idiotprufs

Read by four out of five drunken monkeys–written by the fifth.

Archive for the tag “humor”

“Experts”

expertOurs 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 it’s not.
  • 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 can bite me.
  • 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.

Our experts must be totally exhausted.

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

 

Where Have the Clowns Gone?

scary clown idiotprufs

“Stop crying, Timmy, and cut your birthday cake.”

Prepare yourself for a shock–there is an impending clown shortage.

It is not possible for me to over-exaggerate the gravity of this situation.

Note: I’m sorry, if you’ve read this blog in the past, you know that over-exaggerating the gravity of the situation is exactly what I’m about to do, and I going to do it wildly.

Evidently, the desire to dress-up in outlandish clothing, slather on huge amounts of make-up, and go out into public and behave in a ridiculous and childish manner, has fallen out of vogue since Jersey Shore went off the air.

“What’s happening is attrition,” said Glen Kohlberger, Clowns of America International President. He then honked his nose like a bicycle horn and hit the reporter in the face with a pie. “The older clowns are passing away and today’s youth just doesn’t want to smell like elephant crap,” he lamented.

The problems that will arise from the clown shortage are many:

  • Unable to acquire a clown for your child’s tenth birthday party, you will be forced to hire a sweaty guy in a SpongeBob SquarePants costume. Bitter that he can’t find a better job, he will go on a alcohol fueled rampage. The lasting memory of your child’s tenth birthday party will be of a beloved cartoon character being brought down with a taser and dragged away in handcuffs, reeking of urine.
  • Ronald McDonald will be portrayed by a small Latvian woman with broken English.
  • Without proper rodeo clowns, bull-riders, once thrown from the rampaging bulls, will be at the bull’s mercy. Instead of being heroic figures, bull-riders will simply be known as: those guys who used to have testicles.
  • The art of making balloon animals will vanish from the face of the Earth. (Except for balloon snakes; we’ll still have those.)
  • Mimes will rise to a position of unprecedented power. In a silent coup (See what I did there?) they will seize control of the world and rule it with an iron fist. The population will be forced to wear white face make-up and dress like Frenchmen. People will flee into the wilderness and children will weep bitterly. When opposition to their authoritarian rule surfaces, they will do that thing where they wipe away fake tears, and it will really piss you off. Society will decay beyond repair, and centuries from now, Charlton Heston will find a ruined Statue of Liberty on the shoreline. He will fall to his knees and wail: You maniacs! You blew it up! Oh,damn you! Damn you all to hell!
  • It will be bad.

Note: If you’re going to a birthday party for your child, get a monkey in a cowboy hat; you can never go wrong with a monkey in a cowboy hat.

monkey in a cowboy hat

Seriously, you can’t go wrong.

Addendum

Mimes refuse to break character until you hit one with a bongo drum, then they’re “Chatty Cathy” when police arrive.

Seriously, I Don’t Want to Dance

the office dancing

Do you really want David Brent as a role model?

Why is this world polluted with people who are determined to make me dance? Loud, pushy, abrasive, overbearing, manipulative, overlords of what is or is not judged to be enjoyable. People who won’t take no for an answer. People who believe they have a better grasp of what’s in my brain than I do.

What I say: I don’t want to dance.

What they hear: I pretend I don’t want to dance, but secretly, it’s my deepest yearning. If it weren’t for debilitating fear and self-loathing, I’d be out on the dance floor right now, living the dream.

What I say: seriously, I don’t want to dance.

What they hear: if only there were some loud, pushy, abrasive, overbearing, manipulative, overlord of what is or is not judged to be enjoyable, to goad and badger me into doing what I’ve secretly always wanted to do anyway.

What I say: get away from me you drooling half-wit.

What they hear: grab my arm like a slack-jawed oaf, and physically drag me onto the dance floor.

I am not responsible for anything that happens from that moment forward. I am certain the person who coined the phrase, “justifiable homicide” was just some poor fellow who earnestly didn’t want to dance.

Note: I’m sure when his jaw is no longer wired shut, the person described in the scenario above, will apologize to me.

Let’s make one thing clear: just because you like a certain thing, it doesn’t follow that every other human should also like that thing. Loads of different people like loads of different things.

Jeffrey Dahmer quite enjoyed killing people, hacking them up, eating them, and stowing the leftovers in his freezer. I can write with a relative degree of certainty, most human beings wouldn’t much care for that.

I have never once thought to myself: killing people, hacking them up, eating them, and stowing the leftovers in my freezer, seems like a horrific and frankly evil thing to do

But Jeffrey Dahmer thought it was a lovely thing to do.

Perhaps I’m looking at this all backwards. I’ve got plenty of room in my freezer, and there are several acquaintances in my sphere of influence I could readily live without (mostly the few who try to make me dance).

If only the local learning annex offered some course on beginner cannibalism. It’s all scrapbooking this and scrapbooking that, down at that place.

And I don’t need to be the center of attention to enjoy myself–in fact, it’s preferable.

Just because I’m not standing on a chair, singing Love Shack at the top of my lungs, juggling shot-glasses, while I wildly thrust my hips into the air in a suggestive manner, doesn’t mean I’m not enjoying myself.

I don’t see life through the same self-absorbed prism as you.

You imagine I’m thinking: if only I could summon the courage, that would be me on that chair.

When I’m really thinking: if only I could summon the courage, I would kick that chair from under that jackasses feet. That would make me smile.

Also, don’t tell me to smile.

I smile plenty.

I smile when it’s appropriate.

I smile when I’m happy, when I’m with my friends, when something good happens.

I smile when a jackass falls from his chair and shot-glasses cascade across his face.

Note: sometimes I summon the courage.

People who go around smiling for no apparent reason are mental. I am not mental (fingers crossed).

crazy smile

This is how you appear to the rest of the world.

Being a naturally quiet person or an introvert is not a problem that needs to be fixed–just leave me be.

 Addendum

And stop trying to make me eat guacamole–I just don’t like it. Also, telling me I don’t like guacamole because I’ve never had ‘your guacamole’ isn’t helpful, unless by ‘your guacamole’ what you really mean is bean dip.

 

avacado

I just don’t like it.

Smoking: What are You Waiting For?

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.    

smoking face

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 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:

  • The doctor diagnosed me with emphysema.
  • I’m taking this medicine for my emphysema.
  • I’d love to play with my grandchildren more, but I can’t because of my emphysema.
  • I climbed two flights of stairs and collapsed in a sweaty quivering mass due to my emphysema.
  • I won at scrabble when I played the word emphysema. Thank goodness I can still play board games.

Not only will you have fun with the word emphysema, but so will your friends and family, long after you’re gone:

  • What a nice funeral. I guess the doctor said he would have survived the pneumonia if hadn’t been for the emphysema.
  • He certainly died young, but his quality of life wasn’t very good with the emphysema.
  • Remember that time he coughed up a piece of lung and we all laughed for hours; crazy thing that emphysema.
In a twist of irony, you win a scrabble tournament playing the words healthy alveola.image source: snapdesign.com

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 doing something important. We're developing a cure for cancer or emphysema. Hey, emphysema, that's fun to say.image source: sodahead.com

“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:

  • Poking yourself in the eye with a stick.
  • Dropping a brick on your toes.
  • Insulting the wife of a tattoo laden biker dude.
  • Juggling knives.
  • Attempting to re-attach your fingers with a sewing needle and some thread following some ill-advised knife juggling.
  • Hitting yourself repeatedly in the face with a hammer.

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 law suit; those irresponsible executives at Black & Decker, need to learn.image source: wpclipart.com

I’m launching a lawsuit; those irresponsible executives at Black & Decker, need to learn.
(image source: wpclipart.com)

Dear Overbearing Parents,

brat kid

What a precious child.

Please stop showing me pictures of your baby.

The first fifty pictures of your little bundle of joy were all pretty much the same. If you’re going to inundate me with this barrage of maternal pride, at least mix it up a little. Dress the kid up like a gladiator or a pirate; give me a reason to at least feign interest.

I know you believe every human on the planet desires to see endless streams of photos of your child. You believe we have an innate need to gush over your child, and shower him or her with flowery praise.

We do not.

What people say: what a beautiful baby you have.

What people are actually thinking: holy crap your baby looks like a lizard. His skin is weird and his face is all smushed. Is his father a sleestack?

sleestack

Daddy?

 

I know it’s popular to refer to your child as a miracle, but getting pregnant because your half-wit boyfriend doesn’t like to use a condom–not exactly the Virgin Birth.

The ugly truth: children grow up to be people, and people suck. In fact, I know your kid’s father, and he’s a jackass. That poor kid’s wading out of a gene pool that’s shallow, stagnant, and filled with parasites.

And stop acting like everything your child does is precious.

Your child dumped mustard in the fish tank: not precious.

Your child shaved the dog: not precious.

Your child peed on the cat: not precious

Your child got into the permanent markers and covered your living room wall with what appeared to be clowns and penises: honestly, this one’s funny.

And keep that notion in your head it’s advantageous to never discipline your child, because who doesn’t love a good “my child did the cutest thing in juvenile court today” story.

Maybe if Jeffrey Dahmer’s parents had made him eat his vegetables, things would have turned out differently.

Let’s all get together and stop praising our children for things that are clearly not praiseworthy.

Your child’s artwork is dreadful. It’s fine to hang it on your refrdgerator with a due amount of parental pride. Just don’t expect me to gush over it like it’s the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel. Seriously, from what I can tell, it’s a drawing of a clown and a penis on the back of a misshapen unicorn. (And I’m starting to sense a disturbing trend in your child’s artwork.)

Do you know what happens when you constantly praise your child for things she’s bad at? She wastes three years at college majoring in art, when she’s clearly crap at it. Then she comes home with a giant face tattoo, and informs you she’s dropped out of school to focus on her poetry…which she’s also crap at.

Then when she can’t get anyone to publish any of her poems about clowns and penises, she tries to find a real job, and the following happens:

Interviewer: Your application seems fine, and we’d like to hire you, but there’s the issue of your face tattoo.

Her: What do mean? This tattoo is an expression of me, and who I am.

Interviewer: I’m not saying it’s not a brilliant tattoo of a clown and a penis, but here at Chuck E. Cheese, I’m not sure it would fit our image.

Her: My mother says this tattoo is precious. She says everything I’ve ever done is precious. She even refers to me as “her precious.”

Interviewer: It also bothers us that your mother appears to be Gollum.

gollum

Mommy?

 

Let me be clear, I don’t think you should squelch the dreams and aspirations of children. You should squelch the delusions of overbearing parents.

And please please please stop pointing to your children and saying, “there’s our future.” There is enough scary shit in the world already.

fire

The future?

I’m Just Saying

Every parent believes their child is an adorable, angelic, bundle of perfection.

brat

Some of you are horribly mistaken!

A Healthy and Shiny Coat

coconut idiotprufs

The vile coconut.

Coconut makes me sick. If I bite into something with coconut in it, I will immediately begin to gag.

The mere smell of coconut makes me nauseous. In fact, anything coconut scented bothers me.

Am I telling  you this because I’m a whiny little crybaby?  A little bit, but I do have a point.

I was attempting to take a shower at my friend Lance’s house.

Note: normally I don’t use real names in an effort to protect the innocent, but no one here is innocent.

I stood in his shower, surveying the menagerie of shampoo and hair conditioner bottles that littered the front of the tub. I had only one priority in choosing a shampoo: it mustn’t be coconut scented.

I spotted a small innocuous bottle of green shampoo set off to the side. Green shampoo is likely apple blossom scented, or green tea, possibly something herbal, but it certainly wouldn’t be coconut.

Without checking to see what it was, I confidently applied the shampoo to my hair and began to lather up.

The scent was odd, not at all what I expected. My scalp immediately began to tingle; it must be dandruff shampoo.

The tingling sensation transitioned to a burning sensation. The burning sensation spread to my eyes and nose, and there was a strange metallic taste in my mouth. It certainly wasn’t apple blossom.

As I started to rinse the shampoo from my hair, the burning intensified and it felt like I had gargled battery acid.

I grabbed the bottle to find out exactly what kind of poison I had been scrubbing into my scalp.

Flea and tick shampoo for dogs?

Are you kidding me?

The warning label instructed dog owners to wear gloves while applying the shampoo to their dogs, and to avoid making contact with skin.

Not only was the shampoo all over my skin, some of it had run down to the tender bits.

I grabbed a different bottle of shampoo, squeezed a copious amount into my hand, and began to aggressively slather it over my body.

A stark and sudden realization paralyzed me: coconut!

What insufferable madness is this?

The combination of pesticide and coconut made my stomach to flip like Nadia Comaneci in the 76 Olympics. I began to wretch like a cat hacking up a hairball; something Nadia Comaneci has probably never done.

It was horrible.

I was nauseous the remainder of the day, and everything I ate tasted like someone had sprayed Raid on it.

Lance would point out my hair to people and say, “doesn’t he have a healthy and shiny coat?” Then he would laugh hysterically.

Note: I told you no one was innocent.

“Don’t you read labels?” Lance’s girlfriend scolded.

“I sorry. I didn’t realize there would be a bottle of napalm in the shower,” I responded.

“Don’t be a baby,” she told me.  “I use that shampoo on the dog all the time and he never complains.”

I thought this criticism to be unfair. The dog also humps your leg, licks himself in indiscreet places, and eats his poop. I do almost none of those things.

Through it all, at least I know I’m virtually parasite free.

Note: Don’t worry, Henry my tapeworm is fine and doing well.

nadia comeneci, idiotprufs

Nadia scored a perfect 10; my stomach did not.

Don’t Cry Over Spilled Mercury Vapor

cfl lightbulb cleanup hindenburg

It’s just a light bulb…right?

I broke a light bulb the other day.

It’s not a big deal, right? You just grab a broom and sweep it up.

But this was a compact flourescent light bulb, so I went to epa.gov for instructions regarding proper disposal.

This is what I found:

STEP ONE

  • Abandon your home like it is Chernobyl.
  • Run screaming into the night.
  • Never look back.

STEP TWO

If step one is not feasible, acquire the following items for cleanup.

  • A stiff piece of cardboard (that you will later burn).
  • Sticky tape (that you will later burn).
  • A broom (that you will later hack to bits with a machete and burn).
  • A machete.
  • A glass jar with a metal lid.
  • A metal jar with a glass lid.
  • Five metric tons of concrete.
  • 15 silver-plated shovels.
  • A Sham-wow. (You won’t be using the Sham-wow for cleanup, they’re just really handy to have around.)
  • A helper monkey named Jeff, who is immune to gamma rays.
  • Gamma rays.
  • A number of friends who are willing to help you, regardless of the fact their hair will fall out and boils will cover their bodies.
  • Rogaine and boil medication.
  • A ham and cheese sandwich. (This is going to take some time; you will get hungry.)

STEP THREE

After step two fails:

  • Burn your house to the ground.
  • Attend the funerals of the friends who didn’t make it.
  • Give moving eulogies.
  • Make new friends (seriously, your current group of friends are just hideous looking) you’ve still got work to do.

STEP FOUR

Disposing of the ashes of your home:

  • Collect the ashes of your home and bury them in a thirty foot hole.
  • Dig them up and burn them again.
  • Bury them in fifty foot hole.
  • Cover the hole with concrete.
  • Surround the concrete with an electrified fence.
  • Put a sign on the fence that reads: Beware Bigfoot.
  • Remove the sign after the site becomes a gathering place for people who believe they’ve found irrefutable evidence of Bigfoot.
  • Put a sign on the fence that reads: Beware Yeti.
  • Learn from your mistakes.
  • Dig a moat.
  • Fill the moat with acid.
  • Move on with your life.

STEP FIVE

Moving on with your life:

  • Purchase a new house.
  • Move in and make it a home.
  • Drop another compact flouresant light bulb.
  • Scream in anguish.

STEP SIX

  • Abandon Earth.
  • Colonize Mars.
  • Don’t take any compact flourescent light bulbs.

Note: This is from the “quick instructions” portion of the website. The “detailed instructions” portion was just ridiculous.

muppet running

“Run Away!”

Punch an Idiot in the Face Day

jack elam you sure ask a lot of questions
happy face idiot
wifes feet dont smell enough
cartoon scientists pictures
punch an idiot in the face day
bug eyed cartoon characters
job interview with gator boots
school counselors dumb
my idiot neighbor

Several random thoughts immediately leapt into my brain after this cluster of search terms appeared on my stats page.

Note: there’s a lot of room in my brain for random thoughts to leap, stretch out, or do an entire gymnastic floor routine; it’s pretty vacant up there.

Thoughts such as:

  • What kind of questions does Jack Elam ask, and why are there so many of them?
  • How badly do your wife’s feet have to smell for it to be enough?
  • How do you know my neighbor, and how do you know he has a happy face?
  • Would I look good in gator boots?
  • Wow, this blog certainly attracts some weirdos (but not you).
  • Punch and idiot in the face day? Is that a real thing?

After doing an extensive amount of research (Google) I discovered “punch an idiot in the face day” isn’t a real thing.

Bitter disappointment.

Then I had another thought: just because something isn’t a real thing, doesn’t mean it can’t be.

So after once again doing an extensive amount of research (Wikipedia) into the process of initiating a ballot measure in the great Commonwealth of Pennsylvania, I came to a conclusion: it’s a lot more work than I am willing to do.

Just a few of the things required:

  • A petition containing signatures equal to 10% of the last local, general election vote for governor. (Governor? I thought Pennsylvania had a potentate.)
  • These signatures must be real people and not characters from Warner Brothers cartoons.
  • If your real name happens to be Elmer Fudd, there is an enormous amount of extra paperwork involved.
  • If your real name happens to be Elmer Fudd, your parents are dicks.
  • None of the signatures can be from dead people, this is not Illinois.
  • Petitions must be submitted by the 13th Tuesday before the election. Petitions may be circulated for (at most) 7 weeks, and circulation may not begin before the 20th Tuesday prior to the election. Initiated measures may be submitted at primary, municipal, or general elections…and written in yaks blood.
  • You must understand the previous requirement and be able to cite it verbatim while juggling running chain saws.
  • Election officials must submit successful initiatives to voters at the next primary, general, or municipal election occurring not sooner than the 13th Tuesday after the initiative was filed.
  • The successful initiatives mentioned in the previous requirement, must be submitted in triplicate with the third set written entirely in Egyptian hieroglyphics.
  • Every fifth word of every document must be written in a silly font.
  • Pointing out to any official, that the previous two requirements contradict each other, will result in the immediate disqualification of your ballot initiative. You will also be slapped in the face and poked in the eyes Three Stooges style.
  • The Pennsylvania election code requires you to obtain the following items: holy water, a cross, a wooden stake and a clove of  garlic. (Sorry, that’s the Transylvania election code.)
  • You must be able to find Harrisburg on a map of Pennsylvania.
  • You must be able to find Pennsylvania on a map of the United States.
  • You must be able to find Pennsylvania Avenue on a Monopoly Board.
  • If you roll doubles three times in a row, you have to go to jail.
  • You must purchase a lot of maps and board games.
  • Petition circulators must attest to the validity of petition signatures in a notarized affidavit.
  • You have to know what an affidavit is.
  • In some instances, you may have to sacrifice a small animal under a full moon.
  • You must be able to say name of, Intercourse Pennsylvania, without giggling.
  • You absolutely must be able to deal with bureaucrats without flipping out and stabbing someone in the face with a bayonet.

See what I mean, and this is just the first page.

Then I had another thought (I’ve been on fire with thoughts lately) I need to think like a politician: I just need to convince a bunch of willing dupes to pursue my vision, let them do all the work, then take all the credit when the initiative passes.

Brilliant.

I will keep you updated.

jack elam at idiotprufs

“Hello, I’m Jack Elam, and every day is punch an idiot in the face day for me, idiot.”

Addendum:

I’ll bet you thought I was going to mention Justin Bieber somewhere in this post.

Well you were wrong…apart from this bit.

 

You Found What on Your What Now?

The following search engine terms cropped up on my stats page:

why does mySo it seems there is someone out there with a problem. I have few points to make. (And yes, I’m going to ignore the “sexy man riding a unicorn images” addition to this list, it horrifies me.)

  • If I were suffering from this particular malady, and in a dire search for answers, a blog entitled idiotprufs is not one that I would choose for answers.
  • I can write with a certain degree of certainty, this blog was absolutely no help at all to the person in question.
  • I know what your thinking: but isn’t laughter the best medicine? No it is not. There are several occasions when medicine is the best medicine: a gunshot wound to the head, a pick-ax in the eyeball, a paper-cut in that v-shaped space in-between your fingers (seriously, that hurts), and when you have weird and alarming protrusions on your dangle.

However, after a great deal of soul-searching (watching several episodes of The Rockford Files on Netflix) I came to a conclusion: why shouldn’t I be able to help?

After doing exhaustive research (mostly Wikipedia* and googling, weird penis problems), conferring with a myriad of professionals (none of them actual medical professions, mostly just people who I thought would get a good chuckle out of weird penis problems), and pondering all the possibilities, I decided that I could be of assistance.

The Question:

Why does it look like my penis has bug bites on the bottom of it?

The Answer:

You have probably put your penis somewhere you shouldn’t have.

The Solution:

Stop doing that.

Life really is simple if you want it to be.

*Wikipedia can contributed to by anyone, anywhere, so you know you’re getting nothing but the most accurate information.

If should happen to try this search term, don't click on images. Just don't do it.

If you should happen to try this search term, don’t click on images. Just don’t do it.

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