idiotpruf

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

Archive for the tag “humour”

15 Feb 2024

Why You Shouldn’t Show Me Pictures of Your Grandchild

Happy Photo Purveyor: would you like to see photos of my grandchild?

Me: not especially.

Happy Photo Purveyor: but she’s just so precious.

Me: believe me, your voluminous and unremitting descriptions of her are all I really need.

Happy Photo Purveyor: you absolutely have to see them.

Me: I’m certain that’s not the case.

Happy Photo Purveyor: you’ll regret it if you don’t.

Me: I’m feeling the regret already.

Happy Photo Purveyor: let me get my phone out.

Me: so this is happening.

Fifty photos later.

Happy Photo Purveyor: if liked those, I’ve got hundreds more.

Me: great! Let me just remove this ice pick I’ve jammed into my eye.

Happy Photo Purveyor: her name is Liz; can you guess what that’s short for?

Me: I don’t know.

Happy Photo Purveyor: just guess.

Me: I don’t want to guess.

Happy Photo Purveyor: just guess–it’s obvious.

Me: It’s obvious? Is it short for Lizard.

Several moments of uncomfortable silence.

Not As Happy Photo Purveyor: why would her name be Lizard.

Me: she looks a bit like a lizard.

Even more uncomfortable silence.

Unhappy Photo Purveyor: my granddaughter looks nothing like a lizard.

Me: not all of her–just her face.

Still Unhappy Photo Purveyor: people say she takes after me!

Me: I wasn’t going to bring that up…but yes she does.

Angry Photo Purveyor: my granddaughter looks nothing like a lizard!

Me: maybe I just think that because of her tail.

Angrier Photo Purveyor: what makes you think my granddaughter has a tail?

Me: because most lizards have tails.

Apoplectic Photo Purveyor: I’m never showing you another photo again!

Apoplectic Photo Purveyor storming off in a huff.

Me: mission accomplished.

And that’s why you should never show me photos of your grandchild.

This is Liz. Guess what Liz is short for.

Posted in funny, Humor, photo and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment
23 Jan 2024
2 Comments

Penn & Tran: 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 been born 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.

Posted in erie, funny, History, Humor, lists, mythology and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , ,
07 Jan 2024
2 Comments

Good Luck With That

hero

I’ve seen this quote floating around recently:

My goal in 2024 is to be my best self and my own personal hero.

I have just one quick question: to whom have you been talking, and what horrible lies have they been telling you.

Do you remember that time someone told you to “just be yourself” when you went on that first date?

I’m not sure if you remember how badly that went. If you don’t, we can reference the police report. My favorite part is when you and your date were taken hostage by the mime.

I know you like to tell people you gave that girl the most memorable night of her life. Normally the only things you give the girls you date are crippling self-doubt and genital chiggers.

Being memorable isn’t always a good thing. Survivors of the Hindenburg would often describe escaping that harrowing inferno as the most memorable night of their lives. And those people were never held against their will in a Taco Hut by a man wearing white face paint and a beret. He didn’t even have a real gun; he was just miming it.

You may be the only person in history to be screamed at by a mime. (It is amazing how fast a mime will break character once you’ve peed on the back of his leg.)

My point is: your goal shouldn’t be to be your best self; your goal should be to be someone entirely different. Someone radically, unmistakably different than yourself.

As far as you being your own personal hero, there aren’t enough adjectives in the English language to express just how bad of an idea that is. I’m trying to envision the type of person who would adopt you as a personal hero. I picture one of those weirdos who write fan letters to a serial killer who’s in prison.

If your goal for 2024 is to improve yourself, try making it through the year without being arrested for peeing on a mime, or on the back of a police car, or on the back of a policeman.

In fact, if you can make it through the year without being arrested for public urination of any kind, we’ll call that a win.

I know it’s a tall order, but I’m not completely certain you can’t do it.

Good luck with that.

Posted in Humor, inspirational, phrases and tagged , , , , , , ,
21 Dec 2023
4 Comments

The Absolutely Indispensable Guide For Gifts Not to Give

bad gift

“What the hell?”

All you want is to give the perfect gift for Christmas. The gift that will brighten a child’s face. The gift that shows thoughtfulness and caring. The type of gift that will result in moments to be cherished forever.

What a load of crap that is!

You are an insensitive oaf, but social convention dictates you must give gifts at Christmastime. What you really want is to give gifts that won’t result in icy glares from your significant other and, more crucially, gifts that won’t result in a face-stabbing.

Granted, most of your attempts at gift-giving have not resulted in a face-stabbing, but there have been enough face-stabbing occurances to preclude you from using the phrase, isolated incidents.

Who would have thought a weight loss book, a thigh master, a bottle of rum, and a set of kitchen knives were a bad combination of gifts?

Maybe the fact that it was a weight loss book for dummies that put the gift recipient over the edge.

It could have also been the rum-soaked eggnog she was belting down all day.

Since I’m practically an expert at screwing things up badly (I mean, I am shockingly good at it), I am going to aid you in what gifts not to give.

Don’t give your goth friend a bottle of skin bronzer. Her pale, nearly translucent skin is her choice. It is not a result of her inability to tan naturally. Her flesh will not burst into flames if it’s exposed to real sunlight. It’s Holy water that makes her flesh burst into flames.

Don’t give your girlfriend, and I cannot stress this too strongly, a self-help book of any kind with the phrase “for dummies” in the title.

Unless, of course, a face-stabbing is exactly what you want for Christmas.

Don’t give your friend the book: Why Men Love Bitchs. His girlfriend Amanda won’t appreciate it; what he really needs is a book about better decision-making.

Don’t give your stepmother a jar of anti-wrinkle cream and a bottle of wart remover. She will not appreciate them…regardless of how desperately they’re needed.

Don’t give your stepfather, who likes to hunt, a book of vegetarian recipes; he’s just going to use its pages to start the fire he’s going to use to roast the woodchuck he hit with his pickup truck on the way to the Christmas party.

Don’t get your vegan friend that Chia Pet. It looks entirely too much like food; eventually, he’s going to try to eat it. He’ll be rushed to the hospital, and his entire family will blame you.

Don’t give anyone you know this book.

problem child

Don’t avoid this gift because you fear recrimination. Avoid this gift because it’s just too late.

Don’t get your boss this mug; he may not have a sense of humor about it.

boss coffee cup

“Why does everybody laugh at me when I drink coffee?”

Addendum

If John Wayne Bobbitt had listened to me when I told him kitchen knives were a terrible Christmas gift for his wife Lorena, perhaps their marriage wouldn’t have become so severed.

knife

A set of kitchen knives from Bed Bath and Beyond. It was the beyond that got John Wayne Bobbitt in trouble…she cut his penis off.

Posted in funny, Humor, inspirational, lists and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,
04 Aug 2023
2 Comments

Epic Failure?

It was to be a great day of triumph.
After a month of intense preparation, pushing my mental and physical capabilities to their limits, I was ready to make my epic trek swimming across Lake Erie from North East Pennsylvania to Long Point, Canada.
My friend Philbert did not share my confidence concerning my prospects for success. “You’re going to drown,” he told me plainly.
“You need to be more positive,” I admonished him.
“I am positive you’re going to drown,” he reiterated.
Onlookers and well-wishers filled the beach as I made my final preparations.
Actually, the crowd was comprised mostly of residents of North East who were there to jeer at me and hurl insults.
It seemed they were upset at my characterization of the town being filled with inbred cannibals and having a goat for a mayor.
One particularly vocal resident relayed how disgusted he was that I would even suggest there were any inbred cannibals in North East. He then innocently inquired about what would be done with the body if the unthinkable happened and I were to drown. Evidently, he and his sister/wife had a new recipe for meat sauce they were dying to try.
The goat mayor was also there, galavanting around, braying at people, and peeing on their feet. Still, he was a considerable upgrade from the previous mayor.
I dove into the water and began my journey. I could feel myself surging through the water. Philbert, who was in a kayak paddling beside me, said I looked like a dolphin going through the water.
Alas, after what seemed an interminable amount of time, the fatigue overcame me. The severe cramping in my muscles and searing pain in my side rendered me unable to continue.
“I think this is it,” I told Philbert, the burning in my lungs making speech difficult. “If this is the end of my journey on this spinning orb, remember me fondly, my old friend,” I told him as a solitary tear rolled down my cheek.
“Just stand up, you @#%!ing idiot,” he snapped.
I was about 50 feet from shore; it was admittedly disappointing.
“But you said I was moving through the water like a dolphin,” I said to Philbert defensively.
“I said you look like a wounded dolphin in the water,” he corrected me with a little more derision than was necessary.
Sometimes Philbert can be a dick.
Then the people on shore started to hurl rocks at me.
“Whoa, stop throwing rocks,” the inbred cannibal yelled, seemingly coming to my defense, “you’ll bruise the meat.”
Eventually, the authorities came and dispersed the crowd allowing me to retreat to my home and lick my wounds from what Philbert referred to as a humiliating and epic failure. They also ticketed me for what they called an act of unparalleled stupidity–that’s not even a thing!
I later learned that my preparation, watching a Jaws marathon and eating chicken wings, wasn’t sufficient for a swim across Lake Erie.
After some introspection and much-needed soul-searching, I think I will turn my attention to being shot out of a cannon over a ravine; there’s no way that can fail.

Posted in erie, fitness, funny and tagged , , , , , ,
06 Jul 2023
14 Comments

Alternate Plans and Lake Erie

My plans to go over Niagra Falls in a barrel have continued to be wrought with issues.
The latest problem to stunt my efforts is the silliest of them yet: apparently, going over Niagra Falls in a barrel is illegal.
I thought Canadians were supposed to be all laid back and polite. But just try to get into Canada with a barrel strapped to the top of your car; the battery of accusatory glances and snide comments is withering.
What is the freaking point of having an internationally famous waterfall if you can’t go over it in a barrel? Do you think people go to Niagra Falls just go to Niagra Falls to stare at the water? No! They go to Niagra Falls to see courageous adventurers tempt fate in a death-defying act of bravery. And possibly die horribly.
“Why don’t you just go over the American side of the falls?”
Because the American side is the crappy side, and everybody knows it. The American Falls is the Horseshoe Falls’ irritating little runt brother that nobody cares about. Just posing the question feels like you’re rubbing that fact in my face.
So, I have decided to put my barrel plans on hold. My new focus is on my attempt to swim across Lake Erie. It’s perfectly legal; people do it all the time.
People traverse the 24 miles from Long Point, Canada, to Freeport Beach in North East, Pennsylvania on a regular basis.

Individuals are even encouraged and sometimes sponsored to swim across Lake Erie. Did you know the water in Lake Erie that people are openly allowed to swim in is the same water that later goes over Niagra Falls? That odor you smell in the air is the stench of hypocrisy…there’s also a lot of dead fish in Lake Erie.

And as a side note, Canadian bacon is just ham. Stop calling it bacon. Something called Canadian bacon should be real bacon slathered in maple syrup.


The only drawback I can foresee in this endeavor is that I’m not a classically strong swimmer. What I do in water could be categorized less as swimming and more as splashing about in a vague attempt to avoid drowning.
But I have a solution: I will reverse the process and swim from Freeport Beach in North East, Pennsylvania, to Long Point, Canada.
You see, North East, Pennsylvania is not the most pleasant place; it’s a detestable pit of horror.
If you have read this blog at all in the past (my apologies if you have), you probably know that I have detailed in great length North East’s many problems, not the least of which is its rampant infestation of bands of inbred cannibals.
You may wonder which is the more embarrassing problem for the small community: all of the incestuous inbreeding or all of the wanton cannibalism?
Neither. It’s the fact that they have a goat for mayor, and that goat is as stupid as he is arrogant. His name is Steve, and he is a jerk.
Steve routinely minces around town in a drunken stupor, head-butting random pedestrians into traffic and crapping on the sidewalk in all the places where people walk the most.
He is also very fiscally irresponsible.
If I begin my trek across Lake Erie from Freeport Beach in North East, Pennsylvania rather than in Long Point, Canada, my sheer desire to distance myself from North East should propel me halfway across the lake like I was shot out of a canon.
And once you’re out in the middle of Lake Erie, the impetus to keep going becomes quite strong.
This plan is idiotproof.
I will keep you updated on my progress.

Addendum: if this fails, maybe I’ll try being shot out of a cannon.

Posted in erie, Humor, idiotprufs, inspirational and tagged , , , ,
12 Jun 2023
2 Comments

Cinderella’s Sisters Bash Prince for Foot Shaming

Cindereella's sisters

The angry and large-footed sisters in question.

A Tiny Kingdom in a Faraway Land–“It’s an outrage,” an agitated Drizella told us as she fumbled with her extra wide orthopedic shoes for bunions. “It’s a clear and undeniable case of foot shaming.”

The trouble started when Prince Charming began scouring the kingdom in search of a singular woman whose foot would fit into a glass slipper left behind at a recent ball.

“Real women have real feet,” Drizella’s sister Anastasia said. “That pompous Prince Charming shows up at our door with this tiny little slipper made of glass, and you’re not good enough for him unless your foot fits into this ridiculous little shoe; if you have feet like a normal woman, you’re automatically rejected. That’s hardly ‘charming’ behavior.”

“And glass footwear can’t possibly be safe,” Drizella added.

The sisters argue it’s sexist and demeaning to reduce a woman’s worth to her foot size.

“They’re just jealous because the glass slipper fit on the foot of their step-sister, Cinderella,” Prince Charming said.

“She’s nothing but a lowly scullery maid,” Drizella shouted, “why should she get the prince just because she has dainty feet.”

“Cinderella does have dainty feet,” the prince conceded. “She also has perfect skin, flaxen hair, and a heart of gold. And unlike her step-sisters, she doesn’t have a blackened soul, a vicious mean streak, a crazily disturbing amount of warts, and breath that could kill a dragon.”

“It’s called halitosis, and it’s a medical condition,” Drizella said, defending herself.

The sisters have hired a barrister and plan to launch a lawsuit against the prince for discriminatory practices.

“I guess they’re forgetting how an oppressive feudal system works,” the prince said as he chuckled, “I’m a prince; I do whatever the hell I want.”

Cinderella couldn’t be reached for comment; she is currently in negotiations to launch her own brand of glass footwear called Cinderella Crossfits.

glass sneakers

For the active scullery maid who also wants to feel like a princess.

Posted in funny, Humor and tagged , , , , , , , , ,
15 May 2023
2 Comments

It’ll Be Refreshing, He Said

rafting

“Paddle faster, you idiots.”

“Don’t worry, it’ll be refreshing,” my friend assured me. I had strong doubts as I stood on the shore and watched the river’s water heave and surge past. My trepidation was fueled less by the tenacity of the water and more by the fact that what I did in the water could be described less as swimming and more as a labored attempt to avoid drowning. In the pit of my stomach, I could feel that this rafting trip was about to turn ugly.

Rivers that are used for rafting are separated into five classifications. Class one rivers are basically flat, smooth waters that can be easily navigated. Class five rivers are rapidly descending, treacherous waters that require considerable experience to navigate.

Class one rivers are for tiny little girls and wimps. Class five rivers are for studly men who like to laugh in the face of the Grim Reaper. We chose a class three river; we were average men who like the laugh in the face of the Grim Reaper but only when the Grim Reaper is at a distance and busy with somebody else at the time.

The trip was going well; we had successfully navigated our way through several sets of rapids without major incident. It was then that the guide told us to bring our rafts to shore, where he informed us that this was the part of the trip where we could walk back upstream and go back through the last set of rapids.

“What,” I asked casually, attempting to mask the alarm in my voice, “do you mean without the raft?”

“That’s right, you’re just going to jump in the water and go,” the guide said with an annoying amount of confidence.

“Are you certain that’s safe?”

“Absolutely, these are very deep rapids.”

“It’s safe because deep water is harder to drown in?”

“Yes…I mean, no. When it comes to rapids, deeper is safer.” I could detect a timbre of irritation creeping into his voice.

“Okay, I understand…I’m curious, what are your thoughts concerning skydiving without the parachute?”

I could tell by the dagger-filled stare that was shooting my way that it was time to stop asking questions. This was the man whom I would depend upon to pull my semiconscious body from the water should the need arise.

One by one, like lemmings, we climbed onto the top of a small boulder and leaped into the river.

I made it through the first two mini-rapids without a problem. It was the third set of rapids where a sudden surge of water lifted my body for a moment then pulled me under the surface. Murky river water shot up my nose at approximately 2000 mph, ricocheted off the bottom of my brain, then poured into my lungs.

Not wanting to be filled with murky river water, my lungs immediately expelled the water back through my mouth and nose with considerable force. My eyes, feeling left out, began to water profusely. I was now spinning out of control, and my arms were flailing around like a crazed marionette.

This was the moment I chose to invent a new game. I call the game “Whack your face against the rock.” I invented this game approximately two seconds after the guide yelled, “Hey, don’t whack your face against the rock.”

“Are you okay?” the guide chortled, unable to mask his amusement. I signaled to him with a thumbs up…well, it was a single digit.

As I slowly spun out of the rapids and crawled to shore, gasping for air and coughing simultaneously (something that I had previously thought to be physically impossible), my friend asked, “Are you going to go again?”

“No,” I replied. “I think that I’m refreshed enough.”

river raft

The IOC is considering whack-your-face-against-the-rock for the 2020 Olympics.

Posted in fitness, funny, Humor, idiotprufs, inspirational and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , ,
03 May 2023
4 Comments

I’ll Build My Own Damn Barrel

My attempt to purchase a barrel to go over Niagra Falls in has proven fruitless, but as that old saw tells us: if you want something done right, do it yourself.

idiotpruf barrel

For most of my life, the statement above hasn’t proven to be the case. If you were to believe my junior high shop teacher, I wasn’t the most industrious person with a tool in my hand.

“A danger to myself and others” was the phrase he recklessly bandied about.

Hey! I’m not the one with only eight and a half fingers, buddy.

The half finger was his nose-picking finger; it looked like he was shoving the whole thing up there.

All I’m trying to do is construct a barrel sturdy enough to go over Niagra Falls without being smashed into bits–how hard can that be?

Not dying is my second highest priority; my top priority is that the barrel be spacious enough to contain both myself and my pet pig Napolean. 

You may think that sounds stupid, but you’re willingly reading this drivel; how smart can you be?

Napolean and I have long ago accepted the idea that we would probably die together in some weird and grizzly manner.

But we survived the tandem skydiving, so maybe we should put those fears to rest.

You only need a handful of items to build a barrel:

  • A mullet
  • Assembly jig
  • Four large iron hoops of varying size
  • 2 barrel lids cut to size
  • Handsaw
  • Sandpaper
  • Sponge
  • Winch
  • 24 to 36 aged wood staves

I am well on my way: Napolean has the mullet; he’s had it since his Billy Ray Cyrus phase. I don’t know why you would need a mullet to build a barrel, but I’m not one to question the wisdom of the internet. 

I assume an assembly jig is some type of Irish Folk Dance; I’m sure I’ll pick that up quickly.

I can meander down to the local smithy to grab some iron hoops of varying sizes.

I own a handsaw to cut the 2 barrel lids to size.

I am almost certain I have a piece of sandpaper somewhere.

I have a SpongeBob SquarePants bath sponge.

I can borrow my neighbor’s winch.

Then all I need is 24 to 36 aged wood staves; piece of cake.

Correction: apparently, you need a mallet to construct a barrel, not a mullet. That does make more sense, although Napolean was a little disappointed.

I’ve run into a few additional problems.

I’m told an assembly jig is not an Irish Folk Dance, and I am terrible at modern interpretive dance.

Also, it seems the local smithy closed his shop a few years ago, give or take a century.

And I lied about the handsaw; I don’t have one of those; I’m not some master carpenter.

Napolean has refused to use my Spongebob Squarepants bath sponge; he thinks it’s disgusting. It’s a pretty haughty attitude coming from someone who rolls around in the mud. Although, that sponge has been in some intimate places.

Napolean has also pointed out that what I have is not a piece of sandpaper but some sand and a piece of paper. It was an easy mistake to make.

Borrowing the winch from my neighbor might be more complex; he’s installed security cameras since that time I borrowed his riding mower and inadvertently drove it into the lake.

I also have to look up the word stave; seriously, what the hell is a stave?

I fear I am a bit further from the completion of my project than I hoped.

But Napolean and I will continue to strive forward.

More updates to come.

Posted in funny, Humor, lists and tagged , , , , , , ,
18 Apr 2023
4 Comments

Barrel Shopping

barrel for going over falls

A barrel like this would be great…but I prefer something in color.

Now that I’ve decided to go over Niagara Falls in a barrel, a few slight logistical wrinkles need to be ironed out.

First and foremost: I need a barrel. I have several vital requirements for the barrel I choose for my journey over the falls:

  1. It must be watertight enough to endure the 681,750 gallons of water that travel over the falls per second without it filling with water and killing me horribly.
  2. It has to be sturdy enough to endure the 2,509 tons of force created by the 681,750 gallons of water that travel over the falls without losing structural integrity and killing me horribly.
  3. It must withstand the 167-foot drop without bursting on impact and killing me horribly.
  4. It must be spacious enough for me to comfortably fit into. (I don’t like to be cramped almost as much as I don’t like to be killed horribly.)
  5. It must fit onto the top of a Mercury Marquis. (I have bungee cords.)

My search for a suitable barrel has been less than fruitful.

It’s startling just how unhelpful the employees of Lowes are when it comes to barrel shopping.

You wouldn’t believe the slack-jawed looks I get when I ask them where they keep their barrels for going over waterfalls–they gape at me like I’m a moron.

The people at Ace Hardware are even less helpful. Their little jingle: “Ace is the place with the helpful hardware folks,” is a blatant and disgusting lie. It should be: “Ace is the place where smug, judgmental pricks named Todd question your mental stability.”

I went to a website of the deceivingly named Crate & Barrel–utterly useless unless you plan to go over Niagara Falls on an overpriced chaise lounge.

(I did, however, find a delightful celosia black hand-knotted area rug.)

It appears in order to find a suitable barrel for going over Niagara Falls, I’m required to have one custom-made.

Going over Niagara Falls in a barrel is turning out to be more difficult than I had imagined, but I will soldier on.

liquuor barrel

What a great barrel; I just have to empty it of the Jack Daniels inside–it’s a plan!

Posted in funny, Humor, inspirational and tagged , , , , , , , , ,

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