idiotprufs

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

Archive for the tag “idiot”

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.

 

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The True and Accurate Historical Story of Limburger Cheese

limburger cheese

The delightful aroma of feet.

There is one salient fact about Limburger cheese: it is just awful. The only time I would need Limburger cheese, would be if I needed something that smelled like death and the smell from my giant pile of opossum crap just wasn’t enough.

The bacterium used to ferment Limburger cheese is the same bacterium that is responsible for body odor, and in particular, foot odor.

Limburger cheese was first created in the Duchy of Limburg in the 19th century by a man who had just come home from a hard day of cheese making. He had unbuckled and removed his boots, and was attempting to enjoy a meal with his wife, when he and his wife got into an argument that changed the history of cheese making forever.

Wife: What is that horrendous smell?

Cheesemaker: Ooh, we’re having stoofvlees, I love stoofvlees.

Wife: It’s the most putrid smell I have ever encountered.

Cheesemaker: I don’t smell anything. Pass the ale.

Wife: I think it’s your feet.

Cheesemaker: Seriously. Pass the ale.

Wife: It’s rancorous.

Cheesemaker: It’s not that bad.

Wife: It is that bad. There are people retching on the other side of the Demer River.

Cheesemaker: Do you know what this conversation isn’t doing? It isn’t remedying the fact that I have no ale.

Wife: Your feet smell worse than that giant pile of opossum crap you have behind the house.

Cheesemaker: I’ll get my own ale.

Wife: Why do you even have a giant pile of opossum crap?

Cheesemaker: I’ll tell you why, (he pauses to take a slug of ale) because someday you’ll be in desperate need of copious amounts of opossum crap, and you’ll be glad it’s there.

Wife: I’ve thought the same thing about you, but it still hasn’t happened. Besides it’s the worst smell in the world.

Cheesemaker: Nonsense. It’s not the worst smell in the world. In fact, I’ll bet that I could make a cheese that smells worse.

Wife: I doubt it.

Cheesemaker: You’ll see; it will become my mission.

Wife: Shut up and drink your ale.

And drink his ale he did.

And succeed he did–beyond his wildest ale fueled dreams.

Of course his wife left him and his giant pile of opossum crap.

The Duchy of Limburg is now divided by modern-day Germany, the Netherlands, and Belgium. None of the three countries wanted it: it reeked of Limburger cheese and developed a huge opossum problem.

Addendum: there are historians who will tell you certain items in this story aren’t factual–historians suck.

opossum

The aroma of their crap is delightful.

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.

Dragons, Lies, and Dragonflies

dragonfly

They’re really hard to catch.

You’re at the big family picnic  when you hear a high pitched screeching coming from behind. It’s like some kind of wildly malfunctioning siren, or a giant deranged braying donkey. The noise is so shrill, so piercing, you can feel it in your chest. You wheel around expecting to find some kind of harpy or mythological beast of misery—you’re close.

“Look at my daughter.” Your Aunt Zelda screams at you as she points to a filthy and disheveled child.

“I’ve seen her before,” you tell Aunt Zelda, “but keep up the grooming regimen, it’s really paying off.”

“What I mean is: do you know how your Little Cousin Erina has come to be in this state?”

“I’m guessing the combination of bad genetics and decidedly questionable parenting.” You feel confident in your answer.

“Specifically, the condition of her face,” Aunt Zelda snaps.

“Her face? That’s all on you and her father and possibly a radon leak in your home.”

Aunt Zelda is now visibly agitated—you can tell because there is some color in her normally pasty complexion.

“The gunk around her mouth; I want you to tell me what that is,” she demands.

“The final reason the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania needs to begin proceedings toward the termination of parental rights?”

“You’re full of little jokes today aren’t you?”

“I’d like to think I carry my wit with me everyday,” you tell her.

“It’s dragonflies!” Aunt Zelda screams at you.

“You shouldn’t allow your child eat dragonflies,” you advise Aunt Zelda, “you’re giving the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania ammunition they don’t even need.”

“She ate the dragonflies because you told her to,” Aunt Zelda snaps at you, her face achieving a level of color previously thought not possible.

“I never told anyone to eat dragonflies,” you defend yourself.

“You told the children if they eat enough dragonflies they would turn into a dragons.”

“That was more of a cautionary tale than actual instructions.”

“Well she believed you and now she’s eaten five dragonflies.”

“She’s eaten five dragonflies?” you exclaim, genuinely impressed, “dragonflies are hard to catch.”

“In the future I would appreciate it if you would refrain from telling my daughter lies.”

“You don’t know it’s not true,” you defend yourself.

Your Cousin Bucky notices Little Cousin Erikka’s face as he’s passing by. “There’s chocolate all over your kid’s face, Aunt Zelda.”

“That’s not chocolate,” Aunt Zelda screams at Cousin Bucky, ” it’s dragonflies.”

Cousin Bucky stops in his tracks as he absorbs the information. “Are you sure it’s wise to let your child eat dragonflies, especially with the whole family court thing coming up?”

“I didn’t let her eat dragonflies, you moron.”

“Still, you should probably monitor her insect consumption,” Cousin Bucky says, “because the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania already has more than enough ammunition.”

“Really? Do they have enough ammunition? Do they really?” Aunt Zelda snaps at Cousin Bucky.

“Do you not know…because they have a lot of ammunition,” Cousin Bucky assures Aunt Zelda

“Daughter Erina ate the dragonflies because this moron told her she’d turn into a dragon if she ate enough dragonflies,” Aunt Zelda pokes a crooked finger at you.

“I don’t think you have anything to worry about,” Cousin Bucky tells Aunt Zelda.

“I have nothing to worry about?” Aunt Zelda questions.

“I doubt it’s the case eating dragonflies will actually turn her into a dragon,” Cousin Bucky says matter-of-factly.

“You don’t know it’s not true,” you admonish Cousin Bucky. “You’re not an expert on dragons or dragonflies?”

“I suppose I’m not,” Cousin Bucky agrees.

“Obviously eating dragonflies doesn’t turn you into a dragon,” Aunt Zelda says, “she ate five of them and she’s not a dragon.”

“She ate five?” Cousin Bucky says with surprise. “They’re really hard to catch.”

“They are hard to catch,” you agree. “But clearly, five dragonflies is not enough to trigger the Dragon transformation.”

“Should I eat more?” Little Cousin Erina asks.

“I guess that depends on how badly you want to be a dragon,” you advise.

“Yay, more dragonflies,” Little Cousin Erina cheers.

“You’re not eating anymore dragonflies,” Aunt Zelda scolds.

“I think you’re missing the key point in this entire situation,” you tell Aunt Zelda.

“And what would that be?”

“The fact that your daughter desperately wants to be a dragon.”

“I wouldn’t bring that up to the people from social services,” Cousin Bucky advises Aunt Zelda.

“Why do you want to be a dragon?” You ask Little Cousin Erina.

“Because dragons can breathe fire and burn alive any person they don’t like,” Little Cousin Erina tells you with glee.

“That was a bit chilling,” you say.

“I definitely would not bring that up to the people from social services,” Cousin Bucky tells Aunt Zelda.

“Really, Nephew Bucky,” Aunt Zelda snaps. “Are those your words of wisdom for me?”

“Do you really not know…because that sounded horrible.”

“Look, a dragonfly,” Little Cousin Erina squeals with delight as she runs off in the direction of the dragonfly.

Aunt Zelda stares in silent rage at you and Cousin Bucky before she turns to pursue her daughter.

“Look at that,” Cousin Bucky says in amazement, “she’s caught another one.”

“And now she’s eating it,” you reply.

“It’ll be good having a dragon in the family,” Cousin Bucky says.

You just nod in agreement.

dragon

Little Cousin Erina–post transformation.

Denouement–it’s Fun to Say

poe

Edgar Allan Poe: novelist, short story writer, and poet…something is missing.

In a previous post I stressed the importance of reading.

But it’s not just that you read; what you read is of equal importance.

The novel: Novels are essentially piles and piles of words endlessly strung together. Novelists are concerned with things like setting, theme, plot resolution, and character growth. Do friends become enemies? Do enemies become friends? Are obstacles overcome?

Important questions need to be answered in novels.

  • Does Captain Ahab’s obsession with the white whale drag him under?
  • Does Edmund Dantes’ quest for revenge ruin his chance for happiness?
  • Does Jay Gatsby reunite with his long-lost love?
  • Does Sydney Carton seek redemption by going to the gallows for another?
  • Does Lucy ever let Charlie Brown kick the football?

Seriously, novels are just exhausting–I would avoid them.

Note: The word denouement is fun to say–it’s all Frenchy.

hallucination

Reading novels makes young children have disturbing hallucinations…it’s a fact.

The short story: Short stories are just novels for people with short attention spans. They are primarily written by lazy novelists who probably had a little too much to drink the night before, and couldn’t be bothered to write a proper novel.

Don’t waste your time with short stories.

Poetry: The key element of poetry you need to recognize is that if can even remotely understand it, it’s not proper poetry. When a poet writes a poem about a leaf being blown from a tree, falling to the ground, and being trampled underfoot. He’s not actually writing about a leaf being blown from a tree, falling to the ground, and being trampled underfoot.

The leaf represents hopelessness, and the futility of a life marred by series of tragic events. The leaf being blown from the tree represents a life spiraling into an alcohol fueled abyss of despair. The leaf being trampled underfoot represents the crushing weight of an uncaring world and inevitable grip of death.

It’s all so confusing and depressing. I once spent the better part of an afternoon curled up in the fetal position, sobbing uncontrollably after reading a collection Sylvia Plath poems. (Sylvia Plath was one depressing chick.)

For the sake of your mental health stay away from poetry.

Note: This does not apply to limericks. Limericks are short humorous poems with a strict meter and rhyme scheme. They tend to revolve around an odd man from a small island off the coast of Massachusetts.

Nantucket

Nantucket: evidently there was once a man from there.

The humor blog: Humor blogs are unsurpassed in pure entertainment value. They are practically happiness in written form.

Many humor bloggers are attractive people; the rest are stunningly attractive people. Humor bloggers are the best sort of people; the sort of people you want to praise continuously and occasionally bask in their reflected glow.

They have breath that is perpetually minty fresh, and they seldom sweat.

Humor blogs are read by highly intelligent people. They are read by people who are witty and charming. They are wholly unlike those dullards who read books of poetry.

Humor blogs enrich your life, and they give meaning to your otherwise drab existence.

Whenever a humor blog is read, somewhere a small child laughs.

Humor blogs are to be read, read again, memorized, and repeated aloud in public.

You have your mission–so get to it.

laughing kid

Congratulations, you just made a small child laugh.

 

Home is Where the Heart is…and a Bit of Predator

Westfield ny

Home is where the heart is…in fact, that’s where I keep most of my shit.  –Pliny the Elder (slightly paraphrased)

This post is about my hometown, and five reasons why it is awesome. (This post is not about modesty.)

Reason #1: the best chicken wings on the planet

Western New York is really good at two things: lake effect snow and chicken wings. Lake effect snow sucks, but chicken wings are great. And the best chicken wings on the planet can be found in Westfield, NY at Larry’s Cantina.

How do I know the chicken wings at Larry’s Cantina are the best on the planet? Because I am a chicken wing expert. (Did I mention this post is not about modesty?)

Note: I can’t vouch for the chicken wings on other planets; I’m sure the chicken wings on that planet Predator is from are badass.

Predator

“Our chicken wings are badass.”

Reason #2: Mad Dog 20/20

mad dog

That’s right, Mad Dog 20/20 is produced in my hometown by Mogen David. Mad Dog 20/20 is classified as a flavored fortified wine. Flavored fortified wines are sometimes referred to as “bum wines” by cynics. Cynics can bite me. (This post is not about tact.)

The Urban Dictionary claims it’s the drink high school kids sneak off to the rock quarry to drink. That’s ridiculous…it was a gorge.

Mad Dog 20/20 has numerous virtues:

  • It’s practically a cure for not having liver disease.
  • It relieves you of that pesky problem of having too many brain cells.
  • It would survive a nuclear holocaust.
  • It comes in several delicious artificial flavors and colors that glow in the dark.
  • If you’ve ever wondered what the sweetest thing in the world is: there’s your answer.
  • Predator loves it.
Predator

“Mad Dog 20/20 is badass.”

Reason #3: Grace Bedell

Bedell

Grace Bedell statue in Westfield, NY.

On October 15, 1860, a few weeks before Lincoln was elected President of the United States, Grace Bedell sent him a letter from Westfield, New York, urging him to grow a beard to improve his appearance. Lincoln responded in a letter on October 19, 1860, making no promises. However, within a month, he grew a full beard.

His inaugural trip from Illinios to Washington D.C. took him through Westfield, NY where he stopped to meet Grace.

Grace later recounted the events:

“He climbed down and sat down with me on the edge of the station platform,” she recalled. “‘Gracie,’ he said, ‘look at my whiskers. I have been growing them for you.’ Then he kissed me. I never saw him again.”

I know what you’re thinking: that’s a sweet story, but it would have been more impressive if she had written something like:

Dear Mr. Lincoln, if you should become president, this slavery thing really has to go.

P.S.  Avoid the theater.

Hey, it’s our thing–leave it alone!

Predator

“Grace Bedell is badass.”

Reason #4: my aunts and uncles

If modern cinema and television have taught us anything through mega-hits such as Harry Potter, Twilight, and The Walking Dead, it’s that witches, vampires, werewolves, and various incarnations of the undead, are quite popular in current culture.

The town of Westfield, NY is polluted with my aunts and uncles.

Note: you get what I’m implying.

Reason #5: simply put: it’s my hometown and that makes it awesome (this post is not about modesty or tact)

This blog is read by thousands of intelligent and influential people (a few of which aren’t imaginary).

And since this is my blog: I make the rules. And according to those rules, that makes my hometown awesome.

Note: I’ve heard this blog is wildly successful on Predator’s planet.

Predator

“idiotprufs is badass.”

Addendum

Westfield, NY is also awesome because there are absolutely no mimes there.

There was one once, but we took care of that.

Westfield, NY

Westfield, NY: notice the dearth of mimes.

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

Donner Party Disappointment

donner party

They seem like a fun bunch.

Absolutely the worst party I’ve been to in my life.

It was in a horrible location: a difficult to navigate snow-covered mountain pass more suited for ox-drawn wagons than a proper a vehicle. Seriously, rent a hall.

The only music they had was some old guy with a fiddle who couldn’t play it properly because he’d lost several fingers to frostbite.

Everyone was just dour. There was a lot of wailing and weeping–it was a real mood killer.

They ran out of hor d’oeuvres almost immediately; the food was the biggest disappointment.

It was a terribly planned party–I left early.

Don’t get me wrong, I prefer it to a family get-together at my aunt’s house, but I’d rather be stripped naked, chained to the back of a jeep, and dragged through a field of broken glass, than go to a family get-together at my aunt’s house.

I just hope things picked up after I left.

Addendum:

The Donner Party is sometimes referred to by historians as the Donner-Reed Party.

But I’m certain Donner-Reed would throw a fantastic party.

donna reed

“I throw fantastic parties.”

Barrel Shopping for Niagara Falls

barrel for going over falls

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

In a recent post I discussed my plans to go over Niagara Falls in a barrel.

Now that I’ve made the decision to go over Niagara Falls in a barrel there are few slight logistical wrinkles that need to be ironed out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

More updates to come.

liquuor barrel

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

Addendum:

It’s been recently suggested by some of my Aunt’s that I should die horribly, preferably by my own hand, so this could work out well for them.

School District Adds Even More Bats

Millcreek bat

Millcreek, Pennsylvania–The Millcreek School District made national news last week when it armed its 500 teachers with 16 inch novelty baseball bats as a defense against school shooters.

“It was largely meant to be symbolic,” Millcreek School District Superintendent William Hall said, “of course you’re going to die in a hail of bullets if you try to stop an armed gunman with a toy bat…but symbolism is important in any life or death situation.”

But now the Millcreek School District has upped the ante: they have replaced the 16 inch black novelty bats with giant black Transylvanian vampire bats.

big black bat

“I don’t know if it will keep potential gunmen out the school,” one teacher said, “but I’m not going back in there.”

“It’s the perfect solution,” Superintendent Hall said, “People are afraid of bats and people are afraid of vampires–I’m just stunned no one has thought of it before…I’m thinking about putting a bat on every school bus.”

Several students have been bitten and have described the simple act of attending school as terrifying.

“Welcome to Erie County,” Superintendent Hall said in response.

When asked if he would be arming his own office with a vampire bat the Superintendent replied, “are you crazy–those things are #!@$ing freaky.”

Addendum: in a note of clarification, Superintendent Hall informed us when he said people were afraid of vampires, he wasn’t referring to those sissy Twilight vampires that wax their chests and use too much hair product; he was referring to a proper Bela Lugosi vampire.

dracula

“You sissy Twilight vampires are really hurting our image.”

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