idiotpruf

The blog that prevents scurvy…as long as you eat orange slices while you read it.

Archive for the tag “humour”

Just the Eggs Ma’am

broken egg shellPurchasing two dozen eggs at the supermarket is something that ought to be quick and simple.

Unfortunately I had forgotten who I am–nothing can be quick and simple.

Cashier: Did you check the eggs to make sure they’re not broken?

Me: Yes I did.

Cashier: You have to check them individually.

Me: I already…(I look up from my wallet to find her individually checking every egg.)…did that.

Cashier: Men never check the eggs.

Me: I don’t necessarily think that’s true.

Cashier: Yes it is. (She moves on to the second dozen.) What are you going to do with these eggs?

Me: Well, I saw police car in front of the store and thought it would be cool to get my name in the paper.

Cashier: (stops checking the eggs and stares at me with suspicion.) I can’t sell these eggs to you if you’re going to throw them at a police car.

Me: That was just a joke.

Cashier: So what are going to do with them?

Me: Just normal egg things.

Cashier: Such as?

Me (irritated): I thought I’d put them all in a big glass and drink them raw like Rocky.

Cashier: Who’s Rocky.

Me: Rocky Balboa.

Cashier: I don’t know him.

Me: From the movie Rocky.

Cashier: Never saw it.

Me: Really, because it’s a pretty famous movie.

Cashier: Let me talk to my manager. (She disappears into the office.)

Me (Under my breath): I’ll bet your manager’s seen Rocky.

I now notice the growing line behind me and realize that I am  “that idiot” who screwed up the express lane.

Small child behind me in line: Guess what?

Me: What?

Small child: Eggs come from a chicken’s pooper.

Me: You have an amazing grasp of chicken physiology.

Small child: I know.

Me: It’s your turn to guess what.

Small Child: What?

Me: Chicken butt.

Small Child: (Laughs hysterically and starts repeating chicken butt over and over.)

Child’s Mother: (Glares at me.)

Me: What? You prefer pooper to chicken butt?

Several moments of awkward silence ensued (apart from the small child joyfully repeating the phrase chicken butt) followed by the manager emerging from the office to look me over. The manager studied me for a moment and returned to the office for several more awkward silent moments before the cashier returned.

Cashier: The manager says I can sell you the eggs.

Me: Fantastic.

I paid for the eggs, left the store, and egged the cashier’s car.

I didn’t really do that…don’t tell the police.

 

rocky drinking eggs

Just normal egg things.

 

French Fries and Lab Rats

lab rat idiotprufs cancerI was recently informed that French fries cause cancer in lab rats. I found this to be quite distressing; I don’t know how many times I’ve sat around all night with all of my lab rat friends and devoured buckets of French fries.

I was informed of this by a snarky little man. Unfortunately before I could glean any further information, our conversation was cut short by an unavoidable accident involving the side of his head and a plastic fork.

Note: in an unrelated matter, I have always felt there should be occasions when it’s legal to stab a person in the side of the head with a plastic fork. Unfortunately the law is far less progressive in its thinking than I am. Let’s get on this, Congress.

I decided to check this out for myself.

It turns out the weird little man was right…a weird little bit. A substance called acrylamide, which is found in fried foods, has been used to induce cancer in lab rats. Here’s the twist: to ingest the same amount of acrylamide that was injected into these lab rats, you would have to eat 346 large orders of McDonald’s fries everyday.

If you eat 346 large orders of large McDonald’s fries everyday, the list of medical and mental health professionals you deal with will be lengthy. You’re likely to hit coroner before you get to oncologist.

It also seems that these lab rats are bred to be susceptible to cancer. Something as slight as a simple change of diet can induce cancer in lab rats.

Note: In a similar study, scientists have discovered that lab rats that are whomped over the head with a brick, are more susceptible to concussions than lab rats that aren’t whomped over the head with a brick.

It has also been discovered every time a potato farmer in Idaho named Earl utters the word crap-shack, lab rats in Sweden immediately develop cancerous growths. The day he fell off his tractor and broke his tailbone, every lab rat in Sweden ballooned to the size of a cantaloupe.

After doing an extensive amount of research–making things up– I’ve come up with a list of things that cause cancer in lab rats.

  • sugar
  • caffeine
  • salt
  • nicotine
  • alcohol
  • radon
  • plutonium
  • radium
  • yellow cake uranium
  • yellow cake with frosting
  • strawberry shortcake
  • Strawberry Shortcake the doll
  • Guys and Dolls the musical
  • Cats the musical
  • cats
  • dogs
  • pink flamingos
  • pink the color
  • Pink the singer
  • Pink Floyd’s Dark Side of the Moon
  • Floyd the barber
  • barber shop quartets
  • Justin Bieber’s smug little face
  • face paint
  • clowns
  • mimes
  • any subset of clowns
  • Jersey Shore reruns
  • Pauly Shore reruns
  • Pauly Shore movies
  • Bob Costas’ hair
  • the word okie-dokie
  • potato farmers named Earl
  • everything

So the next time you think about telling me that French fries cause cancer in lab rats–pending action from Congress–you might just get stabbed in the side of the head with a plastic fork.

Correction: Justin Bieber’s smug little face does not cause cancer in lab rats; it kills them outright.

idiotprufs

“Hey, you can’t pin cancer on me. High cholesterol: maybe. Obesity: yes. But not cancer.”

Just a Quick Question for Bloggers

question

Has this ever happened to you?

You’ve just finished the perfect blog post, put the final touches on it, and edited it to your satisfaction.

But just as you’re about to hit the publish button, you notice the word count sits at 666 words. That’s a funny coincidence you think…but you’re hesitating to hit the publish button.

It doesn’t mean your blog post bears the mark of the beast, right?

It’s not like you have a fear of numbers. You don’t suffer from triskaidekaphobia after all.

(I just want you all to know I spelled triskaidekaphobia correctly on first try.)

Just because one blog post came out to 666 words doesn’t mean you’re the Antichrist–that’s clearly one of your cousins.

Your blog posts aren’t apocalyptic–they’re pretty bad–but not fire and brimstone bad.

(I did not spell apocalyptic correctly on the first try.)

So you dismiss this foolishness…then you go back and change the post to come out with 665 words.

Has this ever happened to you?

Addendum: I was just joking with that thing about your cousins…mostly.

fire and brimstone

You should have changed the word count.

 

There’s No Crying in Baseball–Just Obscene Gestures

Mr. met fired

Earlier this week, Mr. Met, the beloved mascot of the New York Mets found himself in hot water when he was caught on camera giving a fan the middle finger. A particularly amazing feat considering he has only four fingers on either hand.

It’s still unclear what provoked the outburst, but some insight was provided by Mr. Met’s long time friend, Otto the Orange.

“People think that because his head is a giant baseball with no discernable ears, they say anything they want without consequence,” Otto said, “but he’s a very sensitive soul and he really takes things to heart…plus he drinks heavily and he hates children.”

otto the orange

Otto the Orange, fellow mascot and bulbous headed freak.

The famous San Diego Chicken was contacted for comment. He said he wasn’t certain what had happened exactly, but he thought Mr. Met had really laid an egg with his actions. He then clucked hysterically, clutched his chest and fell over dead. He will be laid to rest later this week in an orange sauce with a side of green beans with miso and almonds.

the chicken

An Icon in the world of mascots…and so delicious.

“It’s difficult when you have a giant bulbous head that’s disproportionate to your body,” Charlie Brown of the Peanuts comic commented. “You tip over if the slightest breeze hits you, people laugh at you, but just wait for a rainstorm and they’re all gathering under your head for shelter.” Then he just sighed and said, “good grief.”

After being fired by the Mets organization Mr. Met’s future is uncertain.

“Well, I’m from New York City, I’m weird looking, and I’ve been publicly disgraced–I’ll probably just run for Congress.”

Mr. Met

Mr. Mets campaign poster–he’ll do well in NYC.

 

Achilles Frustrated by Hole in Health Coverage

health care

The Greek warrior Achilles has recently become vocal about his dissatisfaction with his health care coverage.

“Ridiculous waiting lists, exorbitant dinars out-of-pocket, and an inexplicable hole in my coverage,” were just some of the phrases used by Achilles to describe his frustration.

It seems the trouble started when Achilles discovered, what he had previously thought to be a comprehensive policy, wouldn’t cover a simple arrow wound to the heel.

“If I get gored by a minotaur it’s covered,” Achilles said in exasperation. “Trampled by a centaur: covered. Struck down by a lightning bolt from Zeus: covered. Transformed into a goat by Hera: covered. Eaten by the Kraken: fully covered. I mean, what’s the point in that. If you get eaten by the Kraken, it’s pretty much game over at that point!”

Achilles paused to regain his composure. “Turned to stone by Medusa: covered. Mauled by wild animals: covered. Ax wound to the face: no problem. Arrow wound to the eye socket: covered. Arrow wound to the chest: covered. Arrow wound to the left forearm: very specifically covered. Arrow wound to any part of my body except my heel, and it’s covered. Erectile dysfunction: I have no idea what that is, but if I get it, it’s covered.

When pressed about the hole in Achilles coverage, Charon, the director of Styx River Health Care had the following response: “Achilles will be singing a different tune when he’s attacked by a cyclops or bitten by Cerberus. They always come crawling back…provided they can still crawl.”

“Is this how Trojan War heroes are treated?” Achilles asked in disgust. “The Trojan horse gets better treatment than I do, and he’s made of wood. I mean, look at how infected this wound is getting; it’s really starting to look nasty. I really think this wound is going to be the end of me.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Charon retorted. “I really don’t think Achilles’ heel will be his mortal weakness.”

health care

Recovering from a nasty bout of dry rot.

 

Let Me Explain

let me explain

This was an actual conversation I witnessed between a co-worker and a supervisor and the thoughts I had as I listened to the conversation.

It was our first week on a temporary job and my co-worker was keen to be hired in full time. So keen that he felt the need to explain in detail why he had called off the previous Friday.

Co-worker: I wanted to explain why I had to call off on Friday.

Supervisor: Okay.

Co-worker: I was in jail.

Me thinking: Oh no, don’t tell him that.

Co-worker: But it wasn’t my fault. My buddy got pulled over for running a stop sign and the cop took both our licenses. I just happened to have a warrant out for my arrest.

Me Thinking: You just happened to have a warrant out for your arrest?

Supervisor: You just happened to have a warrant out for your arrest?

Co-worker: It was from like, four years ago. I still owed money on a fine.

Me thinking: Don’t tell him why you were arrested.

Co-worker: It was for cocaine possession.

surprise

Co-worker: But I don’t use illegal drugs anymore…

Me thinking: The first non-damaging thing you’ve said.

Co-worker: …very often.

Me thinking: Of course.

Co-worker: In fact, out of all the times I’ve been in jail, that’s the first time I didn’t know somebody in there.

Me thinking: Seriously? Why would you tell him that?

Supervisor: It sounds like you had a rough weekend.

Co-worker: Yeah. I can’t remember the last time I didn’t get hammered on the weekend.

Me thinking: He couldn’t possibly make this worse.

Co-worker: At least I didn’t get (at this point he crudely described being raped by another man) by a big guy named Bubba.

Me thinking: I stand corrected.

Co-worker: And they took all the cash I had and put it toward what I owed on the fine. I’ve had to bum smokes off everyone today…I mean cigarettes–not weed.

Me thinking: Good catch, that’ll save the day.

Supervisor: Well, try to stay out of trouble next weekend.

A few minutes later on the job.

Co-worker: I think that went really well.

Me: Really? You think that went well?

Co-worker: People appreciate honesty?

Me: I certainly appreciated it.

Two months later.

The co-worker was brought on full-time–I was not.

A few weeks later.

The co-worker arrived at work drunk out of his mind, fell asleep on the job, and was fired.

The moral to this little story: people are stupid and they suck.

drunk person

“I’m ready for work.”

You Have Spoken

voted

After two days of intense voting the results are in.

It seems that nobody is concerned that I am a peon…and wisely so.

But it is very disconcerting that nobody seems to care about the mad scientists under Oprah’s house.

When Oprah and her minions of evil genius monkeys are ruling the world with an iron fist, don’t come crying to me–I tried to warn you. When everything is all weepy feelings and book clubs and the world reeks of monkey feces and buttermilk pancakes, it’s on you.

As I have always suspected about the readers of this blog: you’re very cold hearted. Very few of you care about the plight of toad lickers in this country. (But they’ll be ones right at home during Oprah’s reign.)

More of you care about Hillbillies and their weird faces. Have you considered maybe hillbillies have weird faces because they lick toads? I’ll bet you haven’t.

About the same amount of you care about having reasons for throwing rocks at things.

You probably want to throw rocks at hillbillies and their weird faces, or their toad licking brethren.

You’re all so heartless.

Many of you were concerned with the blowhard and his mostly jet black truck. (Throwing rocks at this guy and his mostly jet black truck would be wholly appropriate.)

But the most votes were cast for my former co-worker and his tragic conversation with a supervisor.

So my next post will be Let Me Explain.

Don’t throw rocks at my former co-worker–he has problems of his own.

stone

I’ll bet you want to throw this at a toad licker–you’re so heartless.

 

Help Me Finish Something!

I need help.If you’re anything like me (and if you are, you have my deepest sympathies) the draft section of your blog’s dashboard is littered with unfinished posts.

After tirelessly combing through dozens of drafts (for at least 10 or 15 minutes) I came up with this short list of possible drafts to finish and post.

I’m a Peon: At the time there seemed no need to finish this; it just seemed too self-evident.

Mad Scientists Living Under Oprah’s House: This was to be a post about how Oprah is genetically engineering a race of super smart and evil monkeys to help her take over the world. Again, just too self-evident.

I’m a Moron #Yolo: I had seen a tweet that read: Just took a dump on my bosses car. #Yolo. I imagined a post containing a series of subsequent tweets from this person, ending with the tweet: Just got to know my new cellmate Brutus and he’s roughed handed. #Yolo.

A Little Wrong or Horribly Wrong: This post stemmed from my overhearing a patron in a dining establishment complain that their order was horribly wrong because they received ice tea rather than lemonade. My supposition was that receiving ice tea rather than lemonade is only a little wrong. Had they received a glass of antifreeze or hemlock or alpaca pee, then their order would have been horribly wrong.

A Day in the ACME Complaint Department: I thought it would be funny to do a one-sided phone call (Bob Newhart style) of a person in the ACME complaint department taking a call from an angry Wile E. Coyote, because one of their products had again detonated in his face and slammed him into the side of a mountain.

road runner

This is about to go horribly wrong.

Reasons to Throw Rocks at Things: There has to be several.

Why do Hillbillies Have Weird Faces: This popped up on my search term page. Some poor individual came to this blog looking for an answer to that question; I fear I’ve let them down.

Toad Lickers Unite: It is high time we illuminate the plight of the toad licker in this nation.

homer simpson

Homer is just one of the many downtrodden toad lickers.

A Temper Tantrum and a Mostly Jet Black Truck: This is a true story about a giant blowhard of a man and how he parked his jet black truck in the wrong place.

Let Me Explain: Another true story about the time I witnessed a co-worker try to explain to a supervisor why he had called-off on Friday. His story began with “I got arrested” and then got increasingly worse.

Let me know which of these posts should be finished and published. (Or more than one–there is a plethora.)

I live to do your bidding.

 

My Sincerest Apologies

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

This pales in comparison to that oversight.

Yesterday was National Sea-Monkey Day.

I MISSED NATIONAL SEA-MONKEY DAY!

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

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

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

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

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

Sea-Monkeys are fantastic companions:

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

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

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

fish

The anchovy–natural enemy of the Sea-Monkey.

 

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

idiotprufs

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

poe beaten up

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

 

 

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