idiotpruf

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

Archive for the tag “idiocy”

Mayoral Edicts of Mortal Consequence

idiotprufs, death is forbidden

If it’s on a sign, you must obey it.

It’s been a while since I first reported, Guilio Cesare Fava, the mayor of a Falciano Del Massico ordered the residents of the small town in southern Italy not to die. He stated that there was no room in the cemetery, therefore all residents were ordered by official edict, to refrain from entering the afterlife until the proper permits could be obtained and provisions made for a new resting place.

He also reportedly said, “death is depressing and icky and we’ll have none of it around here.”

With the combination of red tape, the propensity for governmental committees to move forward with the pace of an Icelandic glacier and the confusion manifested by the fact that nearly every member of Falciano Del Massico’s town council is named Luigi, the situation has shown little improvement. Compounded with the fact that some of the residents of Falciano Del Massico have taken it upon themselves to violate the mayors edict, things have grown even more dire.

“It’s just so frustrating,” Guilio said. “Just the other day I was standing in line at the market and the guy in front of me just dropped dead…the gall of it.”

Violators of the mayors edict have been placed into wooden boxes and buried in the ground. The punishment seems harsh, but law and order must be maintained.

 

idiotprufs, grim reaper

“Edict? I have a job to do.”

Putting One Thing on Top of Another Thing

blocks,

An example of my capabilities.

“Do you understand?” He was gaping at me the way someone would who had just tried to explain calculus to an ape. And not one of those clever apes that knows sign language but one of those apes on the nature channel that eats its own poop.

“Seriously?” I responded.

“Yeah,” he spat the word at me in the most condescending arrogant voice he could conjure. “Did you understand what I just explained to you?”

Note: in fairness to him, the most condescending arrogant voice he could conjure was just his voice–the fact that he resembled a rat didn’t help.

Allow me to go back to the beginning and explain: I am referring to an experience I had as a temporary worker. When you’re a temporary worker, there are certain things about you that are presumed:

  • You possess the education of a 12th-century manure mucker, your biggest aspiration is to one day be allowed to use a shovel.
  • You need everything explained to you at least a dozen times.
  • You need everything explained in a tone that one would use when explaining to a small child why he shouldn’t eat all the finger paint and vomit into the fish tank.
  • You need everything explained to you in monosyllabic language. (Ironically, the word monosyllabic is exactly the type of word that should never be used when explaining something to a temporary worker.)
  • You need everything explained to you with accompanying diagrams. These diagrams should be drawn in crayon if possible.
  • All diagrams should be drawn in non-threatening colors such as forest green or navy blue. Bright colors confuse and disorient temporary workers (fuchsia makes us crazy).

I was interrupted from my duties by Rat-Faced Guy, (not his actual name) who informed me that he needed my assistance.

He dragged me over to a line where juice was being packaged in small cans. As cases of these cans progressed down the line, a machine would lift every other case and then fling the cans into the air, spilling them across the floor. Evidently, that’s not how the machine was designed to operate.

Rat-Faced Guy (probably not his name) explained to me that the malfunctioning machine would be shut down, and I would step in to take its place. As the cases came down the line in pairs, it would be my job to pick up the first case of juice and place it on top of the second case of juice. Then I would have to do that again and again until the machine was operating properly again.

It was at that point that Rat-Faced Guy (potentially his actual name, when I said Rat-Faced Guy, people seem to know to whom I was referring) asked me if I understood.

“So, you’re asking me if I understand putting one thing on top of another thing?” I asked him.

“Yeah.” He looked at me with his beady eyes, his wispy mustache twitching nervously.

“What if, instead of putting the first case on top of the second, I put the second case under the first case?” I proposed.

Rat-Faced Guy (probably his actual name) looked at me incredulously. “Why would you do that?”

“I’m a visionary,” I told him. “I’m like Henry Ford, Steve Jobs, or Thomas Crapper.”

“Just do it the way I told you,” squeaked Rat-Faced Guy (almost certainly his actual name).

For the next two hours, I stood in one spot, and successfully put one thing on top of another thing.

Perhaps now they will trust me with something challenging such as putting one thing next to another thing.

The sky’s the limit–except for stacking things: two is the limit for stacking things.

idiotprufs, rat cartoon

Rat-faced guy having lunch.

Angry Response from Eduardo a Bolivian Pudding Maker

Dear Mr. Idiotprufs,

I wish to register a complaint in the strongest terms possible.

In your recent blog post: What was That Crunchy Thing in My Pudding? you blatantly mischaracterized the nature of the pudding manufacturing industry in Bolivia. We have many fine pudding factories here in Bolivia, only some of which have Egyptian dung beetle infestations.

Let’s be honest, dung beetles remove the dung from the factories–how is that a bad thing?

In your post, you also described workers in a Bolivian pudding factory as “laughing hysterically” at the prospect of rat feces falling into a vat of pudding. I have worked in a Bolivian pudding factory for years and I have seen rat feces fall into vats of pudding literally thousands of times, not one time have I “laughed hysterically.”

And don’t attempt to point out the E. coli clusters that have been cropping up; they are statistical anomalies and nothing more.

I hope that you will take this letter to heart; I would hate to be forced to hunt you down like the American dog you are.

Best regards,

Eduardo, a Bolivian pudding maker.

PS: Seriously. Stop it or I’ll kill you.

scary

Stop it, or we’ll put something really nasty in your pudding.

What was that Crunchy Thing in My Pudding?

I think I just ate something that broods.

I think I just ate something that broods.

You’re enjoying a delicious cup of pudding; savoring it’s smooth, creamy, crunchy goodness.

Wait a minute–crunchy?

Crunchy is not an adjective that’s generally associated with pudding. What did you just bite into? What did you just swallow? You feel a subtle unease in the pit of your stomach. Your mind begins to race, pondering the crunch causing possibilities.

Was it a clump of dirt? That would be bad, but it could be worse; it could be much worse.

The pain in your stomach grows a little.

That crunch had an exoskeleton feel to it. You may have just eaten an insect. What kind of insect could it have been? Your mind immediately leaps to most disgusting insect possible: the Egyptian dung beetle. Beetles that use rolled balls of dung for food or brooding; it definitely had the feel of something that broods.

The sick feeling in your stomach intensifies.

Stop it. Dung beetles are far too large to fit in your cup of pudding; it’s almost certainly a smaller insect.

You think it could have been a bedbug, but it was too large to be a bedbug. Unless it was a cluster of bedbugs, or worse: an abnormally large mutant bedbug…that probably just fed on someone with hepatitis.

You begin to feel a little dizzy

Then it hits you, the worst case scenario: what if it was a piece of rat feces? What’s the acceptable amount of rat feces in pudding? You hope it’s not measured in chunks. What if the rat had Bubonic Plague? You may have just become ground zero for an outbreak of the Black Death.

Done in by Bill Cosby and his cursed spokesperson affability.

And you thought Bill Cosby couldn’t get creepier.

You vomit.

As you try to catch your breath, you notice absolutely nothing offensive in your vomit.

You inspect it very carefully (which in itself is a little weird) and still you find nothing. It was probably just your imagination.

You feel silly, regulations involving food production are far to strict for it to have been anything else.

Meanwhile, in a pudding factory on the edge of small village in a remote part of Bolivia:

First worker: Hey, I think something just fell into the vat of pudding.

Second worker: What was it?

First worker: It looked like something with an exoskeleton, something that broods, possibly an Egyptian dung beetle.

Second worker: Why would there be an Egyptian dung beetle here in Bolivia?

First worker: I don’t know. Why are we speaking English in Bolivia?

Second worker: Stop asking stupid questions and stir the pudding.

First worker: Maybe it was a chunk of rat feces. I wonder what the acceptable amount of rat feces in pudding is.

Second worker: Is there an unacceptable amount of rat feces in pudding?

They both laugh hysterically.

Where do you want to take this ball of dung and brood? How about the nearest Bolivian pudding factory? Perfect.

“Where do you want to brood?”
“How about the nearest Bolivian pudding factory?”
“Perfect.”

Smoke Alarms, Bird Crap, and a Nobel Prize

smoke alarmWhich situation makes you feel worse: inadvertently setting off another person’s smoke alarm, or being crapped on by a bird?

I know you’re thinking those things seem random, but if you’re reading this blog, thinking probably isn’t something you’re suited for.

As a small child I decided it would be the height of scientific experimentation to melt Play-Doh in a frying pan–I was mistaken. Both my mother and the smoke alarm informed of this.

My ticket to scientific discovery.

That was the first time I accidentally set off a smoke alarm.

The second time I was using someone’s vacuum cleaner when it inexplicably exploded and caught on fire. It seemed to me to be an act of God–she said it the act of an idiot. The smoke alarm was the second loudest thing I heard that day.

Note: Seriously, if a vacuum cleaner isn’t capable of picking up paperclips, it should be clearly labeled so. And since when has carpeting been so flammable.

The third time I accidentally set off a smoke alarm, I was starting a fire in a fireplace. I was told the flue was open–it was not.

The amount of times I set off someone’s smoke alarm: three.

When I was about ten years old, I was playing tag with some of my cousins in my grandfather’s hay loft. I felt a slap on my back, but when I turned around there was nobody behind me. I thought this was weird until someone pointed out to me-in between fits of hysterical laughter-that there was a giant load of bird crap on my back of my jacket.

That was the first time a bird crapped on me.

The second time a bird crapped on me, I was playing baseball and the bird crap landed in my baseball glove. I was always an intuitive fielder.

The third time a bird crapped on me, I was walking down the street, and it landed on my shoulder.

The fourth time a bird crapped on me, I was walking down a street called Sesame, when a giant yellow bird came flying at me squawking in crazy high pitched voice and crapping–it was horrible.

Note: that didn’t really happen–I made it up.

big bird

He has crazy eyes.

The fourth time a bird crapped on me it landed on my baseball cap. I don’t remember where I was; I just remember it hanging from the bill of my cap.

The amount of times a bird has crapped on me: four.

By a ratio of 4:3 I’ve been crapped on by a bird more times than I’ve accidentally set off a smoke alarm.

My hypothesis: if you’ve been crapped on by a bird more times than you’ve accidentally set off someone’s smoke alarm: you’re unlucky. If you’ve accidentally set off someone’s smoke alarm more times than you’ve been crapped on by a bird: you’re klutzy.

Therefore: I am unlucky and not klutzy.

Don’t laugh–it’s science.

Do the math for yourself; you’ll see that I’m right.

Now I just have to sit back and wait to hear from the Nobel committee.

nobel prize

It won’t be long now.

To Be or Not to Be–Bitten by a Horse

horse bite sign

Something occurred to me the other day: I’ve never been bitten by a horse.

Although I had never contemplated the ramifications of being bitten by a horse, or the ramifications of not being bitten by a horse, my life suddenly seemed vacant and purposeless.

Is it possible I’m missing out on something due to my lack of an equine chomping experience?

I sought out information from a blog post about raising horses and it seemed to indicate that you really don’t want to be bitten by a horse.

Note: If you ever need information or entertainment of any type, always go to a blog first; blogs are written by highly intelligent individuals with perpetually minty fresh breath.

I found the following phrase:

But, what starts as cute and innocent nibbling on a sleeve can evolve quickly into ripped clothing, crunched fingers, bruises and teeth marks. So if you have a young horse, don’t allow it to explore you with its mouth.

Interesting advice.

Note: I was considering making a joke here about a girl I once dated, but I just recently got the last lawsuit cleared up.

I may be overthinking this entire horse biting thing, and overthinking things is not an activity to which I am prone.

I was bitten by a dog once and I have to admit: it wasn’t as enjoyable as you might think. I would even go as far as saying it was unpleasant.

I was almost bitten by a goat once. The goat didn’t actually come near me, but he a look of no-good in his eyes. It was unsettling.

I’m beginning to think I should put off any attempt to be bitten by a horse.

If through the course of a normal day’s activities I should happen to be bitten by horse, then fine, but for now, I won’t go looking for it.

I will keep you updated.

Mr. Ed horse

Mr. Ed: his comments are biting.

Don’t Cry Over Spilled Mercury Vapor

cfl lightbulb cleanup hindenburg

It’s just a light bulb…right?

I broke a light bulb the other day.

It’s not a big deal, right? You just grab a broom and sweep it up.

But this was a compact flourescent light bulb, so I went to epa.gov for instructions regarding proper disposal.

This is what I found:

STEP ONE

  • Abandon your home like it is Chernobyl.
  • Run screaming into the night.
  • Never look back.

STEP TWO

If step one is not feasible, acquire the following items for cleanup.

  • A stiff piece of cardboard (that you will later burn).
  • Sticky tape (that you will later burn).
  • A broom (that you will later hack to bits with a machete and burn).
  • A machete.
  • A glass jar with a metal lid.
  • A metal jar with a glass lid.
  • Five metric tons of concrete.
  • 15 silver-plated shovels.
  • A Sham-wow. (You won’t be using the Sham-wow for cleanup, they’re just really handy to have around.)
  • A helper monkey named Jeff, who is immune to gamma rays.
  • Gamma rays.
  • A number of friends who are willing to help you, regardless of the fact their hair will fall out and boils will cover their bodies.
  • Rogaine and boil medication.
  • A ham and cheese sandwich. (This is going to take some time; you will get hungry.)

STEP THREE

After step two fails:

  • Burn your house to the ground.
  • Attend the funerals of the friends who didn’t make it.
  • Give moving eulogies.
  • Make new friends (seriously, your current group of friends are just hideous looking) you’ve still got work to do.

STEP FOUR

Disposing of the ashes of your home:

  • Collect the ashes of your home and bury them in a thirty foot hole.
  • Dig them up and burn them again.
  • Bury them in fifty foot hole.
  • Cover the hole with concrete.
  • Surround the concrete with an electrified fence.
  • Put a sign on the fence that reads: Beware Bigfoot.
  • Remove the sign after the site becomes a gathering place for people who believe they’ve found irrefutable evidence of Bigfoot.
  • Put a sign on the fence that reads: Beware Yeti.
  • Learn from your mistakes.
  • Dig a moat.
  • Fill the moat with acid.
  • Move on with your life.

STEP FIVE

Moving on with your life:

  • Purchase a new house.
  • Move in and make it a home.
  • Drop another compact flouresant light bulb.
  • Scream in anguish.

STEP SIX

  • Abandon Earth.
  • Colonize Mars.
  • Don’t take any compact flourescent light bulbs.

Note: This is from the “quick instructions” portion of the website. The “detailed instructions” portion was just ridiculous.

muppet running

“Run Away!”

One Mystery Solved

stonehenge

Was Stonehenge used by ancient astronomers to track the movements of the sun and the moon? Was Stonehenge a calendar used to mark the changing of the seasons? Was it used specifically as a tribal burial ground? Was it built for religious purposes? Was it left behind by aliens?

Don’t be ridiculous–the druids got it from Ikea and they just couldn’t figure out how to put it together.

The druids were notorious for their inability to follow instructions. Why do you think they followed the flight of birds; they were absolute garbage at using maps.

Fred and Myrtle Glengoogly were following a friend’s instructions to a solstice celebration, they took a wrong turn and wound up in Holland.

Stonehenge looked fantastic in the showroom.

“How hard could it be to put together?” Fred asked Myrtle.

“How hard was it to follow a map to the solstice celebration?” Myrtle retorted.

“We took one wrong turn,” Fred responded.

“Yes, we did. We took one wrong turn across the English Channel…you never want to follow the flight of birds like the other druids.”

“I don’t need to follow a bunch of stupid birds,” Fred said angrily. “Besides, do you want to live in an earthen hovel your entire life? It’s damp and there are spiders.”

“You’ll never get that thing together,” Myrtle told him.

Fred purchased it anyway.

Fred and Myrtle were soon separated following several bitter arguments revolving around the 437 different types of screws that came with Stonehenge and one particularly unfortunate remark about the placement of a stud mount.

Myrtle and the earthen hovel are long gone, but Stonehenge remains as a reminder to us all not to buy crap from Ikea.

ikea

How hard could this be?

flintstone house

How Stonehenge was supposed to look.

You Put What in Your Mouth Now?

That is just horrifying.

What the…?

In a previous post, I mentioned that Ken Edwards of Glossup, Derbyshire, England, set a world record by eating 36 cockroaches in less than a minute.

You think that’s revolting? Sean Murphy of Lansing, Michigan, set a world record by holding 16 Madagascar hissing cockroaches in his mouth at one time.

This is just one Madagascar hissing cockroach.

I don’t even want to be in the same room with one of these.

Just a few weird world records that caught my eye:

Kim Goodman of the U.S. set a world record by popping her eyes out 12 mm, in a competition in Turkey.

Holy crap! She looks like a Batman villian: Bug-eyed.

Holy crap! She looks like a Batman villain: Bug-eyed.

Ilker Yilmaz of Istanbul, Turkey, set a world record by squirting milk from his eye, a distance of 9 feet and 2 inches.

What do think Kim was looking at when her eyes went all buggy?

What do think Kim was looking at when her eyes went all buggy?

Mehmet Ozyurek of Turkey, has the worlds longest nose, measuring 8.8cm from bridge to tip.

what is going on with the weirdness in Turkey.

You think your eyes are big? Take a look at this.

You think your eyes are big, Kim? Take a look at this thing.

In August of 1976, Tom Miller of the United States, spent 4 days, 23 hours, 47 minutes, and 3 seconds, pushing a peanut to the summit of Pike’s Peak, with his nose.

This seems like a job more suited for Mehmet Ozyurek.

This seems like a job more suited for Mehmet Ozyurek.

Kevin Cole of Carlsbad, New Mexico, set a world record by blowing spaghetti out of his nose a distance of 19cm.

His parents were in the audience sobbing with pride. Well...they were sobbing anyway.

His parents were in the audience sobbing with pride. Well…they were sobbing anyway.

169 is the record for the most people to get inside one pair of underwear.

I know what you were thinking: this is just a cheap set-up for an off-color joke about some celebrity–shame on you.

Don't you want to be a Pepper too?

Don’t you want to be a Pepper too?

The world’s horniest animal.

Shame on you again.

Luther, an Africa watusi steer owned by Janice Wolf of Gassville, Arkansas. Also holds the record for most damage done in a china shop.

Luther, an Africa watusi steer owned by Janice Wolf of Gassville, Arkansas. He also holds the record for the most damage done in a china shop.

And finally: the title of the author of the world’s most irritatingly pointless blog goes to…

drooling smiley

Yeah–that’s me.

Philadelphia: This is Why You Can’t Have Nice Things

A few weeks ago I implored the fans of the Philadelphia Eagles to stop celebrating Eagles’ victories by punching police horses.

Good news: The Eagles won the Super Bowl and nobody punched a police horse!

However, one exuberant Eagles fan celebrated by eating horse excrement.

Stop and let that sink in for a moment.

eagles fan eats shit

Randall Cunningham must be so proud his jersey is being worn by such a stalwart of humanity.

I apologize heartily for the next photograph.

eating horse crap

Look how happy everyone is.

This made me consider the manner in which I might celebrate a joyous occasion. So I made a list; eating horse excrement off the ground ranked 11,987,344th out of 11,987,345.

Using a nail gun to attach my testicles to a telephone pole was the only thing that ranked below it.

Hey Philadelphia: this is why you can’t have nice things.

 

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