idiotprufs

Illegal in 38 states–frowned upon in the rest.

Archive for the tag “idiocy”

Stingrays and Vinny from Yonkers

Don’t let the happy face fool you; this is a vicious monster.

Do you remember as a child, adults would bandy about that old saw that a bee would only sting if you provoked? Do you also remember the dissemination of that bit of information generally came moments after being stung by a bee?

I recall an instance in my childhood, sitting in my backyard, quietly playing in a manner that could be readily described as angelic, when a bee decided it had become sufficiently provoked. My youthful playtime came to an abrupt halt with the introduction of searing pain to the side of head.

I went in search of sympathy, only to find an accusatory tone. Unfortunately two of my aunts were visiting.

“What did you do to it?” The first asked in her typically snide voice.

“What did I do to it?” She was obviously confused by the sequence of events.

“You must have provoked it,” the other chimed in, with her less snide, but decidedly more mannish voice.

Note: my aunts’ inability to recognize a child playing in a manner that could be readily described as angelic, likely stems from their own entirely unangelic nature…they’re really bitchy.

Informed by this experience, I watched in amusement as a tour guide on a travel show condescendingly told Vinny from Yonkers, “don’t be alarmed by that stingray brushing against your leg, they only attack when they’re angry or provoked.”

Vinny from Yonkers response was to act alarmed. He then gave the tour guide a look that generally precedes a punch in the face.

Any animal in which the word “sting” is prominent in its name, is probably an animal of which to be wary. It is generally wise to approach anything with the ability to sting, with caution.

Things that sting:

  • Bees.
  • Wasps.
  • Hornets.
  • Platypuses (yes they sting; watch the Discovery Channel sometime).
  • Stinging nettles.
  • Graig Nettles, former gold glove third basemen of the New York Yankees, and his rapier wit.
  • Scorpions.
  • That vicious rejection from the cute girl you asked out. Seriously, she didn’t have to say that thing about your face.
  • Jellyfish.
  • Yellow jackets the type of insect.
  • Buzz the yellow jacket mascot of Georgia Tech. He didn’t have to say that thing about your face either.
  • That slap you received after making an ill-advised comment about your aunt’s mannish voice.
  • Gordon Sumner (Sorry, this is from the “things called sting” list).
  • Stingrays.

Also, how would you go about determining the mental state of a stingray? I’ve never seen one that appeared happy-go-lucky.

It’s probably hard being a big flat fish living on the bottom of the ocean, always afraid that some fat tourist named Vinny will step on your back.

Stingrays have their mouths and nostrils situated on their underbellies; that cannot be a pleasant way to exist.

And have you seen what stingrays look like? They’re all crazy ugly; stingray sex must be just awful.

A stingray’s sting can result in extreme pain, illness, the amputation of affected limbs, and in extreme cases, death.

Note: if you’re a condescending tour guide, they can also cause you to get punched in the face by a guy from Yonkers named Vinny.

Any animal that on a whim can cause my life to end, is by my way of thinking, a source of alarm.

Or is it possible that you could run into a stingray with a sense of humor; a stingray that finds it amusing to sting a condescending tour guide.

Either way, you should be careful before you smugly tell someone not to be alarmed. You could be dealing with a stingray with a sense of humor, or guy named Vinny without one.

stingray

My sex life is just atrocious.

Hiccup Gremlins and a Punch in the Face

man with hiccups idiotprufsExperts will tell you that hiccups are a myoclonus of the diaphragm, that results in an abrupt rush of air into the lungs. You get them when the vagus nerve, which runs from the brain to the abdomen, is irritated. They are most commonly the result of digestive disturbances.

Well that’s just crazy talk–everyone knows hiccups are caused by gremlins.

There are some who will tell you that gremlins don’t exist; people who think they’re so much smarter than you.

They think they’re smarter because they have years of medical training, or they’ve read books, or they’ve never been described as “bat crap crazy” by a certified mental health professional.

Some think they’re smarter because they’ve never been arrested for slapping a mime in the face, or for urinating on a police car.

But does that make them smarter than you?

It Probably does, but you still shouldn’t listen to them: can you really trust a person who’s never slapped a mime in the face?

But now you have hiccups–how do you get rid of them?

After doing an extensive amount of research I’ve unearthed several potential hiccup remedies.

  • Scaring someone: this will only result in a punch in the face.
  • Tickling: this will also lead to a punch in the face.
  • Punching someone in the face: while there are several perfectly sound reasons for punching someone in the face, curing hiccups is not one of them.
  • A spoonful of sugar: Mary Poppins is a liar–never take medical advice from a person who randomly breaks into song.
  • A spoonful of peanut butter: this will actually give you hiccups if you don’t have them. If you already have hiccups, and you eat a spoonful of peanut butter, your esophagus will explode.
  • Drinking a glass of water while standing on your head: this is something made up by your friends so they can take your picture and post it on Instagram.
  • Inhaling paprika: your friends are cruel liars.
  • Holding your breath: this will cause you to lose consciousness. You will wake up with a bump on your head, still burdened with the hiccups, and with a blurry view of your friends posting another picture on Instagram.
  • Putting your hand in warm water while your sleeping. (Sorry. This comes from an entirely different list. Your friends will definitely post the results of this on Instagram and a punch in the face will be forthcoming.)
  • Fifty small drinks of water without taking a breath: at sip 42–yes, at exactly sip 42–you will involuntarily take a breath and inhale the water, coughing and expelling the water from your nose.
  • Fifty small drinks of vodka without taking a breath: the same as above, but with the added aspect of vomiting.
  • Putting your fingers in your ears: you still have the hiccups, but at least you can’t hear your friends laughing.
  • Holding your tongue with your fingers: if you can’t trust Wikipedia, who can you trust?

This is the point: hiccups cannot be cured, they are caused by gremlins. You simply have to wait for the gremlins to tire, or get bored–it’s science.

 

Not this type of Gremlin.

This type of gremlin.

Is There a Klingon Word for Non Sequitur?

klingon

As promised in the previous post, the following is a conversation with Klingon speaking Ed.

His real name isn’t Ed. I’ve changed the name to protect the innocent. The innocent being myself; Ed’s a few sandwiches short of a picnic.

Me: So, what’s up with this whole speaking Klingon thing?

Ed: Isn’t it obvious why I speak Klingon?

Me: I dunno–have all the normal ways in which you repel women begun to fail?

Ed: MOK TUK BAH.

Me: Nope, (wiping the spit from my face) you’re as repellent as ever.

Ed: Klingon is the language of a noble warrior race.

Me: Of course it is. It just seems to me that it would be more useful to learn a language you may encounter on this planet, such as French.

Ed: French is hardly the language of a noble warrior race.

Me: Point taken. What about Spanish, a lot of people speak that language?

Ed: No. Mexican food gives me gas.

Me: Does it? I’m curious, is there a Klingon word for non sequitur?

Ed: I don’t know what that is.

Me: It’s a Latin word that means: it does not follow.

Ed: Why didn’t you just say it does not follow?

Me: So you think it’s more useful to use an English word than a word in a language very few people speak?

Ed: People don’t screw you when you speak Klingon.

Me: Really, you speak Klingon and people screw with you constantly.

Ed: That’s not true.

Me: Well, I’m pretty much screwing with you right now.

Ed: I don’t think so.

Me: It feels like I am.

Ed: Klingons are hyper-aware of their surroundings.

Me: You do realize you’re not a Klingon?

Ed: Of course I do; I’m not an idiot.

Me: Well…

Ed: MOK TUK BAH.

I wiped the spit from my face as I watched him storm away in a huff. Real Klingons never storm away in a huff.

pope

The Pope knows what a non sequitur is.

Has This Ever Happened to You?

klingon driver

How many times has this happened to you?

You approach a stoplight as it’s about to turn red. Being a responsible driver, you slowly apply the breaks and come to a complete stop.

Suddenly you hear the screeching of tires behind you. You hear the sound of crunching metal as you feel the shock of your vehicle being struck from behind.

You stumble from your vehicle, slightly shaken, trying to rub the pain from back of your neck. As you survey the damage, you see the driver of the other vehicle stomping toward you from the corner of your eye. “Are you okay?” you ask as you turn to face him.

“Rah arg bah,” he bellows into your face. A blast of hot putrid breath startles you and sends you reeling. You try to steady yourself as you wipe the spit from you face. A sinking feeling comes over you with the realization that you’ve just been rear-ended by a Klingon.

“Do you have insurance?” you ask apprehensively, aware of the fact that Klingons are notoriously irresponsible drivers.

“Mok tuk bah,” he says as he jabs his crooked Klingon finger in the direction of the stoplight.

“Listen mister, that light was clearly about to turn red.” You call him mister hoping that he’s male; it’s so hard to tell with their weird wrinkled faces.

“MOK TUK BAH,” he screams at you with even more force.

“So that’s how it’s going to be,” you calmly reply, again wiping the spit from your face. This time his spit seems to contain chunks of something that was recently alive. You vomit in your mouth a little.

A lengthy argument ensues. Tensions flare. In the heat of the moment you say something unfortunate about the virtue of his Klingon mother being defiled by Captain Kirk. You soon discover–at ridiculous odds– this is the one phrase that translates directly from English to Klingon.

You find yourself staring at the end of a menacing Klingon weapon of war.

You swiftly make an attempt to apologize. You now discover the phrase “I’m sorry” in Klingon roughly translates to: stab me repeatedly and viciously.

As you lie on the pavement bleeding to death, you wonder if a better grasp of the Klingon language could have helped you avoid this grisly end.

So, how many times has this happened to you?

Allow me to answer for you: it hasn’t and it never will. Klingons are a fictitious race from a fictitious planet invented in the mind of Gene Roddenberry.

However, there is a Klingon language; a language that people endeavor to learn and speak.

Why would a person endeavor to learn and speak a language spoken by a nonexistent race?

I decided to ask a person who makes a habit of publicly speaking Klingon.

Next Post: My Conversation With Klingon Speaking Ed.

worf

Starfleet officer and notoriously irresponsible driver.

 

Don’t Swing a Dead Weasel if You’re Not Going to Use It

weasel as weapon

Weasel / Weapon

It is not a coincidence that the English language has not popularized the phrase ‘as useful as a dead weasel.’

In fact, if you’re on your way to do something and you think to yourself, I could really use a dead weasel for this, you’re probably about to do something that falls somewhere between foolish and felony. How many times on Cops has the arresting officer commented, “this would have merely been foolish, but you were swinging a dead weasel.”

If you’re on your way to do anything and you spot a dead weasel and think, I can use that, you’re headed down a dangerous path.

Which brings me to the point of this post.

A man in Hoquiam, Washington confronted the current boyfriend of an ex-girlfriend.

Generally a bad idea.

He confronted him swinging a dead weasel.

Always a bad idea.

“Why do you have a dead weasel?” the boyfriend asked him.

“It’s not a weasel, it’s a marten,” he replied.

(It’s a small distinction but an important one. Ex-boyfriends who display the proclivity to swing dead animals, tend to be very pedantic.)

He then punched the boyfriend in the nose and ran off. Begging the question: why in the world would you bother carrying a dead weasel to a confrontation if you’re not going to use it?

He was later tracked down and charged with assault and public stupidity.

When asked why he was carrying a dead weasel, he matter-of-factly replied, “what are you stupid, live weasels bite.”

In a weird twist, the authorities reported that it wasn’t a weasel or a marten, but a mink.

I don’t know if fur is murder, but it’s definitely felony assault.

The man was eventually acquitted. Evidently the prosecutors “failed to prove a link to the mink.” The prosecutors reportedly failed to do several other things that rhyme in a Seussian manner.

When asked if he had learned any valuable lessons, the man replied, “yeah, if you see something dead on the side of the road, leave it be.”

Perhaps if he had brought his girlfriend a mink when they were together, she wouldn’t have broken-up with him.

The mink had no comment.

weasle jail

I swear, I just wanted to make her a stoll.

 

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.”

Tales From an American Legion

 

american_legion_logo1

It’s a tradition. This is the third 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.

Nutella or Montague: What’s in a Name?

nutella

A delicious snack, but a terrible name for a French child.

According to Ole Bill Shakespeare what you call a thing doesn’t alter its nature; “that which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet,” and all that.

Note: not to give anything away, but regardless of the lovely sentiment, things didn’t end well for Juliet.

It seems a court in Northern France disagrees with the Bard of Avon, and has taken a tough stance toward families who give their children odd names.

When one couple in Valenciennes tried to call their child Nutella, the shocked registrar immediately informed the local prosecutor, who took the case to court in the northern city. (But not before first making himself a quick snack, Nutella really is delicious.)

The judge argued that giving the child the name of a chocolate spread was against the girl’s interests as it might lead to mockery and unpleasant remarks. “Children can be horribly cruel to other children who happen to have odd names,” the Honorable Peanut Butter N. Jelly told the court as he wiped a tear of remembrance from his eye. “Besides, Nutella is clearly a boys name.”

The parents did not turn up at the hearing in November, and in their absence the judge ruled that the girl’s name should be shortened from Nutella to Ella. Her full name is now a much more respectable Ella Phant Butt. “Let’s see school children just try to make fun of that,” the court said.

The same court in Valenciennes made similar arguments in January this year before overturning the decision of another couple to name their child Fraise, the French word for strawberry.

The judge said that in particular the girl might face derision from people using the uncouth expression “ramène ta fraise” – a slang saying that translates as “get your ass over here.”

The parents opted instead for Fraisine, an elegant name popular in the 19th century which roughly translates as “get your non-strawberry ass over here.”

“French parents can choose whatever name they want for their offspring,” a registrar said, “but we will occasionally seek to ban or change a moniker that might be deemed against the child’s interests…or if we’re bored, or someone’s just being a real prick about things.”

“I don’t think it’s very funny,” said known prick Jacques Faucheux, father of court renamed Son-Of-Flaccid-Penis Faucheux.

A family was told in 2009 that they could not name their child after the French cartoon character Titeuf.

titeuf

French cartoon character Titeuf–forget the name, I want my children to have that hairstyle.

Note: I’ve never been more glad to live in the United States; I fully plan to name my first child Magilla Gorilla, and I don’t want the courts messing around with my daughter’s name.

Magilla

The name Magilla Gorilla just oozes class.

But the French courts don’t reserve this right for just human names. A dog owner in eastern France has been forced to change the names of his dogs, Itler and Iva, because they clearly “make people think of Adolf Hitler and Eva Braun.”

The unnamed owner argued that the names, Itler and Iva, had nothing to do with Adolph Hitler and Eva Braun. He grudgingly changed his dogs’ names to Iliso and Isio 4, but admitted he probably shouldn’t have shaved the swastikas into their fur.

And finally, in France you cannot call a pig Napoleon, due to a law aimed at preserving the image of the Emperor which remains on the statute books.

For shame George Orwell. For shame.

Animal Farm

Napoleon from George Orwell’s Animal Farm. For shame George Orwell.

 Addendum:

Jacques Faucheux has petitioned the court to have his son’s name (Son-Of-Flaccid-Penis Faucheux) changed. And he was a real prick about it.

The court granted his petition, and changed his son’s name to My-Fathers-A-Prick Faucheux.

Another petition is pending.

Happy National Limerick Day

limerick

Nantucket: I hear there was once a man from there.

Today is the day we celebrate the limerick, that popular form of poetry with five lines, a predominantly anapestic meter, and a strict (AABBA) rhyme scheme.

Note: I had no idea that ABBA also did limericks! Man, they were some talented Swedes!

The limerick is a fun and whimsical form of poetry that tends to revolve around an odd man with an unusual ability who is from a small island off the coast of Massachusetts.

Within the family of poetry, the limerick is that fun uncle who tends to drink too much at family get-togethers, but whom everybody loves to be around. (Unlike his dull-witted and boring brother the Haiku–Haiku is just so full of himself.)

Note: in my family that uncle gets drunk, crashes his car into a bus full of orphans then pees on the responding police car. Everybody hates him.

Since today is also International Nurse Day and Nutty Fudge Day, I thought I’d write a limerick about Nurses and Nutty Fudge, but every attempt came out so filthy.

So instead I wrote this:

This blog attempts humor without rhyme,

and at that it fails most all of the time.

So I ran and I hid

for offend some I did,

punched in the face I was by an mime.

And now you know why this blog doesn’t do poetry.

Final note: for all those people who live in Limerick, Pennsylvania: this day is not about you.

limerick pa

Limerick, Pennsylvania: there was once man from there also, but nobody cares.

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