Advertisements

idiotprufs

the blog that made the pope laugh so hard he peed himself.

Archive for the tag “funny”

Tran and Penn: the Sylvanias

william penn

William Tran Penn.

It occurred to me the other day, that if the William Penn, founder of the English colony of Pennsylvania, had been named William Tran, then I would currently be residing in the great Commonwealth of Transylvania.

Wouldn’t that be awesome!

The Sylvanias have so much in common.

Bram Stoker’s fictional character Dracula.

Dracula was based the real-life ruler Vlad the Impaler. Vlad Dracula was known for committing many acts of brutality, his favorite being impaling his enemies on stakes.

There are numerous tourist attractions around Transylvania connected to Vlad.

castle bran

Bran Castle, a tourist attraction associated with Vlad the Impaler. (I wonder if pigeons poop on it,)

We have a statue of Rocky.

rocky

Statue of Rocky. (Pigeons definitely poop on it.)

Rocky Balboa is a fictional character created by actor and filmmaker Sylvester Stallone, (himself known for brutal acts of annunciation) based on the real-life boxer Chuck Wepner.

Chuck Wepner

Real-life boxer Chuck Wepner. (Pigeons wouldn’t dare.)

Transylvania is often thought of as eerie.

church scary

An eerie church in Transylvania. (Pigeons are afraid to poop here.)

We have a place literally named Erie!

Erie eerie

Erie, Pennsylvania: it may be spelled differently, but it’s just as creepy. (Pigeons don’t poop here, but the seagulls crap on everything.)

Transylvania is romanticized as place inhabited by supernatural creatures such as vampires, werewolves, and monsters.

abott and costello

Abott and Costello knew all about these monsters.

We have a groundhog the predicts the freaking weather.

idiotprufs groundhog day punxsutawny phil

Abott and Costello knew almost nothing about Punxsutawney Phil.

There’s a bunch of other similarities between Pennsylvania and Transylvania involving steel production, ethnic and religious backgrounds, and geographical features, but that crap is all boring.

So I’ll leave you with the one striking difference between Pennsylvania and Transylvania.

The Transylvania State football team is just a bunch of tiny, slow-footed, pasty-faced, European guys.

 

Franco Harris steeler

Penn State great Franco Harris smashing through the Transylvania State offensive line.

Advertisements

Monkeys, Shakespeare, and Me

monkey

The authors of this blog?

I’m sure you’ve heard of the Infinite Monkey Theorem. It states the following:

If you’re having a child’s birthday party, don’t hire a clown, or a pony, or a big sweaty guy in a SpongeBob SquarePants costume. Get a monkey in a cowboy hat on a unicycle; your children will have infinitely more fun.

I’m joking, that’s not really the Infinite Monkey Theorem. (But seriously, go with the monkey in the cowboy hat.)

Wikipedia describes the Infinite Monkey Theorem this way:

The infinite monkey theorem states that a monkey hitting keys at random on a typewriter keyboard for an infinite amount of time will almost surely type any given text, such as the complete works of William Shakespeare. In fact, the monkey would almost surely type every possible finite text an infinite number of times. However, the probability that monkeys filling the observable universe would type a complete work such as Shakespeare’s Hamlet is so tiny that the chance of it occurring during a period of time hundreds of thousands of orders of magnitude longer than the age of the universe is extremely low (but technically not zero).

So I acquired a couple of monkeys, (don’t ask how, it involved unsavory behavior and a yak) I gave them a couple of typewriters and let them go nuts. I wanted to see if there was anything to this Infinite Monkey Theorem. Plus, monkeys are fun.

We got off to a rocky start: there was some feces hurling and some disturbingly lengthy (and quite frankly hurtful) obscene gesturing, but eventually they got to work.

While they didn’t reproduce any of the works of Shakespeare, they did type the prhase: Hamlet smells of cheese and Denmark.

Then something bizarre happened: the monkeys began to reproduce most of the contents of this blog and in shockingly less time than it took me to produce it. They even corrected some of my grammar errors.

And these weren’t the smart type of monkeys that do sign language; these were the type of monkeys eat their own poop and smoke cigarettes…and one of them was really drunk.

Then they peed on the typewriters and mocked me with their superior verb tense usage.

It was all very disheartening.

I think I’m going to read Hamlet and pretend it was written by a drunken monkeys with bladder issues and a severe attitude problem…then I’m going to get drunk and pee on the monkeys.

Addendum: the monkeys wrote this post too and it was better than this shit version.

hamlet

Don’t hire a guy dressed up like Hamlet for a child’s birthday party either. He smells like cheese and Denmark.

New Year’s Traditions From Around the World

Gerbil News Network

In Italy, they throw old dishes and glasses out their windows.  In Latin countries, women wear yellow underwear for good luck and red for success in love.  In America, people blow noisemakers and pretend to be interested in two .500 football teams playing in the WeedWacker Cauliflower Bowl.  People around the world celebrate the New Year in a variety of ways.  Join me for a whirlwind world tour (and try saying that five times fast) of the different ways people in other lands “ring in the new.”


Look out!–Upper Volta postage stamp celebrates the nation’s inept air traffic controllers.

Goat Toss: In Middle Volta, which is conveniently located between Upper and Lower Volta, native Voltaic men toss a goat across a fence until one man is exhausted and can continue no longer.  The winner is allowed to bed the loser’s wife for the night, and the loser must buy the…

View original post 419 more words

Frog Upset by Unwelcome Kiss

disney princess

Princess and alleged frog groper.

Trouble is brewing in the Kingdom as allegations of unwanted advances have been leveled against the princess by a local frog.

“I was sitting here in the swamp next to my husband when out of nowhere this giant blonde tart grabs him and practically sticks her tongue down his throat,” the lady frog complained. “It was repulsive. And to make matters worse, after she gets done groping my husband, he turns into a prince. He used to be green, slimy, and lovely. Now he’s just huge, pink, and disgusting.”

“When the Wicked Witch turned me into a frog, it was the best thing that could have happened to me,” the Prince said, “People think being a prince is all wine and roses. Well, there are a lot of wine and roses, but there’s also a lot of headaches: the threat of assassination, diplomacy with other kingdoms is a nightmare, moat maintenance is a constant struggle, and there’s always the worry that at some point the peasants will realize how oppressed they are and revolt–when you’re a frog you don’t have to worry about angry mobs with pitchforks.” The Prince then leaned in and said in a hushed voice, “And that Princess is no picnic either.”

“Do you know how many frogs I had to kiss before I found the right one?” The Princess said in disgust. “Do you see this ugly sore on my upper lip, I’m pretty sure it’s some kind of frog herpes.”

“Look at this worthless ineffectual tongue,” the Prince continued, “how am I supposed to catch flies with this thing? What I wouldn’t give for one blood filled mosquito right now.” 

“Excuse me while I go vomit,” the Princess said as she left in disgust.

When contacted to see if she could turn the Prince back into a frog, the Wicked Witch replied, “I’m not freaking Oprah–I don’t just give things away. I do things to make people miserable and unhappy; it’s in the job title.”

“I tried to go back to the swamp, but it’s not the same,” the Prince lamented. “I’d known my wife since she was a tadpole, but now she wants nothing to do with me. I guess I’m stuck with the Princess. Did you see that gross sore on her upper lip? Yuck!”

frog

Green, slimy, and lovely.

 

 

Don’t Say it to Your Boss


office space

 

Monster.com has compiled a list of things not to say to your boss. Let’s take a look at their list:

  1. I need a raise.
  2. That just isn’t possible.
  3. I can’t stand working with__.
  4. I partied too hard last night–I’m so hung over.
  5. But I emailed you about that last week.
  6. It’s not my fault.
  7. I don’t know.
  8. But we’ve always done it this way.
  9. Let me set you up with__.

I know–this list is ridiculous and useless.

I’ve made some subtle changes to the entries. Here’s what you really can’t say:

  1. I need a raise; I can barely steal enough from the office to keep up with the rising cost of cocaine and hookers.
  2. That just isn’t possible. I need to take two hours for lunch; it difficult to get properly drunk in one hour.
  3. I can’t stand working with these voices in my head; they keep telling me to kill again.
  4. I Partied too hard last night–I was almost too drunk to have sex with your wife.
  5. But I emailed you about that last week; I directly indicated to you that a reactor core meltdown was imminent, it’s not my fault if you don’t check your email.
  6. It’s not my fault; how was I supposed to know bringing my pet chimpanzees to work would be frowned upon…I’m sure that feces will wash out of your hair.
  7. I don’t know. I would be better at my job if your woefully inadequate leadership skills didn’t fail to inspire me on a daily basis.
  8. But we’ve always done it this way…you galactically incompetent prick.
  9. Let me set you up with my cousin; she’s one of those genuinely well-mannered Neo-Nazi skinheads.

Do see how much more helpful this list is?

Jack Dee

Squire Sebastian Senator


name tag
A woman has recently cancelled a baby shower because her family and friends are less than fully supportive of her choice of names for the child.

I personally find it reprehensible for a person’s loved ones not to be fully supportive, regardless of how ridiculous this woman’s choice of names may be.

Sure, her choice–Squire Sebastian Senator–is a bit odd, but just think of the character her son will develop by being repeatedly beaten as a child.

What kind of heartless animals are this woman’s family and friends. 

She posted the following statement to Facebook:

“Dear Members of the Squire Sebastian Senator baby shower. I have a really important announcement to make. It brings me pain to have to tell you this, but I am cancelling the event.”

Exactly what I would do. Screw all those people who want to give you a bunch of free stuff; a baby doesn’t need things like diapers or clothes or formula, when he has such a regal sounding name.

Her post went on to read:

“Y’all have been talking s— about my unborn baby. AN UNBORN CHILD. How can you judge an unborn child??”

Some of you might argue that people aren’t talking shit about the child as much as they’re talking shit the THE UNBORN BABY’S batshit crazy mother. Well, you people disgust me.

Her post continued:

“He will not be allowed to have a nickname, he is to be called by his full and complete first name…”

You may thinking the child will receive nicknames regardless of the mother wishes. Nicknames such as:

  • The Kid Who Gets Punched A Lot
  • Crazy Ladies Kid
  • Squire Sebastian Stupid-Face
  • Seabiscuit
  • Squire of Turdville
  • The Kid Who Runs Away From Home A Lot
  • Dwayne

The woman defended her choice, claiming her family is descended from a long line of “both squires and senators.”

She went on to write:

“If you look back in our family tree, the survival of this clan is literally rooted in squiredom. We are all related to senators too. This name conveys power. It conveys wealth. It conveys success.”

I wholehearted agree with this assessment; I am overwhelmed by its undeniable brilliance.

You may be thinking that while the survival of this woman’s clan is literally rooted in squiredom, the child’s survival will be literally rooted in his ability to runaway very quickly from other children throwing rocks. Shame on you.

I wish I had a name like Squire Sebastian Senator. My name is Larry; its sheer boringness has crippled me.

I applaud this woman and I hope she has a dozen more kids, all named as regally as Squire Sebastian Senator.

Godspeed good woman.

Addendum: I’m considering having my name legally changed to Lord Larry Legislator. Then I can just sit back and wait for the power, wealth, and success to start rolling in.

squire boy

Squire Sebastian Senator, but I call him Dwayne.

A Family Christmas at the Fish and Game Club (the Foul Stench of Death)

 

 

 

deer heads

Merry Christmas…not for the deer.

A dark and dusty cabin that sits atop a lonely hill. Filled with cobwebs and death. Some of the dead things are animals that were stuffed and posed for display, some just crawled in and found it a suitable place to die. Morbid, dank, ghoulish, and creepy, it’s the perfect setting for a weird occultic ritual, or in your case: the big family Christmas party.

They’re all there: Grandmother, aunts and uncles, cousins, second cousins, Cousin It, that cousin that everyone thinks is a hobbit, grandchildren, great-grandchildren, not so great-grandchildren, in-laws, outlaws, felons, those still awaiting their court date, significant others, insignificant others, and that weird guy with the eye-patch that doesn’t seem to belong to any particular family, but who always seems to be there.

Upon arrival you must approach your grandmother and “kiss the ring” before doing anything else. One year your cousin Bucky went to get a Coke before “kissing the ring.” His family now refers to that year as the year of tears.

Grandmother sits on her throne, peering down over her kingdom like Yertle the Turtle, but without the Seussian whimsy.

“I see you’ve decided to grace us with your presence this year,” she says, her voice filled with reptilian cold-bloodedness.

“Yeah, sorry about not making it last year, but I was in a fairly severe accident,” you defend yourself.

“So severe you couldn’t be here?”

“I had several broken bones and a puncture lung.”

“Just one punctured lung–you have two of them don’t you? Anyway, you should be more careful.”

“The other guy ran a stoplight.”

“Don’t try to blame someone else for your carelessness.”

“He was a serial killer trying to evade the police.”

“I’ll bet he at least spent time with his family.”

“I’m sure he did,” you respond, “it takes time to chop people up and bury them in the backyard.”

You decide to move on as she gives you her look of glaring disapproval–it’s a look you know well.

As you approach the refreshment table you overhear your cousin Beatrice talking to your aunt Mitsy. “How has the Wednesday night book club been going?” Beatrice asks Mitsy.

“Book club?” you say confusedly as you interrupt, “I thought you got together on Wednesday nights to sacrifice small animals, and put curses on those who have disappointed you over the course of the week.”

“We talk about books too,” Mitsy yells defensively.

As this is happening your Uncle Finster and Aunt Sally arrive with their two children, Ignorance and Want.

Note: yes, Ignorance and Want are horrible names for children. Sally read A Christmas Carol one year and badly misinterpreted that part…she’s an imbecile.

As Finster exits the car, an avalanche of empty Coors Light cans spill to the ground.

“Should you be doing that after what happened on Thanksgiving,” Cousin Bucky asks Finster.

Finster stops and reflects for a moment, “I don’t remember Thanksgiving.”

“He doesn’t remember November,” Sally says tersely.

The in-laws are out at the gun range, slugging down vodka, firing weapons into the air, and ruing their life choices. You decide to avoid that.

Your cousin Philippa, the vegan, arrives and regards the various moose and deer heads mounted on the walls with a sense of disgust. “The air in here is rife with the foul stench of death,” she says.

“That’s your Aunt Sally’s three bean salad,” Uncle Finster replies as he unsuccessfully tries to take a swig from an already empty and crumpled Coors Light can, “it could also be your Aunt Sally,” he says with resignation. “I hate my @$#%ing life.”

You suddenly feel a chill that penetrates to your soul. You turn to see your aunt Jackal approaching.

“I see you’re here this year,” her voice drips with disdain, “we missed you last year.”

You know she didn’t miss you the way one human being misses another human being, but more the way a poisonous snake strikes at a bunny rabbit, but misses.

In your mind you play out the possible scenarios for the course this conversation could take. Then you decide screw it. “You are a hideous intolerable bitch and I don’t want your shrill voice piercing my eardrums.” As you walk away you mutter to yourself, “that one is going to cost me big at next Wednesday’s “book club” meeting.”

As you sit and gnaw on dry turkey and three bean salad, (the three bean salad really is shit) you watch a gaggle of your aunts in the corner scheming and peering in your direction. You watch as Sally screams at Ignorance for pulling Want’s hair. You watch in amusement as Finster urinates in the fireplace. He won’t remember December either, you think to yourself.

As you attempt to cut a piece of turkey with your fork, (knives haven’t been allowed at family functions since the stabbing incident of 2009) you watch as one of the in-laws limps in with a fresh gunshot wound. It’s Uncle Gabe–you win the pool.

It’s just another big family Christmas at the fish and gun club.

bad family

These are not your family members…you should be so lucky.

 

“Experts”


expert
Ours is a nation whose shores are teeming with experts. They are vital to our existence. We could barely function on daily basis if not for these titans of knowledge, and purveyors of wisdom. We know these things because it’s what they tell us.

We expect much of our experts and they tell us much:

  • They tell us what to do.
  • They tell us what not to do.
  • They tell us what to think.
  • They tell us what not to think.
  • They tell us where we should go.
  • They tell us where we shouldn’t go.
  • They tell us what we should or shouldn’t be thinking, while doing what we should or shouldn’t be doing, on way to somewhere we should or shouldn’t be going.
  • They tell us not to be long winded.
  • The tell us not to be abrupt.
  • They tell us not to make things too complicated.
  • They tell us not to make things too simple.
  • They tell us what to say.
  • They tell us what not to say.
  • They tell us not to pronounce the T in the word often.
  • But when they tell us, they pronounce the T in the word often.
  • And they do it often.
  • They tell us not to interrupt people.
  • But they interrupt us to tell us.
  • They tell us what to write.
  • They tell us what not to write.
  • They tell us not to end a sentence with a preposition.
  • But you can end a sentence with the word preposition.
  • You can do it twice in a row.
  • They tell us what to eat.
  • What not to eat.
  • How long to boil an egg.
  • How long not boil an egg.
  • Don’t boil eggs–poach them.
  • Stop! Eggs are bad for you.
  • Now they’re not.
  • Now they are again.
  • Now they’re not again, as long as you don’t put salt on them; salt is very bad for you.
  • Now salt isn’t bad for you.
  • They complain constantly about office politics and their pointy-haired boss.  (Sorry, that’s not what experts do–that’s what Dilbert does.)
  • They don’t bother to tell us not to wash our hair with flea and tick shampoo.
  • They assume some people wouldn’t be stupid enough to wash their hair with flea and tick shampoo.
  • They tell us to read labels carefully, so you don’t accidentally cover your head with liquid pesticide.
  • They tell us what to read.
  • They tell us what not to read.
  • Starting with seemingly endless and annoying lists.
  • When we feel miserable, they tell us why we feel miserable.
  • When we don’t feel miserable, they tell us why we should feel miserable.
  • When we feel happy, they knock some sense into us, so we can get back to the business of feeling miserable.
  • They tell us what to do to avoid death.
  • When we do what they say and die anyway, they tell our relatives why it’s not their fault.
  • And they show the importance of employing high powered lawyers, in the event that some people actually follow their advice.

If not for the tireless work of experts, how many of us would still be living under the dark veil of happiness.

It must be exhausting being an expert..

If should happen to see an expert on the street today, stop and be sure to give him a heartfelt thank you. If you don’t know how to do that: ask him, I’m sure he’ll tell you how it should be done.Dilbert. point haired boss

 

Exploding Vacuum Cleaners and the Great Carpet Fire

It’s happened to everyone hasn’t it? Throughout the course of your life at some point or another, you are going to set somebody’s carpet on fire.

Accidents happen. Things explode. Things catch on fire–it’s inevitable really.

It shouldn’t be a big deal.

But evidently it is a big deal to some people.

It’s a big deal to people who have no sense of humor.

It’s a big deal to people who have a tendency to be ill-tempered.

It’s a big deal to people who have a tendency to say angry hurtful things.

It’s a big deal to people who have no sense of humor, a tendency to be ill-tempered, and to say angry hurtful things.

It’s a big deal to people who have high-pitched, squeaky, cartoon-rodent voices.

It’s a big deal.

There were valuable lessons learned the day of the exploding vacuüm cleaner and the great carpet fire:

  • The average household vacuüm cleaner was not designed to pick up paperclips.
  • Attempting to pick up paperclips with an average household vacuüm cleaner might cause it to explode.
  • When the vacuüm cleaner you’re using begins to make a high-pitched whining sound, don’t ignore it.
  • When the high-pitched whining sound starts making the neighbors dog bark, don’t ignore it
  • If you’re thinking to yourself, this thing sounds like it’s about to explode, it probably is.
  • An exploding vacuüm cleaner sends a thick cloud of smoke and dust into the air like a mini-volcano.
  • Commenting to the vacuüm cleaner’s owner that it looked really cool when it exploded, like a mini-volcano, does not help the situation.
  • An exploding vacuüm cleaner creates an enormous mess while simultaneously removing your ability to clean up that enormous mess.
  • An exploding vacuüm cleaner might also burst into flames.
  • A burning vacuüm cleaner will probably set the carpet on fire.
  • A carpet fire will probably set off the smoke alarm.
  • Smoke alarms are obnoxiously loud.
  • A blaring smoke alarm will bring the vacuüm cleaners owner running into the room.
  • A contentious conversation might result with the squeaky-voiced owner of the vacuüm cleaner.

Squeaky-voiced Owner: Why is my smoke alarm going off?

Fire-starter: Probably because of all the smoke in the room.

Squeaky-voiced Owner: Why is the room full of smoke?

Fire-starter: It probably came from the carpet fire.

Squeaky-voiced Owner: Why is the carpet on fire?

Fire-starter: It must have spread from the vacuüm cleaner.

Squeaky-voiced Owner: Why is the vacuüm cleaner on fire?

Fire-starter: It caught on fire after it exploded.

Squeaky-voiced Owner: Why did it exploded?

Fire-starter: Act of God?

Squeaky-voiced Owner: It sounds more the act of an idiot.

Fire-Starter: I turned it on and it just burst into flames.

Squeaky-voiced Owner: It just burst into flames?

Fire-starter: Crazy isn’t it? There should be a clearly defined label that reads: Warning, use may cause detonation.

Squeaky-voiced owner: You must think I’m the biggest moron on the face of the planet.

Fire-starter: Not the whole planet.

Squeaky-voiced owner: (Silent staring, and in a really creepy frightening way.)

Fire-starter: You know, if you cleaned more often, I wouldn’t have to…

Squeaky-voiced owner: (Censored for filth and because it was really hurtful.)

Fire-starter: That’s not a real word, and a human isn’t physically capable of doing it.

Squeaky-voiced owner: Let’s find out.

 

There was one more important lesson learned: the phrase “some day we’ll look back at this and laugh” does not always apply.

You think this is scary? Just let me near your vacuum cleaner.

Drew Barrymore gets it.

The Family Thanksgiving Without a Stabbing…Fingers Crossed

 

Bourbon

The Wild Turkey at your family’s Thanksgiving.

Thanksgiving is just a few days away and you’re still trying to recover from the previous years festivities.

Your Uncle Gabe attempted to fry the turkey in a deep fryer, which led to him setting fire to most of the barn, part the house, and all of his face. He burned off all of his hair. (Even the hair around his naughty bits.)

Your Uncle Finster was on his way when he was pulled over by a police officer, which led to the following conversation:

Police Officer: there are 15 empty cans of Coors Light on the seat next to you.

Uncle Finster: it’s a long drive–at least 20 minutes.

Police Officer: there’s a child in the backseat playing with a revolver.

Uncle Finster: it’s not loaded.

Police Officer: the child next him is playing with the bullets.

Uncle Finster: don’t worry, she never shares.

Luckily for Finster the police officer was called away due to a convenience store being robbed.

Your cousin Milton was arrested for robbing a convenience store.

It turned into a hostage situation, but since he was the only customer, he was forced to take himself hostage. The police stormed the store, so he shot himself leg. As they dragged him away he was heard yelling, “I didn’t want to do it, but they gave me no choice.”

Your cousin Milton is stupid.

Your aunt Peggy announced that she had taken one of those DNA tests and discovered she is 46% troll. She declared she was going to leave your uncle Karl, live under a bridge, never bathe, consume nothing but other people refuse and rats, and engage in occasional tussles with goats.

Basically her normal routine, just under a bridge.

Your uncle Karl seemed pretty okay with it all.

There were two stabbings last year, but that was down from previous years. You’re hoping that trend continues.

There’s bound to be a few drunken brawls, but you hid your uncle Philbert’s crossbow, so nobody should lose an eye this year.

Your in-laws will gather outside around a barrel fire like a homeless rabble and drink copious amounts of liquor as they shiver and lament their obvious and dreadful life choices. But at least they’ll be outside.

Your aunt Zelda will bring her famous potato salad, so there will be vomiting…some of it projectile. But you’ve invested in a case of Pepto Bismol and a disposable mop.

This year you’re feeling good about things. You’re feeling confident. You’re feeling prepared. You’re feeling hopeful.

Who are you kidding–it’s going to be a disaster.

police lights

“Can’t we have just one Thanksgiving dinner that isn’t lit by police lights?”

Post Navigation

%d bloggers like this: