Pompeii man found to be luckiest man in the world to have ever lived.
via Luckiest man in Pompeii loses head as he wins the local big money lottery — Bull of the Board
Is your car making a funny sound? Does it give off a bad smell? Ask Mr. Car Person for help, and as soon as he gets the grease off his hands, he’ll type out an answer to your question. Dear Mr. Car Person– My husband “Carl” is a certified public accountant, which as you probably […]
Time is a mysterious force that affects all of our lives, even if we can’t see it, touch it, or feel it. Sometimes it moves very fast–we have hardly dropped our credit card payment in the mail when another bill arrives!–while other times it moves slowly, like when we’re at High School Awards Night waiting for our […]
Time is a mysterious force that affects all of our lives, even if we can’t see it, touch it, or feel it. Sometimes it moves very fast–we have hardly dropped our credit card payment in the mail when another bill arrives!–while other times it moves slowly, like when we’re at High School Awards Night waiting for our […]
You went to the annual kickoff-to-Summer picnic at your Uncle Finster’s house.
Normally you would avoid your Uncle Finster’s house the way a small rabbit would avoid a pit of vipers. A big fat pit of bulbous, sweaty, bitchy, chunky-thighed, drooling, self-congratulatory, vain, loud-mouthed, half-wit, vipers.
And those are just your aunts.
But this year your grandmother has declared this summer will likely be her last and any of her grandchildren who don’t attend every family function, to be vindictively and purposely speeding her descent into the grave—she’s a lovely woman.
As you arrive, you’re immediately met by Uncle Finster’s wife, your Aunt Sally. She’s standing with her hands on her hips and an expression of accusatory smugness on her face.
Note: Sally’s actual name is Snaggle-faced Bar Sinister Hag, but for some reason, people just call her Sally.
“Did you bring it?” Aunt Sally demands.
“If you’re referring to either fear, trepidation, or an overwhelming desire to be elsewhere, I never come here without it,” you reply.
“Do you always have to be a smartass?”
“Evidently,” you admit.
“I meant the Jell-O dessert–did you bring the Jell-O dessert,” Aunt Sally wants to know.
“I brought the Jell-O dessert,” you confirm as you hand her a large container.
“You didn’t put those tiny little colored marshmallows in it did you?” Aunt Sally asks. “You’re Uncle Finster hates those tiny little colored Marshmallows in his Jell-O.”
“I can’t stand that hippie Jell-O,” your Uncle Finster confirms.
“No, Uncle Finster, I didn’t put those tiny little colored marshmallows in the Jell-O; I know how much you hate those tiny little colored marshmallows. In fact, I’m well aware of the list of things you hate: things that are colorful, things that are joyous, laughing children, puppies, opossums that aren’t dead, potpourri, shredded wheat, pinecones, anything that’s purple, people who live on islands, words containing the letter Q, human emotion, lime flavored foods, and seedless watermelons.”
“Lime is disgusting and seedless watermelons aren’t natural,” he screams at you.
“They aren’t the only things unnatural,” you say as you wipe the spit from your face.
“Remember that time you put those tiny little colored marshmallows in the Jell-O: your Aunt Sally had a heart attack,” Uncle Finster accuses you.
“First: grabbing your chest and screaming, “you’ve given me a heart attack” isn’t the same as actually having a heart attack. Second: I’m sure her sedentary lifestyle and lard-based diet would be the primary factors in regards to any heart issues Aunt Sally may experience.”
“What’s going on?” Your Aunt Jackal forces her way into the conversation. “You didn’t put those tiny little colored marshmallows in the Jell-O again did you?”
Note: your Aunt Jackal was meant to be named Jaclyn, but there was a clerical error with the birth certificate. Oddly, the name Jackal is far more suited to her.
“There are no tiny little colored marshmallows in the Jell-O,” you assure her.
“You’re still a bitter disappointment,” she tells you before she walks away to get another cocktail.
Your Aunt Jackal in her natural habitat. She’s probably just killed something.
“Did I hear something about there being tiny little colored marshmallows in the Jell-O?” Your Uncle Brad asks. “Are you trying to ruin the annual kickoff-to-Summer picnic?”
“There are no tiny little colored marshmallows in the Jell-O,” you tell him.
“Everyone is talking about how you put tiny little colored marshmallows in the Jell-O again,” your Cousin Bucky tells you as he joins the conversation, “I like the way you stir things up.”
“I have an announcement to make,” you shout as you stand on a piece of lawn furniture.
“I hope it’s not that you’re a bitter disappointment,” your Aunt Jackal says, “because we already know.”
“Don’t worry about her,” Cousin Bucky whispers to you, “Aunt Jackal’s drunk…and a bitch.”
Undaunted you continue, “I can assure everyone here, there are absolutely no tiny little colored marshmallows in the Jell-O.”
You stand waiting for a response as your family silently gapes at you.
The silence is finally broken by a scream from Aunt Sally, “This is lime Jell-O filled with chunks of seedless watermelon.”
“I did do that,” you tell the family, “but what else can you expect from a bitter disappointment?”
Aunt Sally clutches her chest.
Aunt Jackal drunkenly scowls at you.
Cousin Bucky gives you a thumbs-up.
Summer has officially kicked off.
This would be great if it contained chunks of seedless watermelon.
Your smug neighbor’s robustly growing garden–you needed a place to pee at night.
Your smug neighbor has planted his annual garden. In the coming months, he will regale you with baskets of fresh vegetables and tales of his horticultural prowess. He will explain to you that his garden has produced so overwhelmingly, that his own family couldn’t possibly consume all the bounty themselves. He will bring jars of homemade pickles and relish. “Everyone in the world loves homemade pickles and relish, especially the way my wife makes them,” he will tell you.
Stupid neighbor.
You decide to plant own garden in the corner of your yard. You want fresh tomatoes, zucchini, squash, maybe a few cukes. You have no idea what cukes are, but it’s fun to say so want them. You can imagine the results that will cover your dinner table. You can imagine the praise you are certain to receive from guests, satiated by the efforts of your labor and toiling. You have high hopes.
Unfortunately you run face first into one tiny problem: you are complete shit at growing things. (Except for ear hair–you grow ear hair like a wookie.)
You purchase a progression books as your efforts continuously fail:
Those books are now deposited in a bin labeled: things to be shred, burned, and buried in a deep hole.
Note: you purchased a few plastic plants, they inexplicably turn brown and fell apart. You choose to ignore the metaphysical ramifications that you are able to kill plastic.
Undaunted, you redouble your efforts.
After being told Native Americans placed a dead fish with the kernel when they planted corn, you consider raiding the family fish tank, but you don’t want to go through that drama again. Seriously, who gets that attached to fish?
Modifying slightly, you put a fish stick in the ground with every seed you plant. It doesn’t seem to help. You write a nasty letter to Mrs. Paul’s frozen seafood company, making wild accusations about artificial ingredients.
Mrs. Paul, who lives down the street from you accidentally receives the letter. Icy stares ensue.
Stupid Post Office.
Your snarky neighbor comments on how sickly your cukes look, but how your weeds are growing robustly.
You try come up with a clever retort, but you’re not clever.
“You’re a cuke,” you finally yell…five minutes after he’s left.
At last you have some success, only to discover that fresh vegetables are enjoyed by several of nature’s pests: bugs, worms, mice, gophers, and Gerald the neighbor kid.
You also discover that Gerald likes to pee on things. You purchase a taser, but you won’t use it on Gerald–the local authorities have confiscated it.
Stupid local authorities.
Finally, you discover the answer to all your problems; it’s called the farmers market.
Your dinner table now abounds with natures bounty, the fruits of hard labor and toiling, just not yours.
These are cukes? It looks like the Jolly Green Giant took a dump.
Despite going on 77 dates in three years, long-time bachelor Tom Avery has yet to find a woman that meets his specifications. While his close friends suggest it might be helpful to eliminate a few of the requirements he has for his future wife, he maintains that all 52 of them are absolutely necessary. Since […]
We all know them. Its me me me, and they bore the sock off us all. Only retirement can make them more annoying, and yet somehow there is more…
via Banker retires and becomes an even bigger tw*t, say his “friends” — Bull of the Board
In an experiment at MIT mice fed yogurt as compared to junk food developed luxuriantly thicker fur and bigger testicles that they projected outwards, giving them an air of “mouse swagger.” Scientific American It’s Friday night and, like every other mouse in the lab, I’m cruisin’ the scene–TGIF and all that. I reached […]
via TGIF With a Big-Balled Yogurt-Eating Mouse — Gerbil News Network
An artist’s rendition of Bigfoot as he hurries to the restroom after one too many Yuengling Lagers.
North East, PA–It seems the ban of all mythological creatures from Speed’eez Sports Bar and Grill in the town of North East, Pennsylvania has been lifted by new management.
The ban was implemented after a series of disturbing incidents involving Yeti, The Skunk Ape, a unicorn named Sparkles, a bevy of mischievous leprechauns, and local resident, Bigfoot.
The series of events culminated when one the patrons, an individual known as Poe, was found in the parking lot severely beaten and covered with giant footprints.
Todd Luke, the new manager of Speed’eez explained the ban’s reversal, “Sure, Bigfoot is loud, smelly, he tips with tree bark, he plays nothing but Steve Perry solo stuff on the jukebox, his hair gets into everything, and he’s probably responsible for the recent outbreak of Lyme Disease, but Poe’s a dick.”
It was originally believed the assault on Poe was precipitated by Poe’s constant reference to an embarrassing infestation that Bigfoot may or may not have had.
“I don’t have genital chiggers,” Bigfoot responded.
However, it has come to light there may have been another reason for the severe beating: Bigfoot believed Poe was making inappropriate advances toward his wife, Lady Bigfoot.
“It’s a completely ridiculous accusation,” Poe said. “While I will admit I’m attracted to extremely tall, hair covered women and that a pre-historic ape-like creature with rudimentary speech skills seem like the type of woman, some might say the only type of woman, who would date me; absolutely nothing untoward happened.”
“We shared a plate of Buffalo Wings and tree grubs once, that’s all there was to it,” Lady Bigfoot explained. “He’s not my type: he doesn’t smell like pinecones and his forehead doesn’t protrude nearly enough.”
She paused momentarily before adding, “and he’s kind of a dick.”
Despite the past tensions, it seems all is back to normal at Speed’eez Sports Bar and Grill.
“I’m glad we were able to get this all straightened out,” Poe said as he began to scratch his groin. “Hey, what do genital chiggers feel like?”
A photograph of Bigfoot at Speed’eez Sports Bar and Grill. Unfortunately, as always, he ducked just out sight as the picture was taken.
idiotpruf 