idiotprufs

Illegal in 38 states–frowned upon in the rest.

Archive for the tag “idiocy”

Rodeo Clowns, Kanye West’s Fat Head, and a Pissed Off Bull

“Is that N’ Sync I hear?”

Bulls are huge, powerfully built animals with menacing horns, devastating hooves, and an unflinching desire to be left alone.

Bull-riders, by comparison, are sweaty little cowboys who feel it’s heroic to climb onto the backs of bulls, regardless of how irritating it is to the bull.

Bulls have names like Destroyer, The Widow-Maker, and The Mauler.

Bull-riders have names like Bucky, Earl, and that guy who used have testicles.

Bulls are simple animals, content to stand around and chew their cud, occasionally pausing to pee on the dirt.

Bull-riders are simple people, content to stand around and chew tobacco, occasionally pausing to pee on the dirt.

The only thing in which bulls truly revel is inflicting life threatening injuries upon things that annoy them.

Bull-riders annoy them.

The only things that bulls hate more than bull-riders are rodeo clowns, Kanye West’s fat head, and boy bands.

Note: it should be mentioned–the entire animal kingdom hates boy bands…especially badgers.

angry badgers

We’re coming for you Timberlake.

The sanctioned amount of time a bull-rider must stay on the bull is eight seconds. It was found to be the amount of time it takes the average person to look up, do a double take, gape momentarily, then utter the phrase: “would you look at what that idiot over there is doing.”

The bull is locked in a pen, which annoys it.

The bull-rider then climbs onto the bull’s back, which really annoys it.

The bull with the bull-rider on his back is released into an arena filled with jeering fans, which annoys it beyond belief because it hadn’t finished peeing.

The bull storms around in a state of agitation that closely resembles a blind rage as it attempts to repel the annoyance that has so rudely interrupted his peeing.

Meanwhile the bull-rider is being thrashed about like a rag doll. (He may also be peeing a bit at this point.)

The bull swiftly dislodges the annoyance, launching him through the air. The annoyance crashes to the ground, tumbles several feet and skids to a halt.

He displaces an impressive amount of manure filled dirt with his face.

His teeth continue on for several more feet.

As the bull-rider staggers to his feet, dazed and unsure of what’s happening, the bull finishes peeing then turns to face him.

The bull lowers its horns and beats its hooves at the dirt; a malevolent glint appears in its dark animal eyes.

As in any time of great crisis, men wearing make-up are called upon to save the day: the rodeo clowns are deployed.

They dance around the bull, taunting and mocking it (evidently the bull is not pissed-off enough yet) until they can lure the bull’s attention away from the bull-rider.

Sensing that their efforts are falling short, they form a line and belt out an N’sync medley.

The bull becomes so confused with rage that it charges into the stands and heads straight for Kim Kardashian and Kayne West, who just happen to be in attendance.

The bull gruesomely gores Kanye’s fat head–the crowd cheers wildly.

The bull-rider is saved; the rodeo clowns are showered with cheers and adulation. It seems that all is well, until a pack of frenzied badgers pour into the arena and savagely attack the rodeo clowns.

After several moments of shrill screams and wild chittering, the badgers flee as quickly as they appeared.

The rodeo clowns lie in the dirt, bloody and defeated, their painted on smiles betraying them.

bull

“You’re dressing oddly these days Kayne.”

Somewhere in the deep recesses of it’s mind, the bull feels a deep sense of satisfaction.

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Love Hurts, but Not as Much as a Stab Wound

love hurts

I felt it was time to re-post these beautiful and poignant words.

I wrote this during a period of deep personal healing…but mostly I was drunk.

 

Woefully Inadequate Preparation

 

pythagorean theorem

Useless knowledge when you’re about to be cut.

This occurred while I was working as a quality control inspector at a steel coating plant near Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. I was sitting at my desk filling out paperwork–paperwork that I’m sure was vital to the daily functioning of the plant, and not be interrupted–when the crane operator, Jim, burst into the office.

“We have a problem,” he barked.

Jim tended to have problems more days than not. Urgent problems. Urgent problems of all varieties. (I could tell it was urgent because Jim was using his urgent voice. His urgent voice was similar to his whiny voice, but an octave higher.)

I looked around the office to discover I was the only one there. Crap.

“Houston,” I said to him.

“What?”

“When you burst into a room to exclaim that you have a problem, you’re supposed to say, ‘Houston, we have a problem.'”

“But we’re not in Houston.”

Note: nobody gets me.

“Never mind. What’s the problem?” I asked with genuinely feigned interest.

“Look at this,” he said as he shoved his phone at me. It was a picture of some temp workers standing outside on a smoke break.

“It’s a picture of some temp workers standing outside on a smoke break.” I said.

“You don’t see the problem?” He was incredulous.

“The threat of emphysema?”

“Look closer.” He shoved the phone at me again.

“Okay. They’re all smoking cigarettes, except for that little guy who seems to be holding…a crack pipe.”

“So you understand the problem now?”

“He’s not sharing with the others?”

“This is serious,” he snapped.

“Selfishness is a serious problem, Jim,” I admonished him.

“I can’t be operating a crane out there with people running around all hopped up on drugs.”

“Do people still use the phrase hopped up?”

“Are you going to do something or not?”

“Where’s Rick?” I asked. “He’s loud and obnoxious and loves to yell at people.”

Rick was the foreman, he was loud and obnoxious and loved to yell at people.

“He called off today,” Jim told me.

Note: It’s so rare that you’re in want of a person who is loud and obnoxious and loves to yell at people, but the one time you are, he’s not around. I once asked the owner why he made Rick the foreman. He told me that Rick was too stupid to do anything useful, but he was good at yelling at people, so he made him the foreman. Just another reason the Pittsburgh steel industry is thriving–in Japan.

My immediate boss was also off that day. This was horrible luck for me since I mainly dealt with readings, measurements, recording data and that type of thing. What I didn’t deal with were problems that could lead to me being stabbed in the side of head.

I approached the person in question. He was a little guy with glasses. He looked like Mr. Peabody if Mr. Peabody were a crackhead and not a cartoon dog. He was sweating profusely and his eyes were darting back and forth.

Mr. Peabody (probably not on crack)

“We won’t be needing you for the rest of the day, so you can go home now,” I told him, hoping that he would just acquiesce and leave.

“Why?” He demanded.

“We just don’t need you.”

He leaned into me, and growled in a slow deep voice, “is it because of the leprechauns?”

I gaped like an idiot.

“It’s the leprechauns isn’t it?” He persisted.

“No. It has nothing to do with the leprechauns.” I spoke slowly. “It’s more that you smoked crack on your break.” I felt at that point, honesty wasn’t going to make the situation any worse.

“Is that what the leprechauns told you?” He screamed. “The leprechauns lie!” Then he produced a razor blade from his pocket and held it to my face.

Evidently honesty could make things much worse.

He then gave me a very strange look and asked in a near whisper, “are you a leprechaun?”

You’re never really prepared for the first time someone asks you if you’re leprechaun. The public schools are woefully inadequate in such preparation. Knowing how to diagram a sentence or use the Pythagorean theorem are useless abilities when you’re about to be cut.

So I said the only thing my agile brain could produce: “I’m not even wearing green.”

Luckily for me (almost leprechaun lucky) Mr. Peabody became so fearful of leprechauns, he left on his own without incident.

But the next time someone asks me if I’m a leprechaun–I’ll be prepared.

My true identity.

Lightning Strikes and Good Luck

lightningRoy Sullivan, a Virginian park ranger, had a strange ability: surviving lightning strikes. He survived seven separate lightning strikes.

  • The first lightning strike hit his leg and knocked the toenail off his big toe.
  • The second lightning strike burned off his eyebrows and knocked him unconscious.
  • The third lightning strike seared his shoulder.
  • The fourth lightning strike set his hair on fire.
  • The fifth lightning strike ripped through his hat, set his hair on fire, and knocked him from his truck wearing only one shoe.
  • The sixth lightning strike injured his ankle.
  • The seventh lightning strike left him with chest and stomach burns.

It lead to the phrase “that Roy is one unlucky bastard” to be uttered many times.

It also lead to the phrase “that Roy is one lucky bastard” to also be uttered after surviving all seven lightning strikes.

It caused countless arguments among his friends and family as to whether or not Roy was lucky or unlucky. At family events they would argue for hours, get into fist fights, and eventually dump their aunt’s potato salad over each other’s heads.

Note: and their aunt’s potato salad was delicious, not like your aunt’s potato salad which tastes like a diseased monkey peed into a bowl of death. 

The only thing they could all agree upon was to stay far away from Roy when a storm approached.

 

 

For your enjoyment: a few photos of Roy Sullivan.

Roy Sullivan and his lightning damaged hat.

 

Roy in a building.

 

Roy sitting in a tree.

 

Roy in his car.

 

Roy visiting the Statue of Liberty.

 

Roy in another tree.

 

Roy standing by some cacti.

 

Roy on the USS Truman.

 

Roy swimming in the ocean.

 

Roy and his twin brother swimming in the ocean.

 

Roy gets elected to Congress.

 

Roy at the Eiffel Tower.

 

Roy on his way home from Paris.

 

Roy at home.

 

10 Things That Should Happen in the NFL but Probably Won’t

01nfl

#10

The New England Patriots are stripped of all five Super Bowl titles after it is discovered Tom Brady is a robot.

#9

The red challenge flag is to be replaced with a confetti cannon filled with angry bees.

mike tomlin

“I wish I had a confetti canon full of angry bees.”

#8

The two-minute warning is now marked by the release of 200 frenzied honey badgers onto the field.

#7

Every team’s official mascot is a monkey in a cowboy hat on a unicycle.

#6

After years of bitter disappointment, the Cleveland Browns pack up, move to Baltimore, change their name to the Ravens, and win multiple Super Bowls. (Sorry, I’ve been told this has already happened.)

#5

A new rule that stipulates the team losing at halftime must dress as rodeo clowns for the second half.

#4

Jim Brown trades in his trademark Kufi cap for a beanie with a propeller.

Jim Brown

“Why am I in Baltimore?”

#3

Referees are replaced with blindfolded mimes.

#2

The Super Bowl halftime show: Pope Francis battles Justin Bieber in a knife fight to the death. (Neither one of them sings.)

#1

The Cleveland Browns draft a quarterback that leads the team to the Super Bowl…Hell experiences a record-breaking cold snap.

Bill win Super Bowl

“This is Jim Cantore reporting live from Hell.”

Purple Pilgrims and the Death of Artistic Choice

pilgrims

The way Pilgrims are supposed to look…if you have no creativity.

As a child you learn many lessons:

  • Regardless of how far your garden hose sprays, you’re still too close to the hornet’s nest.
  • You never want to discover the quantitative value for the phrase “mad as a hornet.”
  • Regardless of how sturdy it seems, an umbrella is not an adequate substitute for a parachute.
  • Your cousins lie.
  • You can be lying in a crumpled heap, several bones broken, some of them relatively important, and the first thing any adult will think to say is: “look at what you did to my umbrella.”
  • Even though most varieties of snakes are not venomous, you still don’t want them to bite you.
  • Convincing your cousin to let a snake bite him so that you find out whether or not it’s venomous, seems like a good idea, but it will really piss-off your aunt.
  • Did I mention cousins lie.
  • Never utter the phrase “sticks and stones will break my bones but words will never harm me,” to someone who is in possession of sticks or stones. In the savage jungle of playground justice, you will be pelted with a barrage of sticks and stones.
  • When adults say cheaters never prosper, they’re full of it. Cheaters prosper all of the time, mostly because they’re cheating.
  • Don’t melt Play-Doh on the stove. What seems like a voyage of scientific discovery to you, is just wanton destruction to some people.
  • Burning Play-Doh emits a noxious smoke.
  • Smoke alarms are startlingly loud.
  • Melting crayons on the radiator is fun, until your mom finds them.
  • And finally: artistic creativity is not always welcomed.

It happened when I was a first-grader at R.R. Rogers Elementary School in Jamestown, NY.

Our class was making a Thanksgiving Day mural from construction paper. We were broken into groups, my group was tasked with making the Pilgrims.

We immediately found there to be a dearth of orange construction paper, the color used to make the Pilgrims’ faces and hands.

I made a command decision: we’ll use purple construction paper for the Pilgrims faces and hands. “It’ll be avant-garde,” I said.

Note: I’ll bet you don’t think a six-year old would use the word avant-garde. It’s my story, and I’ll tell it the way I want.

Tracy the tattletale strongly objected and ran to inform the teacher, (Tracy was such a conformist) but as a renown tattletale, the teacher simply told her to hush, and just work with the others.

Note: not only was our group saddled with Tracy the tattletale, we also had Keith the paste-eater. It was a nightmare.

We completed our project and handed it in with a great sense of pride and accomplishment.

Our teacher was displeased. It’s difficult to overemphasize just how displeased she was.

“They’re purple,” she shrieked, as if we were a bunch of colorblind idiots.

“We know they’re purple,” we told her, “we’re not kindergarteners.”

As it happened, the mural was going up on the wall for a big parent/teacher thing that night. She’d left that bit of information out of the instructions.

Note: on the heels of Halloween, and our pumpkin making spree, she should have known we’d be low on orange construction paper, which brings me to another important lesson learned: when at all possible, deflect blame.

It was the end of the day, and there was no time to do anything about it, so up they went.

In the end the parents were simply amused by the purple Pilgrims; it seems adults really don’t expect a lot from six-year old children.

Addendum:

I wonder if Salvador Dali’s teacher criticized him for drawing everything all floppy.

floppy watches

At least he didn’t have the gall to make Pilgrims purple.

Poop Flinging Monkeys and Origami Condoms

monkey throwing poop

He’s right-handed–make a note of that.

A while back I wrote a post entitled, What the Hell is Going on, detailing the National Institute of Health’s spending of $3.8 million to make monkeys alcoholic. (The amount spent on monkey rehab is still unreported.)

The Daily Mail has now reported another list of bizarre NIH spending:

$2.4 million dollars to develop an ‘origami’ condom.

I’ve always felt the biggest problem with condoms is that they’re not in the shape of a swan. They’re just too easy to use; stopping to remove the condom from its package, and apply it without losing the ‘moment’ is just too simple; why not also have to fold it into shape of dragon.

$939,000 dollars to determine that male fruit flies prefer younger female fruit flies.

Researchers have determined that this is caused by drop in hormone levels as female fruit flies age, but we know that’s a load of crap.

When you have a 24 hour lifespan, that midlife crisis hits you fast and hits you hard. It’s about noon, you’re flying around a waste basket containing discarded apple cores, when it hits you: my life is half over and I haven’t even had lunch yet.

You buy an unpractical sports car, start dressing inappropriately for your age, you get a couple of piercings and a tattoo that reads: forever young.

You dump your twelve-hour old wife for a nubile six-hour old.

You’re balding, you have a paunch, your behavior is embarrassing, and tomorrow you’ll be dead.

I believe my assessment to be more accurate, and it cost $939,000 less.

$592,000 dollars to determine that chimpanzees with the best poop flinging skills are also the best communicators.

I think I can write without fear of contradiction: if you address someone by slapping a fistful of your feces in their face, you will have effectively gained their undivided attention.

However, be prepared for that person to subsequently communicate their feelings…violently.

$117,000 to learn that most chimps are right-handed.

Couldn’t the researchers from the previous study have just made of note of which hand the chimps were throwing their feces with; if you’re going to do something as important as throwing your feces, you’re not going to do it off-handed.

$325,000 to learn that marriages are happier when wives calm down more quickly during arguments with their husbands.

This is like doing a study to determine that fire is hot.

The real question is why do wives in some marriages calm down more quickly during arguments. I’m willing to bet it’s because husbands in those marriages, during arguments, don’t say things like:

  • I don’t know why you’re acting so crazy.
  • I think you’re overreacting to that remark about your acting crazy.
  • Can’t this wait until the game’s over.
  • Who cares what your friends think; it’s my opinion that matters.
  • Sure those jeans make you look fat. Bit if I wanted a skinny wife, I would have married your sister.

This study also showed that marriages were completely unaffected when the husbands were the ones who became calm more quickly. This just proves two things that everybody already knew:

  1. Women just want men to understand why they’re upset and empathize with them.
  2. Men don’t care; we just want to drink beer and watch football without all the noise.

$832,000 went to learn if it was possible to get uncircumcised South African tribesmen into the habit of washing their genitals after having sex.

Note: is this what the couples in the previous study were arguing about? Because that would make sense to me.

Let’s be clear about this.

This wasn’t an attempt to get uncircumcised South African tribesmen into the habit of washing their genitals after having sex.

This was a study to learn if it was ‘possible’ to get uncircumcised South African tribesmen into the habit of washing their genitals after having sex.

Let me save you $832,000: yes it’s possible.

Anything is possible. It’s possible to be struck by lightning. It’s possible or win the lottery. It’s possible that I’ll grow to like mimes.

Note: You’re thinking that last one isn’t possible. If you gave me $832,000 to like mimes; I would like me some mimes.

And how do they know uncircumcised South African tribesmen don’t wash their genitals after sex? It feels like something creepy has been going on there.

Note: perhaps uncircumcised South African tribesman would be more conscientious of genital hygiene if they didn’t have to fold their condoms into the shape of a chrysanthemum. Chrysanthemums are freaking hard. Read more…

Seriously, I Don’t Want to Dance

the office dancing

Do you really want David Brent as a role model?

It would seem not everyone got the message the first time this post was published. So here it is again–soak it in.

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 not to be.

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.

What the Hell is That?

reindeeer with glowing antlers

“You’ve got nothing on me Rudolph.”

In what is being hailed as the technological breakthrough of the century, a group of Finnish scientists have created a new breed of radioactive reindeer.

Note: The Finnish are often referred to as the technological juggernauts of the world. After all, they gave us Angry Birds.

“We are the technological juggernauts of the world,” one of the leading Finnish researchers, Johannes Korhonen, stated at a recent press conference. It seems the Finnish have developed a new breed of radioactive reindeer they claim will revolutionize the world.

Here at idiotprufs I was able to secure an interview with Dr. Korhonen.

idiotprufs: So, why radioactive reindeer?

Dr. Korhonen: Frankly, we just got sick of inducing cancer in lab rats, I mean, we’ve absolutely done that to death. So we decided to move on to something bigger.

idiotprufs: That’s a pretty big jump from lab rats to reindeer.

Dr. Korhonen: It is. At first we tried it with badgers, but those things are freaking nuts. A bunch of them got loose, knocked over one of the researches, chewed his ears off, and ran away with them.

idiotprufs: Wow.

Dr. Korhonen: Then they came back and taunted him.

idiotprufs: That’s horrible.

Dr. Korhonen: Indeed. They’d already taken his ears–there was no need to say those horrible things about his mother.

idiotprufs: The badgers can talk?

Dr. Korhonen: Of course not.

idiotprufs: Then how did you know they were saying things about his mother?

Dr. Korhonen: It was in their body language.

idiotprufs: Okay? I’m just curious, why do you consider this to be an advancement that will revolutionize the world?

Dr. Korhonen: Are you serious? We have practically developed a cure for not being radioactive.

idiotprufs: Is not being radioactive a big problem?

Dr. Korhonen: Not anymore. Did you know that due to their glowing antlers, the incidents of reindeer being struck by motorists, have greatly decreased over the past year?

idiotprufs: But what about the fact that the incidents of Finnish motorists screaming, “what the hell is that?” and careening off the road have greatly increased over the past year?

Dr. Korhonen: One problem at a time.

The interview then ended abruptly when a pack of frenzied badgers chased Dr. Korhonen from the room. They seemed angry. One of them had an ear.

hans gruber idiotprufs

Dr. Johannes Korhonen, he looks vaguely like that guy from Die Hard.

Unicorns and Dennis Rodman: It’s Science

Archeologists from the Academy of Social Services of North Korea’s History Institute have made an important discovery: they have discovered a unicorn lair. (I’m not making this up) The report says that they have “reconfirmed” the presence of the lair. Apparently the ancient Korean King Tongmyong rode a unicorn.

An artist's rendition of the king's unicorn. His name was sparkle; he hated his name.image source: unicorn.com

An artist’s rendition of the king’s unicorn. His name was sparkle; he hated his name.

Why is this the first I’m hearing about this? There was nothing about a unicorn riding, ancient North Korean king, in any history book I ever read. How do leave that out?

As it turns out, this wasn’t the only bizarre revelation uncovered by North Korean scientists:

  • Unicorns are not only real, but they’re always griping about how zebras are such sissies.
  • Trix aren’t for kids; they really are for rabbits.
  • Dennis Rodman is a cyborg and his multicolored hair is magic.
  • If you catch a leprechaun you don’t get a pot of gold; you just get a lot of pot.
  • Jerry Garcia isn’t dead: he’s in Ireland and he’s really stoned.
  • Despite the moniker, Bigfoot’s feet are tiny.
  • Bigfoot hates that famous picture of himself; he thinks it makes him look fat.

Bigfoot: a victim of the freshman 15 and a poor camera angle.

  • Wile E. Coyote caught the Roadrunner years ago. He was served in an orange sauce, over rice, with sautéed spinach on the side.
  • The chicken came before the egg, but they both preceded the first chicken omelette.
  • The Great Wall of China was built by a guy just trying to keep the neighbor’s dog out of his yard.
  • Trolls don’t live under bridges; they live in North East, Pennsylvania. (You know who you are.)
  • The Mars Rover did find life on Mars. It was a weird little dude named Marvin.

“You make me very angry.”

  • And finally: The Onion was right: Kim Jong Un is the sexiest man alive.
Where's my unicorn?image source: dailymail.co.uk

“Where’s my unicorn?”

Isn’t that the face of man who needs to have his own unicorn?

And maybe a few less nuclear missiles.

He can keep Dennis Rodman.

rodman

Magic!

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