idiotprufs

what the hell else are you gonna do with your time?

Archive for the tag “idiocy”

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 blog 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 googling weird penis problems) conferring with a myriad of professionals, (friends 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.

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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Cukes, Smug Neighbors, and Other Signs of Summer

 

vegetable garden

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:

  • The Beginner’s Guide To Growing A Garden.
  • The Idiot’s Guide To Growing A Garden
  • The Beginner-Idiot’s Guide To Growing a Garden.
  • Grow A Garden Even If You’re A Chimp, (And Not One of Those Clever Chimps That Can Do Sign Language, but One of Those Dopey Chimps That Eats It’s Own Poop).
  • The Guide To Growing A Garden if You’re Presence Destroys Life.
  • The Giant Catalog Of Plastic Plants.

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. I've always had trouble with homonyms.

These are cukes? It looks like the Jolly Green Giant took a dump.

Tales From an American Legion

 

american_legion_logo1

It’s a tradition. This is the fourth year I’m posting this on Memorial Day weekend for two specific reasons:

  1. I like it.
  2. Unapologetic laziness.

Years ago I worked at an American Legion post. I met a lot of people during my time there. Some of them were ordinary people, some were interesting, some were bizarre and some were bizarrely interesting.

One of the more interesting people was Jack.

Jack constantly spoke in non sequiturs. At first I thought that he was simply hard of hearing, but I began to realize there was a thread of continuity in the things he was saying. His conversations would go off in seemingly weird and irrelevant tangents, but they generally made it back to their original points.

I’ve often wished that I had written some of them down, unfortunately I’m a moron.

Here are a few of my favorites that haven’t been lost to my faulty memory:

Jack: I remember when I paid only ten dollars a week for rent.

Other patron: We don’t live in the fifties anymore Jack.

Jack: What! (slamming his fist against the bar in indignation) I haven’t ridden a bicycle in years.

Other patron: What?

Jack: I’d rather pay for my truck insurance than ride a bicycle.

Other patron: Again, what?

Jack: I can barely afford to pay my for rent and my truck insurance.

Or this one:

Me: Do you want another beer Jack?

Jack: (giving me a dismissive wave): I don’t know anyone named Dan.

Me: Firstly, I asked you if wanted another beer. Secondly, what about Dan sitting there right next to you?

Jack: (looking at Dan suspiciously) His last name isn’t White.

Me: So?

Jack: Then why would someone named Dan White want to buy me a beer?

Me: Obviously he wouldn’t. I can’t believe I’ve behaved so foolishly.

But this was my favorite:

Me: How are you doing today Jack?

Jack: You’re nuts!

Me: I hesitate to ask, but apart from the obvious, why do say that?

Jack: My wife was never an Eskimo.

Yeah. I still have no idea.

Eskimo

Probably not Jack’s wife.

But of all the interesting people I met, John was the most interesting.

John had a lot of stories to tell and a keen willingness to tell them, under one condition: you had to keep a cold rum and coke in front of him. He needed the proper “lubrication” to keep the vocal chords going.

John was man in his late eighties but still very spry. He had a weird sense of humor, which was probably a good thing because his wife seemed to have none at all. She was constantly reprimanding John for his jokes.

But that didn’t stop John.

John was a rifle bearer for the Honor Guard. One day after performing their duties, the members of the Honor Guard were returning to the post to have a few drinks together, as was their custom.

John walked calmly up to bar in full dress uniform, carrying his rifle, and wearing his eye-patch (John had to occasionally wear an eye-patch because of condition he had. He claimed he wore so he didn’t see double after he’s had a few too many) and stood there with a slight impish grin on his face.

He looked like pirate.

He then quickly pulled the rifle to his shoulder and discharged it toward the back of the bar.

The crack of the rifle echoed through the hall. If you’ve never heard a rifle discharged in a building, it’s loud. Beer flew into air, drinks were spilled, people scattered, some hit the floor. Even though I knew it was only a blank, it was still jarring to have a weapon discharged in your general direction.

A cloud of smoke hung in air the along with the pungent smell of spent gun powder. For a moment after the echo of the rifle had disappeared there was total silence. Then there chaos. Some people were laughing; some people were not. Some people were cursing, especially John’s wife, who unleashed a stream of foul language that to this day, I am certain has never been matched.

Once I made sure I still a whole person, I laughed, maybe as hard as I ever had in my life.

He later told me he thought it would be funny.

“When isn’t heart failure funny,” I told him.

John was reprimanded by the post, but that didn’t bother him. In fact, I’m not sure I ever saw anything bother him.

John was there that day on June 6th 1944. It’s estimated that 2,500 allied soldiers lost their lives on D-Day… but John didn’t. He had to hang around long enough to nearly scare me to death.

So this Memorial Day weekend, I’m dedicating this blog post to Jack, John and every other veteran who is no longer with us.

The Mysterious Case of the Vanishing Big Mac

mystery

The trip was brief.

The controversy has endured.

Four Big Macs were purchased. Four Big Macs were present in the take-out bag. Four Big Macs were removed from the take-out bag. One person claims to have never gotten a Big Mac. Three others claim to have eaten only one Big Mac apiece.

Accusations have flown. Accusations still fly.

That fateful night:

The names have been changed to…screw it, these are the actual names.

Lance: Give me my Big Mac.

Matt: You ate it.

Lance: No I didn’t.

Matt: Yes you did.

Lance: I think I would remember eating a Big Mac.

Matt: Evidently you don’t.

Lance: Hey Al, you ate my Big Mac didn’t you?

Al: (Al grunts something inaudibly as he consumes his Big Mac, and drools on himself.)

Me: Well I didn’t eat it.

Lance: One of you ate my Big Mac!

An hour later, sitting on Matt’s front porch.

Lance: I can’t believe you guys ate my Big Mac.

Matt: You ate the Big Mac!

Lance: Look at me, I have no sesame seeds on me. If had eaten a Big Mac, I would have sesame seeds all over me.

Me: Maybe the seeds fell off.

Lance: What about the lettuce? What about the secret sauce? There’s not a drop of secret sauce on my face…I can’t believe you guys ate my Big Mac.

Years later:

Lance: Remember that night you guys ate my Big Mac.

Matt: YOU ate the Big Mac!

Still more years later:

Lance: I really wanted that Big Mac that you guys ate that night.

Matt: (Says nothing in an act of silent frustration.)

More recently:

Lance: One of you ate my Big Mac that night.

Matt via email: There’s no dispute, Lance wolfed it down in two bites.

Lance: That’s not how it went down.

Like Amelia Earhart’s strange disappearance into the Bermuda Triangle; the years have offered no answers, only more questions.

So if you’re ever traveling on that mysterious stretch of road, and you have take-out, be wary.

Burning Down the House

House on fire

So I recently stumbled across a news story that detailed how a man in Holland Township, Michigan, accidentally set fire to his apartment.  The fire spread and destroyed eight other apartments in his building and damaged two dozen other units.

When he set fire to his apartment, he was doing something that some might describe as ill-advised. Others would say it was foolish. But to most of us, it was an act of downright stupidity.

What was it that he was doing when he set fire to his apartment?

The following is a list of possible things the man in Michigan was doing when he started the fire.

Which one do you think is the real story?

  1. After hearing for years that you shouldn’t microwave metal–he wanted to find out why.
  2. After having trouble getting a fire started in the fireplace, he thought that a generous amount of gasoline would aide the proceedings.
  3. His friends refused to believe that he could spit Bacardi 151 and light it on fire. He simultaneously proved his friends wrong, and relieved them of their eyebrows.

    alcohol fire

    “Stand closer–what could possibly go wrong?”

  4. In an experiment to find out exactly how fire-retardant his new camping gear was, he doused it with kerosene lit it on fire. It wasn’t nearly as fire-retardant as he had hoped.
  5. Feeling a little peckish and having developed a sudden craving for squirrel, he attempted to burn the fur off a squirrel with a propane torch, in preparation to cook it. He inadvertently sets fire to the deck of his apartment.
  6. He attempted to make a homemade explosive device. If Michael Westen’s character on the television show Burn Notice can do it, how hard can it be? He was successful…in some regards.burning down the house
  7. Baked Alaska is fun in the restaurant when done by a professional chef. Not as much fun when done at home by an oaf.
  8. While trying to contain the Baked Alaska debacle, he discovered to his dismay, the words inflammable and flammable stupidly mean exactly the same thing.idiotprufs
  9. A “scientific” experiment, designed to find out if he could melt glass on his stove fails. He does however melt a great many things that day.
  10. Despite the explicit warning from the guys on Mythbusters, he tried it at home anyway.idiotprufs
  11. Hoping to enhance the effectiveness of bug spray on a wasp’s nest, he decided to light the spray on fire. It worked: the nest was destroyed, along with half his apartment building.

    “I can’t believe that didn’t work.”

  12. He’s just a huge Talking Heads fan.burning down the house

So what do you think?

If you don’t feel like guessing, here’s the story: nbcnews.com.

 

We’ll Let You Know

hanging help wanted sign

The following is an actual conversation I had with a man who was dropping off his resume at a place where I used to work.

Man: Is there someone here that I can talk to about a job?

Me: The plant manager does the hiring, but he isn’t here today.

Man: So I can’t talk to anyone today?

Me: Sorry.

Man: (visibly upset) But I made sure not to smoke crack today.

Me: That’s very conscientious of you; I’ll add a note to your resume specifying that you made sure not to smoke crack today.

Man: (pointing an accusatory finger at me) You better not be lying to me.

Me: Trust me, writing that note will be a genuine pleasure.

Man: Just make sure you do it.

As a man of truth and integrity: I wrote that note and firmly attached it to the front of that man’s resume.

He wasn’t even considered for the position; does honesty count for nothing anymore?

rejection from job

Unfortunately, we’d already filled our quota of habitual drug users.

The Great Broccoli Fiasco

broccoliApart from a few facts that may be the products of my faulty memory, this story is completely true.

It came from the kitchen, and it was horrendous. It stung your nostrils, and it turned your stomach.

Note: my roommate’s name in this story was Al, but for the sake of brevity and ease, I will be referring to him simply as: Pathetic Pea-Brained Weed-of-a-Man.

Me: what is that horrendous smell?

Pathetic Pea-Brained Weed-of-a-Man: it’s probably me.

Me: it is a sickening and repulsive stench, but it’s a different kind of sickening and repulsive stench.

Pathetic Pea-Brained Weed-of-a-Man: I think it’s coming from the refrigerator.

Me: but there’s nothing in the refrigerator apart from a bottle of ketchup, some old pizza, and mysterious yellow stain that seems to move about on its own.

Pathetic Pea-Brained Weed-of-a-Man: the stain scares me; it’s shaped like a spider.

Me: (opening the refrigerator door, only to be staggered by the smell) it is coming from the refrigerator and it is foul.

Pathetic Pea-Brained Weed-of-a-Man: it must be the anchovies on that left over pizza; they taste like the ass-end of a rhinoceros.

Me: well, I’ll have to defer to your expertise in ass-tasting related matters.

Note: anchovies are lumps of decaying fish, infused with all of the salt in the world–they’re delicious.

Pathetic Pea-Brained Weed-of-a-Man: I know how to get rid of it.

He grabbed the pizza box from the fridge and hurled it onto the roof below the kitchen window of our apartment.

Me: brilliant.

Pathetic Pea-Brained Weed-of-a-Man: of course it’s brilliant; I’m the one who did it.

Me: your brilliance is only matched by your humility.

Pathetic Pea-Brained Weed-of-a-Man: it’s my humility that makes me great.

(Pathetic Pea-Brained Weed-of-a-Man is sometimes a walking oxymoron…usually he’s just a plain moron.)

So the problem was solved…or was it?

Not only did the odor not dissipate, it grew in strength.

The next day:

Pathetic Pea-Brained Weed-of-a-Man: why hasn’t the smell gone away?

Me: it wasn’t the anchovies.

Pathetic Pea-Brained Weed-of-a-Man: anchovies taste like the ass-end of a rhinoceros.

Me: we have to do something; air fresheners won’t cover it up.

Pathetic Pea-Brained Weed-of-a-man: air fresheners won’t cover up the ass-end of rhinoceros?

Me: probably not, but I was referring specifically to the smell in the kitchen.

Pathetic Pea-Brained Weed-of-a-man: well we’ve checked everywhere.

Me: is there anything in the vegetable crisper?

Pathetic Pea-Brained Weed-of-a-man: the what?

Me: the drawer where you keep the vegetables.

Pathetic Pea-Brained Weed-of-a-man: the what now?

Me: I’ll show you.

I slid open the vegetable crisper to reveal a bowl of expired broccoli and possibly the most rancid smell that has ever stimulated my olfactory senses.

Me: how can vegetables possibly smell that bad?

Pathetic Pea-Brained Weed-of-a-man: I didn’t even know that drawer was there.

Me: we have to get rid of them.

Pathetic Pea-Brained Weed-of-a-man: I have an idea.

So Pathetic Pea-Brained Weed-of-a-man grabbed the bowl of tainted broccoli and flushed it down the toilet.

The problem was solved…or was it.

It seems pouring a bowl full of broccoli down a toilet is the equivalent of pouring a bucket full of concrete down a toilet; it was a mess. There was literally a waterfall of human waste pouring down the kitchen wall of the downstairs neighbor.

She was unhappy…loudly.

A few days later we had a typical western New York snowstorm which dropped about four feet of snow on us.

The landlord came to shovel the snow from the roof outside our kitchen window. He struggled with something that was solidified to the roof. It turned out to a pizza with anchovies.

He was unhappy…loudly.

Note: if you were unaware: anchovies smell like the ass-end of a rhinoceros.

rhino butt

Bees and Calligraphy

bee calligraphy nerd

In my spare time I like to improve my yodeling.

First a few personal facts regarding the differences between bees and calligraphy:

  1. I have never been stung in the face by calligraphy.
  2. I have never gotten a D on an art project written in bee.

Good things about bees:

  1. If you don’t happen to have any Crazy Stinging Amazonian Bastard Ants, Africanized killers bees will work in a pinch.
  2. It is hysterical when a bee stings a mime.
  3. Pollination. Bees pollinate a vast array of plants, helping to propagate many types of fruits and flowers. (Incidentally, Fruits and Flowers is the name of the clown act.)
  4. They make honey, that sweet nectar byproduct without which Pooh bear would have never gotten his head caught in a honey pot, in that adorable image by A. A. Milne.  If it weren’t for that image, I’d have nothing tattooed to my left butt cheek.

Good things about calligraphy:

  1. Because of calligraphy, nib manufacturing is still a thriving business in Bangladeshi sweat shops.
  2. Without calligraphy wedding invitations would have to be written in silly fonts.
  3. Anything written in calligraphy looks super classy; like William Shakespeare threw up on a piece of paper. (It’s how the entire first act of Much Ado About Nothing was written.)
sonnet shakespeare

Super classy. Created by William Shakespeare after a night of pounding tequila shots.

Note: This blog has often been referred to as the Shakespeare of humor blogs–sometimes by poet laureates, occasionally by scholars, but mostly by people when I lie about things other people have said. I’ve also won the Pulitzer Prize–twice.

Bad things about bees:

They sting you in the face.

You might be a small child, blissfully playing in your grandmother’s backyard. Behaving in a manner so innocent, its very nature demands the use of the word angelic.

You might have that childhood bliss shattered in a moment when a bee stings you in the face.

You might retreat into your grandmother’s house in a state of distress because a bee has just stung you in the face.

Instead of receiving the consoling you need, your aunt–who is evil–snidely tells you, “bees only sting you if you bother them.”

Years later you have your revenge at a family picnic when your aunt is stung by a bee. You confidently inform her, “bees only sting fat bitchy women.” She is not amused.

Bad things about calligraphy:

They make you learn it in Art class.

When I was in school we didn’t get to use the calligraphy pens with the replaceable ink cartridges; we had to use the old-style calligraphy pens that you had to dip in ink wells. This was problematic.

I tended to get ink blots on my assignment, which hurt the final grade. I also got ink on my desk, on my hands, on my face, on my clothes and weirdly on my left butt cheek. (It was a precursor to the Winnie the Pooh tattoo.)

It was also problematic for the girl in the desk in front of me.

It wasn’t that she had difficulty containing her ink use; it was that my difficulty in containing my ink use, on one occasion, spread to her flaxen blonde hair.

Which then became problematic for me, in a loud and somewhat abusive tone.

I threw around more ink than a pissed off octopus.


octopus ink

Man, this calligraphy is difficult.

Read Well or Hurl Feces

reading monkey

It’s good to see you’re reading.

Reading informs you, it improves your memory, it increases your analytical abilities, and it exercises your mind.

Reading is like doing a big pile of mental squat thrusts, without the searing pain in your side and the inevitable vomiting.

The ability to communicate through the written word is one of the most significant ways in which humans are separated from the lower primates.

It ranks just ahead of our ability to remove unwanted body hair, and just behind our general reluctance to settle disputes by scrabbling up a tree and hurling our feces.

Note: I feel I should point out that hurling feces can be a very effective tool in certain situations I have a few aunts with uncanny accuracy.

Imagine some of the ways lacking the ability to read and write well can be detrimental to your happiness:

  • The annoying pile of traffic tickets that results because you think the stop sign reads: Floor It, Cowboy.
  • The comic hilarity that is Marmaduke, is nothing more to you than a bunch of confused scribbles about a big clumsy dog.
  • When you tell people you read Playboy for the articles, you’re only lying slightly if can actually read.
  • Instead of being vessels for whimsical Eastern wisdom, fortunes cookies are just bits of baked crap.
  • Limericks. What kind of life is it without the ability to read limericks?
  • Rather than informative advertisements, billboards are giant mocking reminders of your inability.
  • The ability to read the subtitles, transforms French films from completely indecipherable to mostly indecipherable.
  • Those embarrassing visits to the emergency room because you misread the words “do not” in the warning on a can of Raid, which reads: Do not spray directly into face.

Did you know that Ken Edwards of Glossup, Derbyshire, England ate 36 cockroaches in one minute, to set the world record? Now you do, because you have the ability to read.

Just moments ago, you probably had never heard of Ken Edwards of Glossup, Derbyshire, England. Now you possess a powerful bit of information.

A piece of information that can be used as a conversation starter, to jumpstart a dinner party that has hit a lull, or simply to amaze and impress your friends.

The next time you meet an attractive woman, but you’re unsure of how to break the ice; just bust out this little fact about Ken Edwards of Glossup, Derbyshire, England. If she doesn’t blast you in the face with pepper spray–you’re in.

Your ability to read and write has armed you with the tools you need to thrust forward in life with bold confidence. Rare will be the occasion you will need to rely upon scrabbling up a tree and hurling your feces to settle a dispute.

If Ken Edwards of Glossup, Derbyshire, England had spent a little more time reading, perhaps he wouldn’t have to shovel fistfuls of cockroaches into his mouth to get attention.

idiotprufs reading

Ken Edwards, champion cockroach eater/ladies man.

 

Flashback: Top Ten Other Things the Mayans Got Wrong

My apologies to David Letterman.

My apologies to David Letterman.

I stumbled upon this post, one of the very first of this blog, from many years ago. Do you remember when the world was supposed to end?

In my previous post, I detailed my displeasure with the fact that the world didn’t come a cataclysmic end on December 21st. Not only did nothing cool happen, but even worse, I was forced to finish my Christmas shopping.

I’ve discovered after doing some exhaustive research (Google) there were a myriad of things the Mayans got wrong.

Top Ten Other Things The Mayans Got Wrong

10)  Caddyshack 2 will be just as funny as Caddyshack.

 9) A man named Isaac Newton will be resting under an apple tree when an apple will fall on his head. He will become so irate that he invents a machine that will be used to systematically destroy all apple trees, ridding the land of the scourge of falling apples.

 8) Queen Anne is so taken with Newton’s apple tree destroying prowess, she has him knighted. Although a great honor, he is hampered by the fact that he can now only move two spaces forward and one space over on a chess board.

 7) The common folk of 18th century England become so enraged that they can no longer obtain apples, they form a mob and throw Sir Isaac Newton over a cliff. On the way down he has a fleeting thought about something called gravity. Alas, it perishes with him.

 6) Without the foundation of Newtonian physics to expand upon, Albert Einstein never leaves his job as a patent clerk. He does however patent the Sham-wow and he becomes filthy rich.

 5) In the early 20th century a majestic ship called the Titanic is built, it traverses the seas for centuries. However, the movie Titanic, about a ship where nothing ever goes wrong, completely flops.

    Note: The Mayans also go on and on about Siskel but say nothing at all about Ebert. Two thumbs down Mayans.

 4) A man named J.R.R. Tolkien will write a few simple stories about some hobbits; nothing much will come of them.

 3) A mighty force called the Cleveland Browns will arise. They will win many championships called Super Bowls. At about the same time, there will be a record cold snap in Hell.

 2) The shoreline in a place called New Jersey, will become the epicenter for culture and wisdom in the western world. This will happen in the early 21st century and be a clear sign that the end is near.

 1) Those Spaniards seem like nice fellows; nothing bad could ever come of our relationship with them.

colt mccoy

Mighty warriors of the 21st century.

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