idiotpruf

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

Archive for the tag “idiot”

The Prodigiously Powerful Potentate of Pennsylvania

flagElection day has come and gone and my ballot initiative to become King of Pennsylvania has failed miserably. If I am to be honest, it probably had little chance of passing.

Exit polling revealed some the reasons for the initiative’s poor showing. Respondents said the following:

  • Who?
  • Is that the idiot who’s digging the moat around his house?
  • Seriously, who?
  • I think I pepper-sprayed that guy once.
  • I thought that was a joke–I voted yes. What the hell have I done.
  • Man these genital warts really itch…sorry, what was your question again? Are you sure you don’t want your pencil back?
  • Of course I voted yes; I think it’s a brilliant idea. Besides, the voices in my head told me to vote yes. The voices usually just tell me to kill.

Upon receiving only .0001 percent of the vote, (myself and couple of drunk guys) I’ve decided to change my tactics: I will take the state by force.

Once I have seized control of the state I will implement the following changes:

  • I shall be referred to as: The Prodigiously Powerful Potentate of Pennsylvania.
  • Anyone who doesn’t refer to me as The Prodigiously Powerful Potentate of Pennsylvania, will be incarcerated in Erie Penitentiary.
  • The city of Erie will transformed into a maximum security penitentiary that will hold the most vile of criminals: murderers, violent felons, cannibals, mimes, thieves, and people who drive slowly in the passing lane. (Seriously, can’t you see that you’re screwing up traffic?)
  • I will make Bigfoot the official bird of Pennsylvania. (Of course it makes no sense!)
  • I will open a tattoo parlor and I will tattoo people with dreadful incompetence and when they complain, I’ll just say, “I’m not really a tattoo artist am I?”
  • I’ll put wifi in every building in the state, but only I will know the password.
  • Every hour of the day will be happy hour.
  • Every first born child will be named Finster–boy or girl.
  • My daughter, Finster, shall be referred to as The Prodigiously Powerful Princess of Pennsylvania. (Her close friends will call her Sally.)
  • I shall deal with any person who says “lol” out loud in lieu of actual laughter, with an iron fist.
  • I will have an iron fist constructed.
  • I will seize control of the Amish Mafia. (And they won’t be able to stop me–I’ll have an iron fist.)
  • Every road leading into Intercourse, Pennsylvania will be renamed Foreplay Avenue.
  • Every road leading from Intercourse, Pennsylvania will be renamed Faked Orgasm Avenue.
  • And most crucially: Ground Hog Day will be replaced with Red Panda Day. (Red Pandas aren’t afraid of their shadows, they pee on them.)

If all goes well, I may annex West Virginia.

cardinal

West Virginia’s state bird…for now.

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 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 the shape of a dragon.

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

Researchers have determined that this is caused by a 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, and you’re flying around a wastebasket containing a discarded apple core when the realization strikes: 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 is more accurate, and it costs $939,000 less.

$592,000 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 a 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 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 I made 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. But if I wanted a skinny wife, I would have married your sister.

This study also showed that marriages were utterly 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? That makes 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 the last item on the previous list 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 tribesmen would be more conscientious of genital hygiene if they didn’t have these damned origami condoms they have to fold into the shape of a chrysanthemum.

 $181,000 to study how cocaine use ‘enhanced’ the sex drive of the Japanese quail.

Why? Just Why?

It’s always been my understanding that Japanese quail are a randy bunch, to begin with; they don’t really need a nudge to have a go at it.

I think it’s a scam. I think somewhere in a seedy bar, there’s a sweaty researcher with dilated pupils and a runny nose, chatting up women, saying things like:

  • Hey baby, want to come back to my lab and check out my Japanese quail.
  • I’ve got cocaine; you wouldn’t believe what those idiots at the NIH will believe.
  • I don’t need a grant to research you.
  • I can fold a condom into the shape of a Japanese quail.

My only hope is that they put those cocaine-addled researchers in the same rehab center as the drunken, poop-flinging monkeys.

Addendum:

Who am I kidding? Mimes suck–no amount of money can change that.

origami swan

I could do that with a condom.

A Simple Solution

bad neighbors

The neighbors from across the street.

Do you have neighborhood kids whose typical daily behavior allows you to describe them, without fear of gratuity or contradiction, as vicious rampaging beasts?

Do you have neighborhood kids who trample your rose bushes?

Do you have neighborhood kids who kick over your garden gnomes and pee on them?

Of course you do.

Do you also have slack-jawed dull-witted neighbors who sit on their front porch all day and intently watch everything you do as they suck down bottles of Mad Dog 20/20 and smoke hand rolled cigarettes?

Do these neighbors frequently come over to your house to complains about things?

Do they complain that the squirrels living in the pine tree in your backyard make too much noise with their incessant chittering?

Do they complain that these squirrels keep dropping pine cones into their yard in a defiant and cocky manner?

Do they also claim the squirrels are stealing their mail and even responding to some of it?

Do you have neighbors who have done an enormous amount of hallucinogenic drugs in their life?

Of course you do.

Are you sick of buying raffle tickets every time someone in town wants to send their kid to cheerleader camp?

How many camps does it take to learn to be cheery?!

I have a simple solution to your problem: a moat!

For only $99.99 you can receive a complete do it yourself moat installation kit.

The kit includes:

  • A shovel.
  • A garden hose.
  • A piranha starter kit. (One male and one female…hopefully, it’s hard to tell.)
  • Detailed instructions on how to properly use a shovel and a hose without inadvertently trapping yourself in a mud filled hole…it happens to people!

And when you’re not using the shovel to dig the moat, it can be effectively used to whomp undesirable visitors over the head. (You’ll probably have to deal with some mealy-mouthed guy from the borough, droning on and on about what residential properties are or aren’t zoned for.)

So order now and you too can know the security of your own moat!

Drawbridge not included.

shovel

Handy tool/effective head whomper.

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 you 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!

Lady Bigfoot Responds to Allegation of Floppy Breasts

bigfoot boobs idiotprufs

Lady Bigfoot: upset about the allegation of floppy breasts.

In a recent post, Bursting With Pride in the Great Commonwealth of Pennsylvania, I shared a few tips from the Facebook page of a group devoted to Bigfoot hunting. The page’s creator, John Reed, related the following tips if you should happen to find yourself face to face with a Sasquatch:

“bigfoot tip #1 when being chased by a sasquatch run up hill if its a male .. they have an extended forehead so they have to stop offten to look up.” He adds, “if its a female run down hill they have no bras so they got big ole lady boobs and when running downhill they flop about and they have to stop to plop them over their shoulders…..”

So the first time I read this, I had a number of thoughts:

  1. Yikes.
  2. Doesn’t Facebook have spell check?
  3. Yikes again.
  4. Judging by the contents of the Facebook page, this guy probably hasn’t been anywhere near female breasts of any type for quite some time.
  5. Seriously, yikes.
  6. Shouldn’t you actually find a Bigfoot before you worry about being chased by one?
  7. I cannot overstate this: yikes.
  8. I wonder what a Lady Bigfoot would think about this?

The verdict is in: Lady Bigfoot is pissed. She is so upset, she is setting aside her reclusive nature to come forward and address the comments made on the Facebook page. In an Idiotprufs exclusive, she has agreed to sit down with me to discuss it.

Idiotprufs: So, what are your thoughts on the tips John Reed gave his Facebook followers?

Lady Bigfoot: First, of course I don’t have a bra. Where would I get a bra?

Idiotprufs: From a clothesline?

Lady Bigfoot: Do I look like a thief to you?

Idiotprufs: No ma’am.

Lady Bigfoot: What do you think would happen if were to stroll into Victoria’s Secret looking for a bra?

Idiotprufs: I don’t know.

Lady Bigfoot: People would panic. People would scream and run away. Hysterical women would call me a monster, and blast me in the face with pepper spray. Men with tranquilizer guns would show up and put me down like I was a lowly bear. They would lock me in a cage, and poke and prod at me. That’s what would happen.

Idiotprufs: Wow, that is eerily similar to my experience at Victoria’s Secret, but for completely different reasons.

Lady Bigfoot: (Glares at me.)

Idiotprufs: Sorry, continue.

Lady Bigfoot: Second, these breasts don’t need a bra; they are plenty firm. Go ahead and feel them.

Idiotprufs: Oh I don’t think that’s a good idea.

Lady Bigfoot: Really I insist.

Idiotprufs: I don’t think I…

Lady Bigfoot: Feel my breasts or I will rip your arms off and beat you to death with them!

Idiotprufs: Yes ma’am.

Lady Bigfoot: What do you think?

Idiotprufs: I think this is the most uncomfortable moment of my life.

Lady Bigfoot: (Growls at me)

Idiotprufs: They are very firm. They’re more hairy than I’m used to…but sadly not by much.

Lady Bigfoot: You let your millions of viewers know the truth about my breasts.

Idiotprufs: Millions of viewers?

Lady Bigfoot: You’re Maury Povich aren’t you?

Idiotprufs: Uhsure why not.

Lady Bigfoot: I have to get home; Bigfoot will be waiting for supper, and those grubs and berries won’t gather themselves.

Idiotprufs: That sounds nice.

Lady Bigfoot: It’s not nice; grubs are disgusting. Unfortunately it’s impossible to a get a pizza delivered to your home when your address reads: behind a rock in the woods.

Idiotprufs: I’m sorry. Thank you for your time.

Lady Bigfoot: It was my pleasure…idiot.

As you can see John Reed’s tips are simply ridiculous; if a female Bigfoot is chasing you, just compliment her breasts.

Maury Povich, bigfoot, boobs,

Maury may have never done a show about Lady Bigfoot boobs, but it’s right in his wheelhouse.

 

A Little Birthday Party Advice

deweySo you want to throw your sweet and precious child the perfect birthday party.

Note: I write sweet and precious because I’ve discovered if you refer to a person’s child as a dull-witted potato-faced brat, they tend to find offense–people are so sensitive.

Because this blog is nothing if not helpful, (I laughed a little bit there too) I’ve decided to publish a brief list of things not to do for a child’s birthday party.

Don’t hire a clown.

Clowns are evil and they prey on small children–most people don’t realize the movie It is a documentary.

Don’t hire a mime.  

Mimes will never break character regardless of how badly you need to speak to them. Whether it’s about something regarding your child’s birthday party, whom to write the check to, or if they would please stop miming inappropriate things about your wife–they won’t break character. And when they start to do that fake crying thing after you’ve become frustrated, you are forced (by law if my ballot initiative passes) to punch them in the gut.

Amazingly, they become all Chatty Cathy once the police arrive.

Don’t hire a guy in a SpongeBob SquarePants costume.

While SpongeBob is a beloved cartoon character, a guy in a SpongeBob costume is a six foot yellow crazy-faced monster that makes small children scream and pee their pants. And when it turns out the guy in the costume has warrants out for his arrest and steals, that’s just an added bonus.

Don’t invite that brat cousin.

We all have that one brat cousin with the overbearing mother (some of us have several) who just ruin everything. She yells, she throws tantrums, and she thinks everything is about her–and that’s the mother. The child is a torrent of shrill screaming misery: wrenching gifts away from her cousin as she screams mine with a voice that shatters glass, eardrums, and occasionally a human soul. She demands more cake even though her first two pieces of cake are spread over the drapes, the dog, the cat, and the inside of your couch cushions. She’s the reason your grandfather is always “losing” his hearing aide.

Also, she has a potato-face.

Don’t do the trick candles.

Don’t tell your child she can open her gifts after she’s blown out the candles on her birthday cake and then use those delightful trick candles that you can’t blow out–unless you want birthday cake smashed all over the wall. (Perhaps it’s time to concede the overbearing mother with the brat child is you.)

Just Listen.

When your charming and intelligent nephew (often referred to as brilliant by friends, acquaintances, and people who have seen him at a distance) suggests you hire a monkey in a cowboy hat, listen to him. Who doesn’t love a monkey in a cowboy hat? If you’re lucky it’ll throw a fistful of feces at that overbearing mother and her brat child. (Again, that might be you.)

Your child’s birthday party is still gong to be a disaster, there’s only so much I can do…your child is a brat.

You are welcome.

monkey

“I’ve got a fistful of feces with your name on it.”

Bursting With Pride in the Great Commonwealth of Pennsylvania

idiotprufs bigfoot

“I hope no one saw me.”

A resident of the great commonwealth of Pennsylvania has reported to police that his 1973 Winnebago motor home was vandalized by a Bigfoot. The windows and tail lights were broken out with what he described as a fusillade of rocks.

Note: isn’t fusillade a fun word to use?

In the police report the suspect was described as, “very large, brown in color, and walks somewhat hunched over.” The victim was unable to describe whether or not the attacker “was hairy” investigators added.

Evidently in an attempt to avoid discovery the ape-like creature began to hurl rocks at the Winnebago.

Note: avoiding discovery is only 8th or 9th on my list of reasons to hurl rocks at things.

In an odd coincidence, it seems the victim happens to be a Bigfoot hunter and has a Facebook group devoted to such.  His Facebook page offers some advice if you come face-to-face with a Sasquatch. Here are couple of gems, copied exactly as he wrote them:

Bigfoot tip #1: when being chased by a sasquatch run up hill if its a male .. they have an extended forehead so they have to stop offten to look up.

Note: I don’t know if the victim pronounces the T in often, but he obviously adds an extra F.

Bigfoot tip #2:  if its a female run down hill they have no bras so they got big ole lady boobs and when running downhill they flop about and they have to stop to plop them over their shoulders…..

Note: I hope that image is now seared into your brain.

Here in the great Commonwealth of Pennsylvania we are simply bursting with pride.

rock as weapon

The preferred weapon of Bigfoot.

 

 

A Permanent Cure For Athlete’s Foot (With a Few Slight Side Effects)

One test subject; look how freaking happy he is.
(image source: wpclipart.com)

I’ve finally done it.

I’ve developed a permanent and foolproof cure for athlete’s foot.

It’s brilliant in its concept and elegant in its simplicity.

For the small cost of just $99.99, (with an unreasonably exorbitant shipping and handling cost, which I will inform of after you’ve made the purchase) I will send you my product.

The kit includes the following items:

  • A high quality hacksaw.
  • A tourniquet guaranteed to stop spurting blood.
  • A bottle of aspirin.
  • A finely crafted peg leg.

Note: For a small additional cost, I will send you the jumbo sized bottle of aspirin, you’re probably going to need it. If you should happen to have any morphine lying around the house, that would be good too.

Imagine all the ways that using my product can make your life better:

  • You’ll never again have to deal with the burning scourge of athlete’s foot.
  • You’ll never again slip on the ice and sprain your ankle. You might slip on the ice and break your neck, but you won’t sprain your ankle.
  • You’ll never again stub your toe on a piece of furniture as you stumble toward the bathroom in the middle of the night.
  • You’ll never again spend the night on the couch after yelling at your spouse/girlfriend/lodger for moving a piece of furniture.
  • You can’t “ruin” Thanksgiving by dropping a frozen turkey on your aunt’s foot (if she’s used my product).

Note: your aunt’s presence has already ruined Thanksgiving; she’s an ogre.

  • You can dress up as a pirate on Halloween.
  • Mahogany peg legs are super classy.

There are a few slight drawbacks in the use of my product; all of which, I will inform you of in tiny unreadable print that scrolls across the bottom of screen at light speed.

Some of these slight problems are:

  • Massive loss of blood can make you woozy.
  • Carpenter ants are tenacious.
  • So are termites.
  • Dry rot.
  • Anal sores. (I have no idea why this happens-it just does.)
  • Beavers might steal your leg and incorporate it in the construction of a dam. (It happens more than you would think.)
  • Woodpeckers.
  • Mole holes in the backyard become especially hazardous.
  • You can’t drop a frozen turkey on your aunt’s foot. Secretly, you really did enjoy that; she’s an ogre.
  • It cuts the exorbitant cost of sock purchases in half.
  • Christian Bale will come to your home and hurl insults at you; he’s kind of a dick.
  • Your golf game may suffer a bit. And groundskeepers tend to get really pissy about the imprints that a peg leg leaves on the putting green.
  • Splinters.
  • The snide, hey Yellowbeard where’s your parrot, remarks from your coworkers.
  • Truthfully: I have very little concern for the efficacy of this product or your actual well-being.

All I need now is approval from the FDA. Unfortunately this has been far more difficult than I had anticipated. The people at the FDA are really uptight and condescending, and they tend to throw around words like irresponsible and unthinkable, a great deal more than is necessary.

It’s been a long process, but according to one source from the FDA, all I’m waiting on now is a cold day in Hell.

My product would result in another happy customer, and a tasty appetizer.
(image source: wpclipart.com)

I have also been working on a permanent cure for jock itch. Those results haven’t been quite as promising.

(image source: wpclipart.com)

The Big Family Picnic: The Aftermath

idiotprufs nerds

A lovely family having a picnic–this is not your family.

The big family picnic has hit your community like a tsunami and is now slowly receding back into the ocean.

Your local emergency room has been taken off high alert and much of their staff has been given a well deserved vacation.

Once again your family has overtaxed their staff, frayed their nerves, and extinguished their stock of gauze, sutures and eye patches.

They’ve treated various members of your family for the following injuries, ailments, and assorted issues:

  • Contusions.
  • Abrasions.
  • Cuts.
  • Lacerations.
  • Puncture wounds.
  • Broken bones.
  • Bone bruises.
  • Minor burns.
  • Severe burns.
  • Indian burns–you have an uncle who’s a jackass. (Actually you have several.)
  • Food poisoning.
  • Alcohol poisoning.
  • Lead poisoning.
  • Radiation poisoning.
  • Smoke inhalation.
  • Bite wounds–some animal, some human, some unidentifiable, and one that appears to be from a Bigfoot.
  • Stab wounds.
  • Gunshot wounds.
  • Crossbow wounds.
  • Ax wounds.
  • One particularly gruesome wound seemingly caused by medieval mace.
  • Asphyxiation in one individual who appears to have been strangled with a garter snake.
  • One garter snake bite.
  • Several cases of acute mental distress.
  • One case of a crippling fear of barbecue implements.
  • One barbeque implement lodged in a bodily orifice it has no business being anywhere near.
  • Dysentery.
  • Scurvy.
  • The plague.
  • Acute jock itch. (Don’t ask.)

The source of many of the problems was your uncle and his trunk full of games/weapons:

  • Horse shoes.
  • Horse whips.
  • Croquet mallets.
  • Croquet balls.
  • The little hoops you knock the croquet ball through that can be used to puncture human skin.
  • Lawn darts–your family is the reason lawn darts were made illegal in the State of New York and why a similar measure concerning bocce balls is currently making it’s way through state legislation.
  • Bocce balls.
  • Softballs.
  • Softball bats.
  • Vampire bats.
  • Dueling pistols.
  • Unexploded ordinance.
  • A board with a nail through it–this has the dual purpose of breaking open pinatas and killing barn rats.
  • A big stick with a jagged point that your uncle refers to as his eye-poking stick.

Once again your aunt has brought a cauldron of potato salad with way too much eye-of-newt in it. It results in stomach cramps, vomiting, and explosive diarrhea. Also, your cousin grows a tail.

Your aunt claims she had nothing to do with the locust swarm, but it seems like a bit of a coincidence that it happens every year.

Another aunt accosts you because you told her daughter that if she ate a dragonfly she would turn into a dragon.

Note: Have you ever eaten a dragonfly? You don’t know this isn’t true.

Your uncle–the volunteer firefighter–has inadvertently set fire to himself, a pavilion, and an old-growth forest. Unfortunately your uncle was only one still standing at the end of the day.

As the big family picnic passes and dissolves into repressed memories and a series of panic filled nightmares, your only hope is that all the injuries–apart from some of the more radical skin grafts–heal before the next big family picnic.

Your family seems horrible.

I’m just saying.

locust

Doesn’t every family’s picnics involve a swarm of locusts?

Up in Smoke

This blog is veritable cornucopia of useful information.

In a previous post entitled: Just a Few Idiotprufs, the following passage appeared.

Don’t try to remove a hornet’s nest from your garage by burning it out; you will wind up with half a garage and a hornet’s nest.

If Mike Tingley of Grand Blanc Township, Michigan, had read that blog post maybe this wouldn’t have happened:

garage fire

“That’ll take care of those bees.”

“The homeowner was doing something with a smoke bomb trying to get a bees nest out of the garage,” said Grand Blanc Fire Chief, Bob Burdette.

Mr. Tingley, while upset his garage has burned to the ground, is happy the bees are gone.

Mr. Tingley’s neighbor, whose garage is now the home for the bees in question and whose own house suffered a great deal of smoke damage, had the following to say about the incident: Mike’s always been a #$@$%@# idiot.

“We’ll be staying on high alert,” Fire Chief Burdette commented. “Evidently Mr. Tingley has 20 gallons of gasoline, a blowtorch, and a plan for getting rid of the carpenter ants infesting his front porch.”

The Fire Chief then paused for a moment before adding, “I certainly hope none of his children ever contract head lice.”

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