idiotpruf

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

Archive for the tag “neighbor”

Perfect Pumpkins and Mary Jo’s Face

Autumn is upon you; there’s a crispness in the air, the birds are on their annual journey south, and your neighbor, Mary Jo, has already begun her ritual of blowing her fallen leaves into your yard.
Another important rite of fall is finding the perfect pumpkin to carve into a jack-o-lantern.
There are many things to look for when searching for the perfect pumpkin.
The pumpkin’s rind should be hard and leathery, much like your neighbor Mary Jo’s face.
It should have no cracks, cuts, or soft spots. 
You can test the rind by gently poking it with your fingernail or by shooting it with a crossbow.
As tempting as it may be, do not test Mary Jo’s face by poking it with your fingernail–she bites. Definitely do not, shoot her in the face with a crossbow; you’re not the type who would flourish in prison.
When your fingernail or the arrow hits the pumpkin, it should make a thunk as if it’s hollow–that’s the pumpkin you want.
Actually, you don’t want that pumpkin; you want the pumpkin next to it: some jackass shot that pumpkin with an arrow.
You also want to avoid weak or broken stems; you want to feel a firm, dark green stem. (Add your own filthy joke here.)
A traditional pumpkin will be a solid orange color from top to bottom.
You should look for a round-shaped pumpkin; they are easier to carve and have more seeds for roasting or spitting at people; both activities are fun.
It is optimal to find a pumpkin with a flat bottom. Pumpkins with flat bottoms are more stable and less likely to tip over when lit.
Mary Jo’s flat bottom has the opposite effect.
You should avoid pumpkins with dull or discolored areas on top, which can be evidence of frost damage.
It’s best to avoid pumpkins with small spots or blemishes, as they can indicate a bug infection.
It is astonishing how many of these steps also apply to your neighbor, Mary Jo.
Once you have chosen the perfect pumpkin, it is time to carve the jack-o-lantern.
It’s a good idea to make an outline of the design you want with a marker before carving. You can choose either a funny face or the traditional hideous, scary face.
Mary Jo’s face is a good template for the latter.
You’ll want to use a good-sized carving knife and make sure the blade is plenty sharp. At some point, you will cut your thumb off, and you want the cut to be as clean as possible so the doctors can reattach it without too much difficulty.
Some people like to carve their jack-o-lanterns outside due to the mess, but you may want to avoid carving the jack-o-lantern outdoors; a crow will steal your severed thumb.
Once you’ve finished your jack-o-lantern and cleaned up all the blood (if you are going for a scary jack-o-lantern, the blood spatter may enhance it), you need to find a prominent place to display your handiwork for all to see.
But you would do well to remember: within twenty minutes of placing your jack-o-lantern on your front porch, one of Mary Jo’s slack-jawed reprobate children will smash it in the street.

Glenwood Residents Concerned Common People Will Rent Neighborhood House

Another post from Gooferie.

Staff Reporter's avatargooferie

Gladys_KravitzMembers of the Glenwood Association are expressing concern that a house in their neighborhood is being rented out to people who can’t afford to buy a house there.

“This is very unsettling,” said Glenwood resident Ron Cokun, “You should see some of the cars these renters are driving. Not one Mercedes or BMW – and some of the cars are over three years old!”

Peeking out her window as a car pulled into the driveway of the house in question, neighborhood resident Paula McMorris said, “You can tell by just looking at their hands that these people do manual labor for a living. My parents didn’t give me every advantage in life so I could live in a neighborhood with people like that!”

Board member Tom C. Baldt agreed, “There are other parts of the city where these renters would feel more comfortable, being around their own kind. Why can’t…

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Gerald the Neighbor Kid

You're stupid and you don't know anything.

You’re stupid and you don’t know anything.

“Hey Neighbor.” The voice penetrates your eardrum like a knitting needle. “Watcha doin’?”

It’s a voice that sends chills down your spine. Chills that reach the bottom of your spine, make a quick U-turn and travel back up your spine, then back down again, just to ensure that they’ve done the job properly.

“Gerald…you’re here.” You stop what you’re doing and stand motionless. “Are you here to pee on my garden some more?”

“I’ve told you I’m not the one doing that,” he claims.

You turn slowly to find Gerald standing before you, soaking wet, finger in his ear trying to remove some stubborn water.

“I don’t know who you thought that moat was going to keep out,” he says to you.

“I don’t know, Gerald. I had a few thoughts,” you say in exasperation. “So, learned how to swim did you?”

“I’ve been taking lessons.”

“That’s great.”

“And those piranha you put in the moat: they don’t do any good either,” he informs you.

“Obviously not, I don’t see a single tooth mark.”

“All you have to do is throw some steaks into the other side of the moat, it completely distracts them.”

“I should have gone with the electric eels.”

“You see,” Gerald continues, ignoring your electric eel comment as he works the water from his other ear. “piranha are really more scavengers than hunters. I guess that you didn’t know that.”

“I guess I didn’t,” you agree.

“You don’t know lots of things,” he tells you. “Would you like to know something else that you don’t know?”

You feel compelled to hear what Gerald has to say next, even though you know that it will make you want to knock the freckles from his ruddy little cheeks.

Note: under no circumstance would you ever strike or do harm to child in any way–that’s what the piranha were for.  You’re just kidding–mostly.

“Just what is it that I don’t know, Gerald?”

“Well,” he says, wiping his nose on his sleeve, “that cement barrier you built around your house is useless too.”

“Well that’s apparent.”

“All I needed to get past that, was a ladder and a blanket to throw over the razor-wire.”

“It was that easy for you was it?”

“Yeah. I don’t know where you’re getting your ideas on how to keep people out, but you’re not being very smart about it,” he admonishes you.

“What would you suggest I do, Gerald.”

“An electrified fence would be far more effective, I suppose.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” A tiny flame of hope flickers in your mind.

“But there are ways around that too,” he tells you, quickly dousing your tiny flame. “And that Beware of Bigfoot sign that you put up, wasn’t fooling anyone.”

“Do you mean, apart from the twenty or so Bigfoot hunters that camped out on your fathers front lawn, convinced that they had found irrefutable proof that Bigfoot exists?” You challenge Gerald’s assessment.

“That really ticked off my dad.”

You chuckle to yourself. “I know it did.”

“He says you’re a bad neighbor,” Gerald informs you.

“Does he?”

“And he uses bad words when he says it.”

“Does he really?” You feel a weird sense of satisfaction.

“Did you know that one of those Bigfoot hunters smashed my dad’s mooning garden gnome with a shovel?”

“Yes.” Your spine stiffens slightly. “It was definitely the Bigfoot hunters that did that.”

“Anyway, do have anything to eat; all of that swimming and climbing made me hungry.” Gerald was hungry most of the time.

“I could make you a peanut butter and jelly sandwich,” you offer.

“How many times do I have to tell you this: I’m allergic to peanuts?”

“I can’t image how I could have forgotten that.”

“You can’t remember anything,” he scolds, “you’re always offering things that have peanuts in them.”

“Forgetfulness is my curse…among other things.”

“You should write this down so you don’t forget.” Gerald instructs. “I’m allergic to peanuts, shellfish, cats, pomegranites, bees…”

“Gerald!” Gerald’s list is interrupted by the sound of his father screaming over your barriers. “What did you do with my steaks?!”

“Uh oh. I think I have to go now. I’ll be back later to tell you some more things that you don’t know,” he assures you as he turns to leave.

“I’ll be eagerly waiting,” you tell him as he leaves.

You stand there for a moment in silent contemplation.

“Allergic to bees are you?” You say to yourself in what could be described as an ominous and sinister tone.

You should be ashamed of yourself.

Not nearly as effective as one might hope.

Not nearly as effective as you might hope.

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