puzzles of the universe.
You’ve tried approaching them, but without a cigarette in your hand, they just regard you with disdain and disgust.
It’s been eating at you; you need to know what they’re talking about.
Note: It’s a little known fact that Albert Einstein developed both special and general relativity, while huddled with a bunch of coworkers outside of a patent office, in a brutal German snowstorm.
“Get lost, we’re discussing important things. We’re discussing a possible cure for cancer or emphysema. Hey, emphysema, that’s fun to say.”
(image source: sodahead.com)
To stick it to that know-it-all the Surgeon General
You’re a rebel and you don’t appreciate anybody telling you how to live your life. You certainly don’t need some preachy Surgeon General constantly yapping at you about lung cancer, heart disease, or 32 known carcinogens.
There are tons of dangerous activities out there that the Surgeon General has said absolutely nothing about:
Why don’t hammers come with an explicate warning from the Surgeon General; you don’t have to hit yourself in the face more than five or six times with a hammer, to do some real damage.
If we’re going to make any real changes, it’s up to all of you out there to light up and start puffing away.
I’d start smoking today if my jaw wasn’t wired shut.
I’m launching a lawsuit; those irresponsible executives at Black & Decker, need to learn.
(image source: wpclipart.com)
“How do you see this ending?” You ask your Uncle Finster.
“I don’t know what you mean?” Your Uncle Finster replies with a touch of petulance intertwined with genuine ignorance as he wildly swings a garden rake at the wasp nest directly above his head. He loses his balance and nearly tumbles from his perch, shakily atop the seat of a riding mower. He steadies himself before taking another wild swipe at the wasp nest.
You pause a moment to reformulate your words. “How do you imagine your state of being in, let’s say, ten minutes from now; do you think you’ll be well or not well?”
“I will be very well once I get rid of this wasp nest,” he says as he takes another swipe, missing the bottom of the nest by an inch. “Wasp nests are very dangerous.”
“They are very dangerous,” you acquiesce, “that’s why I’m standing at a distance and not directly under the wasp nest.”
“You have to break a few eggs to make an omelette.”
“But when you break an egg, wasps don’t fly out and sting in the face a thousand times.”
“Omelettes are delicious,” Uncle Finster admonishes you.
“Omelettes are delicious,” you agree. “A face full of wasp venom: slightly less so.”
Uncle Finster takes another wild swipe at the wasp nest, again barely missing it, this time losing his balance and nearly tumbling to the ground. “Are you here to help me or just to mock?”
“I’m definitely here to mock,” you clarify, “and I suspect to eventually call 911.”
Uncle Finster stops what he’s doing to look at you. “You always think the worst is going to happen.”
“This just reminds me of the time you had that hornet nest in your shed and you attempted to remove it with gasoline and a road flare.”
“I got rid of that hornet nest, didn’t I?”
“You got rid of the shed too.”
“I built a new shed.”
“And we all look forward to you burning that one down.”
Undeterred, Uncle Finster takes another swipe at the nest, again barely missing, and again nearly tumbling to the ground, regaining his balance just in time to swat a wasp from his face.
“That mower seat isn’t the sturdiest thing to stand on,” you warn Uncle Finster.
“This is the sturdiest mower on the market; that’s why I bought it.”
“I thought you bought it because your last mower burned up in the shed.”
Uncle Finster ignores your previous comment. “Maybe if I jump in the air while I swing the rake.”
“Maybe I should just get your ladder,” you offer.
“You can’t.”
“Why not?”
“It burned up in the shed too,” Uncle Finster tells you as he crouches down in preparation to jump.
“Of course it did,” you reply.
“Anyway,” he continues, “I have to get rid of this thing before my big kick-off-to-the-Summer Memorial Day picnic. I wouldn’t want anything to ruin it–my kick-off-to-the-Summer Memorial Day picnics always go so well.”
“What about last year?” you question.
“What about last year?” he demands.
“Uncle Philbert had a heart attack and fell face first into Aunt Peggy’s coleslaw.”
Uncle Finster halted his assault on the wasp nest for a moment to stop and reflect. “Aunt Peggy was really mad that no one would eat her coleslaw after that, but let’s be honest: nobody was going to eat that coleslaw,” he pauses for a moment to reflect with disgust, “she puts prunes in it.”
“Actually, Uncle Philbert’s heart attack was the main thrust of my point.”
Uncle Finster straightens and addresses you with all seriousness, “He survived didn’t he?”
“What about the year cousin Erina got the lawn dart stuck in her head?”
“She’s had worse things stuck in her head and it’s not like she’s going to get more stupid,” he says as he leaps in the air, unleashes a mighty swing at the wasp nest and catches the bottom of it. Uncle Finster crashes to the ground, followed by the rake which takes a strategic path straight to his forehead followed by the wasp nest and all its inhabitants.
It was glorious.
Uncle Finster did destroy the wasp nest. The admitting nurse at the emergency room laughed hysterically at pictures you got on your phone. And the wasps rebuilt their nest in Uncle Finster’s new shed.
So, all’s well that ends well…very well.
“It says here on your chart that you’re a dumbass.”
It’s just so little.
As always, these are all real search terms from my stats page, rewritten exactly the way I found them, followed by a quick comment from myself.
why does it look like my penis has bug bites on the bottom of it You put your penis somewhere you shouldn’t have.
how to get wifes feet to stink like cheese I found 36 different combinations with the words: wife, feet, stink and cheese. Thank you Freshly Pressed for making my blog a foot fetish destination.
sexy man riding a unicorn images The poster on my bedroom wall, right next to my poster of Shaun Cassidy.
construction worker thumbs up thumbs up One fifth of The Village People, really happy really happy.
mooning kilt Aren’t all kilts for mooning?
my children’s story keep getting rejected Your story, Little Billy’s First Kite and the High Voltage Power Lines, was a little disturbing.
childrens story limburger cheese This one sucked too.
tom cruise is an idiot I am very honored that Nicole Kidman visited my blog.
how many idiot are in the church of scientology One less since Nicole left Tom.
cukes Exactly.
katie holmes open mouth Katie, stunned that I didn’t use her name for those jokes.
cartoon vomit on guy The disastrous result of my prom date with Olive Oyl.
dental phobia funny jokes There is nothing funny about dental phobias.
“pulled all his teeth” See!
pi alamode 3.14 pieces of pie with ice cream on top.
bug eyed black guy Dynomite! (If you get that reference, you’re old.)
bad guidance counselor of the year The guidance counselor who advised this guy.
His pay is all the honey he can eat.
Bug mac More gross than a Big Mac, but slightly more nutritious.
Why you should start smoking Because emphysema is fun to say.
a monkey was once tried and convicted for smoking a cigarette in south bend, indiana Man, those priests at Notre Dame are strict.
best reasons for kids to start smoking If a monkey can do it, it’s got to be fun.
tinkerbell playing football The reason Disneyland’s football team sucks.
mcdonalds fries and rats All I want is the rat, but they push the fries on me anyway.
snooki rhyme satire Much better that Snooki Haiku.
limerick about idiots But not as good as the limericks about Snooki.
cartoon boxers Much more comfortable than cartoon briefs.
bee angry angry bee happy redd bee One of Dr. Seuss’ lesser known works.
a vicious cartoon bear Boo Boo finally got sick of Yogi’s crap.
instrument for digging holes Really?
bigfoot smokes pot So do you if you don’t know what a shovel is called.
job interview stoned Not a good idea unless you’re applying to be Justin Bieber’s pilot.
justin biebers shrunken face I’m more than a little proud this search term brought someone to this blog.
boy band with clown Aren’t they all?
list of things that gets bulls angry Bull-riders, rodeo clowns, matadors, and boy bands. (It should be noted, the entire animal kingdom hates boy bands, especially badgers.)
permanent cure for athletes foot A hacksaw, a tourniquet, and a peg leg.
self-medication criteria in ungulates Just don’t put their medication in child proof bottles; they have a horrible time opening them with their hoofed feet.
self medicating before family gatherings Before…during…after.
stuff you never want to hear from a new neighbor Hi, you probably recognize me from the Jersey Shore.
facts about bigfoot They love Jack Links beef jerky, but they hate Jack Links Messin’ With Sasquatch commercials.
Sasquatch in the woods That too.
facts about mermaids They all have crabs. (As pets. What did you think I meant?)
can an idiot ride a unicorn Only if he’s a mythological idiot.
my summer story pictures Even the search term sounds boring.
girl tooth fairy girl green disney channel ??????
squat comedy I should be able to think of something funny for this, I just can’t.
lady gaga costume designer Also her butcher.
pee electricity words wisdom The first and last time you will ever see those words together.
cartoon cows behind an electric fence Are you sure that fence is electrified.
my penis hit an electric fence The worst possible way to check if a fence is electrified.
funny surprised face Your face two seconds after your penis touched that fence.
hysterical laughter cartoon Your friends two seconds after your penis touched that fence.
“Whoa, his face really has shrunken.”
“Here I come, Lake Erie.”
Groundbreaking at Dunkirk Wastewater Treatment Plant: here’s to years of contaminating Lake Erie.
The Fable
Ned was a tree frog who lived in a bush.
All the other tree frogs lived in big trees in the forest, but Ned had a fear of heights.
One day Ned was hopping around the forest floor when he bumped into Patty the tree frog and her boyfriend, Dirk the tree frog.
Ned had long fancied Patty the treefrog; she was especially plump and slimy.
“We’re having a party up in our tree tonight,” Patty told Ned, “why don’t you come?”
“He won’t come to a party in the tree,” Dirk said snidely, “Ned doesn’t like to be in the trees.”
“It’s called acrophobia,” Ned defended himself, “and it’s an officially recognized fear by American Psychiatric Association, Dirk.”
“You really need to grow a pair,” Patty told Ned.
“I’m a tree frog,” Ned told Patty, “that means my genitalia consists of two interior testicles and spermatic canal; I have a pair, you just can’t see them.”
“Let’s just leave this pathetic loser to himself and go have our party,” Dirk told Patty.
Dirk and Patty laughed at Ned as they hopped away to have their party.
That Dirk is a spermatic canal, Ned thought to himself.
That night Ned sat in his bush and listened to the laughter and frivolity happening in the tree above him and he felt very sad and alone.
So he got some gasoline and burned their tree to the ground–the other tree frogs never made fun of Ned again.
Moral
Don’t be a spermatic canal.
What happens when you’re a spermatic canal.
There are more of them every day.
It is a well-known and widely accepted fact that garden gnomes are evil creatures of the night.
They spend their days in an inanimate state, surrounding the homes of the naïve, who have become witless servants to their evil machinations.
They often assume silly poses and sport whimsical names such as Boddywinkle or Fudwick.
This whimsy is a lie.
Do not be fooled by this subterfuge, they are maniacal creatures with evil plans.
This is far more typical behavior.
There are some in the so-called “scientific community” who will try to tell you this is hokum, mere nonsense.
Some are those who are secretly working in concert with the gnomes, helping to propagate their plans for world domination.
Some of these men of science are just quacks; they don’t believe garden gnomes come to life at night. They don’t believe in ghosts or bigfoot or that the Earth is flat. Quacks!
“Garden gnomes are harmless decorations, and not at all sinister…I’m not a quack.”
Here is a short list of some of the nighttime activities in which garden gnomes engage:
See what I mean–pure evil.
There is a singular weapon that is particularly effective in the battle against garden gnomes: a silver plated shovel. (You can also kill them with a regular shovel, but it’s not nearly as cool.)
Gruesome but necessary.
This menace must be dispatched.
Their plans to foment anarchy must be stopped.
Get your shovel today and join me in this call to arms.
Warning: You might have crybaby neighbors who have a proclivity for calling the police, acquiring court orders, or posting videos of you smashing their garden gnomes in your footy pajamas. So be careful.
An instrument of garden gnome death, or if you just need to dig hole, it’s good for that too.
He likes to size up new employees with a long hard stare.
(image source: theitcrowd.wikia.com)
He stares at you with an unwavering gaze as you shift uncomfortably in your seat. The seconds grow into minutes. The minutes grow into slightly more minutes. His unwavering gaze intensifies into a penetrating glare.
Beads of sweat well on your forehead.
The faint buzz of the flourescent lighting above you is the only sound in the room.
He picks up the phone and begins to dial, never averting his steely eyes from yours. He suddenly stops dialing and slams the receiver back into the cradle.
You flinch, beads of sweat break and run down the side of your face.
He sits back and crosses his hands, he seems to relax. You relax a little.
He then suddenly lurches forward and yells at you in a booming voice, “ungulates.”
Your brain frantically searches for the proper response. “What?” Is the best that your brain can do.
“Ungulate, it roughly means hoofed animals or being hoofed,” he explains.
“I know what an ungulate is,” you respond defensively.
“Then why did you seem so perplexed by the word?” He demands.
“I guess I was just startled,” you answer.
“Do many words startle you?”
“Words don’t startle me,” you say with incredulity.
“So you claim. Yet the word ungulate seemed to make you wet yourself. What other words give you a start?”
“I’m not afraid of any words,” you maintain.
“So it’s just ungulates that you hate. That’s a problem.”
“I don’t hate ungulates,” you reply, feeling a sense of desperation although you’re not certain why.
“I love ungulates,” he tells you with conviction. “My father loved ungulates. My father’s father loved ungulates…His father didn’t care for them, something about being kicked in the side of the head.” He then pauses for several moments, staring into the distance in a reflective manner, before continuing with renewed vigor. “But his father really loved ungulates. I don’t think that I could work with a person who didn’t love ungulates.”
“I love ungulates too,” you tell him latching on to his enthusiasm.
“Very well,” he says as he eyes you with suspicion, “what is the best type of ungulate?”
It’s at this point, you realize that you have never once in your life stopped to consider the qualities of ungulates. “The zebra,” you answer apprehensively.
“Are you currently high on crystal-meth?” The interviewer demands.
“Why. Is that the wrong answer?”
“No. Zebra is the proper answer, but you’re very skittish and sweaty.”
“I just didn’t think there’d be so many questions about ungulates for this type of job?” You tell him.
“You are absolutely correct. Let’s get on with a proper interview shall we.” You nod in agreement, glad to be getting on with it. “So, why do want to be a proctologist; do you enjoy sticking your finger up other men’s butts?”
“What? No. I don’t want to be a proctologist.”
“Well then why are you here?” He asks you accusingly.
“Isn’t this an accounting firm,” you ask confusedly.
He shuffles through some of the papers on his desk, reads through a few of them thoroughly, shuffles through a few more, then looks up at you. “You’re right, this is an accounting firm. How silly of me. We almost never have cause to stick our fingers up other men’s butts. Except on Thursdays, there’s quite a lot of it on Thursdays, but other than that, almost never.”
“Okay?” you say with a total lack of conviction.
“I suppose you’re well equipped at adding and subtracting numbers, because that’s the type of thing we’re looking for in a proctol…I mean accountant.”
“Yes. I’m very good at math,” you assure him.
“Quickly. What does 6+5-2 equal?” He snaps at you.
“That would of course be nine,” you reply confidently.
He stares at you for a moment. He then pulls a small calculator from his desk drawer and punches several buttons. “Amazing. That is absolutely correct, and you didn’t need an adding machine, an abacus, or even your fingers. You just did it right in your head.”
“It was really just a child’s question,” you tell him modestly.
“Nonsense. You are brilliant. When can you start?”
“I can start immediately.”
“There’s just one little thing: what is your opinion on diseased chimpanzees?” The interviewer asks.
“I don’t think I have an opinion on diseased chimpanzees,” you tell him with uncertainty.
“Don’t be silly, everyone has an opinion on diseased chimpanzees.”
“Really?” You seem doubtful. “What’s your opinion on diseased chimpanzees?”
“I think they’re smug,” he tells you with a tinge of contempt in his voice.
“Why is it relevant?”
“All of our employees share a desk with a diseased chimpanzee.”
“Why in the world is that?”
“It seems we were doing a job for a research lab and misplaced a few million dollars of theirs. Now we have to house some of their less than successful projects.”
“You misplaced a few million dollars,” you ask in total disbelief.
“Look,” he replies angrily, “not everyone is as brilliant at math as you are. Listen, getting along with a diseased chimpanzee as a desk-mate is really very simple: don’t make eye contact, don’t make any sudden movements, don’t ever use his stapler, don’t let him use his stapler to staple documents to your forehead; they will do that, and if he hurls his feces at you, don’t hurl yours back.”
“Do you honestly think, I need to be told not to hurl my feces in the workplace?”
“There have been incidents.”
“This is crazy. I don’t want to work here. I don’t want to work for you, and certainly don’t want to work with a diseased chimpanzee. I’m out of here.” You storm out in a huff.
“And he wanted to be a proctologist; he doesn’t possess the temperament,” the interviewer mumbles to himself, “and I would never allow him near my ungulates.”
“You got a problem with me?”
Things you should not wear to a job interview:
It’s hysterical, but don’t.
Things not to do on a job interview:
Things not to put on your resume:
Under other interests:
Note: hunting mimes and shrinking their heads is acceptable, and if you should happen to scrapbook about it…whatever.
Under accomplishments:
Final and key piece of advice:
Don’t do this.
idiotpruf 