idiotprufs

Illegal in 38 states–frowned upon in the rest.

Archive for the tag “New York”

The High School Guidance Counselor and Some Disturbing News

“I’ve been reviewing your records.”

Counselor: Well, it’s your senior year, and it’s about time that you started to think about your future, specifically in regards to a career. I’ve reviewed your transcript, gone over your aptitude test scores, and I have spoken with some of your teachers. I seem to be running into a bit of a problem.

You: What exactly is the problem?

Counselor: You’re qualified to do nothing and you’re irretrievably stupid.

You: That seems kind of harsh.

Counselor: I’m sorry. I suppose your entire life, your parents have told you that you’re smart and capable?

You: Of course they have.

Counselor: People lie don’t they? I have never encountered anyone so ill-equipped to enter the workforce in all my years of being a guidance counselor, and this school is full of stupid kids. Sometimes in think there’s lead in the drinking water.

You: You’re exaggerating, I can’t be that hopeless.

Counselor: Am I? In mathematical aptitude, you answered correctly only 25% of the time.

You: One out three isn’t that bad.

Counselor: Exactly my point. In your English essay you seem to have confused Angie Dickinson with Emily Dickinson.

You: No I didn’t.

Counselor: Let’s see what it was that you wrote? Here it is: Emily Dickinson was smoking hot in Big Bad Mama.

You: I don’t remember writing that.

Counselor: You have terrible memory skills.

You: That’s not fair.

Counselor: And a delusional perception of fairness.

You: But…I…

Counselor: You also have trouble completing a thought. Moving on to geography; you couldn’t find Chile on a map.

You: That can’t be that uncommon.

Counselor: It was a map of Chile.

You: I thought it meant the restaurant.

Counselor: You mean Chili’s, I doubt you could find your way through the children’s maze on their placemats.

You: Yes I can, I always use the green crayon.

Counselor: You also seem to have absolutely no grasp of economics or government.

You: I know a little about government.

Counselor: You listed the three branches of government as strawberry, vanilla and chocolate.

You: Neapolitan government.

Counselor: You took a course on New York State history didn’t you?

You: Yes I did.

Counselor: Yes you did. You listed the state capitol as Albania. You claimed that the Erie Canal was named thusly, because it was “really spooky.” And you listed the first mayor of New York City as Babe Ruth.

You: It wasn’t Babe Ruth?

Counselor: No. It was Lou Gehrig.

You: Really?

Counselor: NO YOU MORON, it was Thomas Willett. This next one is especially perplexing: under state bird you put Bigfoot. I find that disturbing for at least fifteen different reasons. I’ve come up with four categories of jobs that I believe you could handle. They are as follows:

  1. Jobs requiring  a shovel: digging ditches, digging graves, digging holes in general, and whomping rats.
  2. Jobs requiring a pitchfork: moving piles of hay, moving piles of straw, and joining angry mobs that are hunting rogue monsters.
  3. Jobs requiring a shovel and a pitchfork: moving horse manure, moving cow manure, moving goat manure, basically moving any type of manure.
  4. Jersey Shore cast member. Sorry that’s been cancelled–you probably couldn’t find New Jersey on a map anyway.

You: I don’t know. I find that shovels and pitchforks are complicated and difficult to use, and sweating gives me a rash.

Counselor: There is one other job. Would you be willing to scale steep cliffs and harvest honey, while angry bees sting you repeatedly?

You: There would be no manure or feces involved?

Counselor: Not unless you’re horribly afraid of heights.

You: I’ll do it.

Counselor: Welcome to the world of Himalayan Bee Keeping.

You: Is it close to home?

Counselor: With your map skills it is.

Another guidance counseling success story.

Advertisements

Strangers in a Strange Land: The Amarillo Trilogy Part 1

I’m reposting this in honor of Super Bowl weekend:

Frank Reich

Thanks for nothing, Frank.

This the tale of how four young men from western New York came to watch the greatest comeback in NFL playoff history–the Buffalo Bills overcoming of a 32 point deficit against the Houston Oilers–in less than hospitable surrounding; a seedy bar in Texas.

It was noon Texas time, and we were scrambling to find a place to watch the game. We finally stumbled upon a hole-in-the-wall on the outskirts of Amarillo.

We walked into a shadowy bar that if I’m not mistaken, was the setting for Texas Chainsaw Massacre. The atmosphere was dark and murky and we could feel the eyes of the other patrons on us, heavy with suspicion and contempt. The occupants of one table in the back were a particularly grizzled bunch that were reminiscent of the bar scene from Dusk Til Dawn.

Yeah...that looks right.

Yeah…that looks right.

We made our way to the front and took a seat at the bar, where the bartender was describing to the bar’s manager, events from the night before: a handful of fights, a couple of stabbings, limited gun-play.  She would go on to describe it as a typical Saturday night.

Note: I’m not making that up.

As the bartender checked our driver licenses, she eyed us warily.

“Westfield, New York…is that anywhere near Buffalo?”

We told her that it was in fact about sixty miles from Buffalo.

“You’re not Bills fans are you?” She asked with just a touch of petulance in her voice.

We informed her that two of us, Lance and Al, were in fact Bills fans. I told her that I was a Pittsburgh Steelers fan, and one of us, Matt, was actually a Houston Oilers fan (we assumed if things got ugly, Matt would be stabbed last).

“Well, you boys will be okay…as long as the Bills lose,” she said jokingly…but not really.

Note: After hearing that I was a Steelers fan, the manager explained to me in great detail why Texans hate the Pittsburgh Steelers and their fans. The visual aids he used were disturbing.

The game began and the Oilers dominated for the entire first half, taking a 28 to 3 lead into halftime.

With every touchdown the Oilers scored, the mood lightened, the other patrons around us became friendlier and the guys from the back table even seemed magnanimous.

They began to ask us friendly questions:

Does it snow a lot where you live?

It snows tons.

Have you been to Niagara Falls?

Many times.

Are Canadians as polite as people say?

Mostly.

Can you get good chicken wings around there?

Larry’s Cantina in Westfield, New York has the best wings anywhere.

Why don’t you talk like your from New York?

What do you mean?

If you’re from New York, why don’t say things like, “yo” or “yous guys”?

First, we’re not from Yonkers. Second, you’re thinking of Rocky Balboa, a fictional character from Philadelphia.

We were all having a good time, the fear of imminent bodily harm had subsided.

The second half began with Houston scoring another touchdown, increasing their lead to 35 to 3, and things were downright jovial.

Then something odd happened: as Houston kicker, Al Del Greco, was kicking off, the wind shifted the ball in the tee, resulting in a squib kick that went only a few feet, and everything began to change.

Frank Reich began to throw touchdown passes,Warren Moon began to throw interceptions, and the mood in the bar began to shift.

With every play Lance and Al whooped and hollered and slapped high fives, much to the disgust the others around us. At one point Buffalo receiver, Don Beebe, scored a touchdown on a play which he had clearly stepped out of bounds. The anger in the room was growing palpable. The fear of imminent bodily harm had returned with a vengeance.

As Buffalo kicker, Steve Christie, lined up to kick the game winning field goal, Lance and Al were in a state oblivious delirium, I was fearing for life, and Matt was about to experience the phrase “adding insult to injury” in a very literal way, as he was about to watch his team blow the biggest lead in NFL history, and possibly be stabbed in the side of the head.

Matt and I had the following conversation:

Me: Matt, when we came in did those guys at the back table have eye-patches and huge scars on their faces?

Matt: I don’t think so.

Me: I certainly don’t remember that big guy on the right fondling a blood stained machete.

Matt: And wearing a T-shirt that reads: Remember The Alamo: A Great Day Of Victory.

Me: We should get out of here.

Matt: Right away.

I could hear Ennio Morricone music rising in the background. You know, that music from Sergio Leone Spaghetti Westerns, the music that would play just before Jack Elam would be brutally killed (and jukebox wasn’t even plugged in).

"Oh crap, there's that music."

“Oh crap, there’s that music.”

Steve Christie’s kick sailed through the uprights giving the Bills the greatest comeback in NFL history, and we sailed out the door before weaponry could be wielded.

The Buffalo Bills had survived that day, but more importantly, so had we.

Post Navigation

%d bloggers like this: