idiotprufs

Read by four out of five drunken monkeys, written by the fifth.

Archive for the tag “satire”

King of Pennsylvania

kings crownI’ve been working on a ballot initiative for the upcoming election. Excitingly, if my ballot initiative passes, I will become king of the great Commonwealth of Pennsylvania.

I must admit, there has been some opposition to the prospect of my becoming king of Pennsylvania. You could even categorize some of the opposition as extremely heavy.

I would be a kind and benevolent king. Sure, I’d have some people put to death, but nobody that would be missed; mostly bureaucrats and slack-jawed neighbors who live across the street.

Opponents of my initiative have put forth a myriad of ridiculous reasons why they think I shouldn’t be king of Pennsylvania. They carelessly throw around phrases like maniacally unhinged and dangerously unbalanced.

They offer proof such as:

  • We don’t have kings here in America–we’re not Canada.
  • My plans for a castle with a moat and turrets for canons would violate all kinds of zoning laws.
  • My plans to imprison every member of the zoning commission are unconstitutional.
  • They oppose my plans to create a new constitution for the great Commonwealth of Pennsylvania that would allow me to imprison every member of the zoning commission and put canons wherever the hell I want.
  • They claim I really can’t be trusted with canons. (This one is fair–I would lay waste to things.)
  • They oppose my plans to declare war against New York State. (King Cuomo and I haven’t seen eye to eye for some time now.)
  • They oppose my plan to change Ground Hog Day to Red Panda Day.
  • They say my plans to turn the entire city of Erie into a maximum security prison, while understandable, are unrealistic.
  • They claim that I am a whack-job who simply can’t be trusted with power of any kind.

While some or most of these point are valid, who cares, I want to be king.

I’m feeling very optimistic.

Note: My previous ballot initiative (slap-an-idiot-in-the-face-day) was a failure. Hopefully, this one fairs better.

I still don’t understand why my slap-an-idiot-in-the-face-day initiative failed. Everybody who voted against it is an idiot who should be slapped in the face–and there should be a day for it. 

Dear Loudmouth

 screaming mouth

Dear loudmouth,

Purveyor of unwanted opinions,

I think it is absolutely adorable that you believe I care what you think.

I don’t.

I don’t care at all–not even a little.

I view your opinions as gnats buzzing around my head; irritants to be swatted away and if possible, crushed.

It’s not the sheer stupidity and ignorance contained within your opinions that I find so objectionable. It’s more the level arrogance and brazenness in which you disseminate your opinions.

I would listen to virtually anyone’s opinion before I would listen to yours. If there are 7.7 billion people in the world, yours would be the 7.7 billionth opinion to which I would listen.

I would even listen to opinions in languages I don’t understand, (which frequently includes English) before I would listen to your opinion. Even if a person spoke in a language that consisted of nothing but clicks and whistles, I would sit and listen with an empathetic countenance, nodding, and adding an occasional, “that’s a good point,” to the mix.

I would listen to the opinions of parrots before I would listen to yours. At least when a parrot says something birdbrained, it’s because it has the brain of a bird. What’s your excuse?

Or one of those howler monkeys. Even if that  howler monkey was hurling its feces at me as it was howling its opinion, I would find it preferable to your opinion. I would rather be hit in the face with monkey crap than listen to your opinion.

You remind me of Bluto from the Popeye cartoons, but without the couth. Bluto is couther than you. A loudmouthed cartoon blowhard has more couth than you. That’s crazy.

Olive Oyl is always going to choose Popeye over Bluto and Popeye isn’t exactly a golden throated charmer.

I’m sure you have opinions about this post…I don’t care.

It’s my hope that my stance on the matter has been made sufficiently clear.

Thank you for your time.

opinions

Couther than you.

The Anti-Automobile Society of Pennsylvania

Amish Buggy

Rural Pennsylvania Roads: still idyllic in 2021.

In 1910 there was an organization in the great Commonwealth of Pennsylvania called The Anti-Automobile Society of Pennsylvania and they really hated automobiles.

They complained automobiles traveled too fast, frightened their livestock, ran over their chickens, and that Pennsylvania motorists were inexplicably unable to properly use a turn signal.

Note: I made up the part about the turn signal, the Anti-Automobile Society of Pennsylvania didn’t say anything about the turn signal, but I’m saying it. Use your damn turn signal!

The point is: The Anti-Automobile Society of Pennsylvania really hated automobiles, almost as much as I hate mimes, other peoples children, and any TV show with the words the real housewives of in the title.

They developed a set of guidelines for automobiles operating in rural areas of Pennsylvania:

  1. Automobiles travelling on country roads at night must send up a rocket every mile, then wait ten minutes for the road to clear.
  2. If a driver sees a team of horses, he is to pull to one side of the road and cover his machine with a blanket or dust cover that has been painted to blend into the scenery.
  3. In the event that a horse refuses to pass a car on the road, the owner must take his car apart and conceal the parts in the bushes.

I’m not making that up.

Admittedly, they had very little to say about the fact that automobiles don’t leave disease spreading horse crap everywhere, but no system is perfect.

After a recent trip to the DMV, I have become convinced that the Anti-automobile Society of Pennsylvania was deeply involved with the development and current state of the Pennsylvania Department of Motor Vehicles. Their grubby little fingerprints are all over it.

The current procedures of Pennsylvania DMV are only slightly less convoluted, but they still involve rockets and horse crap.

I leave you with a photo of a 1910 automobile offender.

Model t

I think I see the problem: automobiles in 1910 were operated by small children dressed for safari.

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 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 such an ill-planned party–I left early.

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.”

You’re Not Really a Bad Person

snidley whiplash

“You can tell by my maniacal sneer that I’m a good guy.”

You’re not really a bad person.

Sure, you parked in front of that fire hydrant despite the big sign clearly indicating not to park in front of the fire hydrant, because of all the laws and such.

You couldn’t have possibly known that orphanage would catch on fire.

You did see some smoke coming from the building as you were parking, but you imagined a nice cozy fire burning in the fireplace…midday in the middle of August.

And while it seemed odd the smoke was emanating from a window and not a chimney, you’re not a chimney expert.

Besides, it wasn’t very much smoke…at first.

For all you knew, they were just electing a new orphan pope, you’re not an orphan pope expert.

And you’re all for freedom of religion, despite that time you punched that Jehovah’s Witness in the face. He rang the doorbell and got you out of bed and it was barely past noon. Besides, you’re not a freedom of religion expert.

And while you made the decision to argue with the firemen rather than allow them the unimpeded ability to aide the orphans who were now fleeing for their lives from a burning building, you’re not a firefighting expert.

Hey! Those firemen put a scratch on your car that isn’t going to buff out.

What’s the big deal anyway? They’re orphans–they’re used to hardship.

You probably shouldn’t have cursed at that nun, but it was a very intense situation and that crack she made about your future being filled with damnation and hellfire just seemed mean. She did seem to be a damnation and hellfire expert; she was quite longwinded about it.

No! You are not a bad person at all.

fire forest

Fires make everything nice and toasty warm.

The Toad-licker Injustice Must Stop

toad

I challenge you not to lick this toad.

Imagine the following scenario: you’re innocently walking down street, minding your own business, contemplating life, when you spot something out of the corner of your eye: on the grass sits a solitary toad. You make a mental note of the toad, but you don’t think much about it.

But as you carry on with your day, you can’t shake one niggling thought: I could have licked that toad.

It’s a thought that persists with you through the following days. It grows from a gentle nagging into a full-blown obsession.

Your days are filled with confusion and regret; your nights are haunted with sleepless torment.

And thus begins your journey as a toad-licker.

There’s no shame in being a toad-licker. You’re not hurting anybody. You’re still the same person you’ve always been, but people begin to see you differently.

Admittedly, a much higher than normal percentage of toad-kickers are criminally insane, but you’re not criminally insane; when the voices inside your head tell you to kill, you almost never listen to them.

Your friends begin to treat you differently. They subtly begin to remove you from their lives. The invitations to parties and get-togethers become less frequent. They say they fear you’ll suddenly produce a toad from your pocket and start licking it. They claim you’ll start licking a toad at a really inappropriate time.

You will produce a toad from your pocket and start licking it, but you’re discreet. Besides, if you can’t lick a toad at a funeral; when can you lick a toad?

Society tries to separate you. Society tries to ostracize you.

It’s not like you have Ebola, or the face of a goat, or you’re a Kardashian: YOU’RE NOT A FREAK!

I urge all of you to look into your hearts and give toad-lickers a chance; toad-lickers are people just like you and me…apart from all the toad-licking and the fact they rarely bathe.

Please, toad-lickers just need a little understanding…except for this guy–this guy’s a weirdo.

toad licker

This guy ruins it for everyone.

What Happened to Your Face?

So this happened to me once.

I had been working with this woman, Cathy, for about a month.

She was a normal person. And when I say normal, what I mean is, she was slightly more verbose than most and several degrees louder. She was like a howler monkey without the grace.

For the month we worked together, I sported a beard.

One weekend I decided to shave the beard. There was no particular reason for the removal of the beard, it was just the whimsical part of my nature that people find so endearing.

I went to work the following Monday morning, sans beard.

I walked past Cathy and I said hello as one would do.

She looked at me with pure horror and recoiled like I was Jeffrey Dahmer asking her over to my place for dinner.

I could tell by the expression on her face and the vacant look in her weird fish eyes, that she had no idea who I was.

“It’s Larry,” I told her.

After a moment I could see the light of recognition dawn across her face.

Then she looked at me said what I considered to be a remarkable thing: “Ew. Is that what your face looks like?” Then following a not unsubstantial pause, she said: “no offense.”

She then went on a lengthy diatribe detailing what a mistake it was for me to expose my face to light of day. But after every insulting (and frankly hurtful) thing she said, she would follow it with: “no offense.”

Well guess what, Cathy, I took offense then and I take offense now!

Why do people think they can say any horrible thing they want and it’s okay if they just punctuate it with, “no offense”?

If at the end of World War 2, Hitler had thrown his hands into the air and said, “listen everybody, no offense,” would it have all been okay?

No, Adolph! It’s not okay! And you’re not okay either, Cathy!

That day I told Cathy that despite her strong feelings toward my face, I thought she was a wonderful and precious and perfect person in every way.

Just like a liar would.

No offense.

me and the sloth
Me without the beard and with the beard…maybe I can see the confusion.

How to Deal With a Pompous Loudmouthed Prick

Everyone knows someone who’s overbearing and obnoxious.

As you were reading that sentence, somebody’s name popped into your head.

A person who’s ego is so enormous, it blots out the sun.

A person who is aggressively ignorant.

A pompous loudmouthed prick.

And on occasion, that person points their pompous loudmouthed aggression in your direction.

How do you deal with it?

Do you simply try to keep your distance?

You can’t: his bloated face encroaches all boundaries.

Do you attempt to ignore him?

You can’t: his presence is tantamount to being locked in a room with a hundred diseased monkeys all throwing their feces at your face. Some would argue his presence is worse.

I have a solution that is guaranteed to be successful: shoot the pompous loudmouthed prick in the face with a crossbow.

It’s simple. It’s elegant. It’s crazy fun.

Once a person has been shot in the face with a crossbow, their primary concern immediately becomes the fact that they’ve just been shot in the face with a crossbow.

It takes an amazingly short amount of time for the pompous loudmouthed prick’s bloviating to transition to: “Holy shit, you’ve just shot in the face with a crossbow. I’m in a ridiculous amount of pain! There’s so much blood! Why are you laughing?”

Note: it’s probably best not cackle hysterically as the pompous loudmouthed prick bleeds out, but that’s entirely up to you.

I know what’s going through your mind right now: if I shoot somebody in the face with a crossbow, won’t there be ramifications?

Maybe. You probably won’t get invited to as many parties.

But do you really want to go to parties where pompous loudmouthed pricks aren’t being shot in the face with a crossbow?

Of course you don’t–nobody wants that.

I hope reading this post has been an aid to you; I know writing it has helped me.

The crossbow: dealing with loudmouthed pricks since the Middle Ages.

A Celebration of Spring(s)

spring

As this is the first day of Spring, this post is devoted to my favorite springs.

Spring Theory

This is much like String Theory, a theoretical framework in which the point-like particles of particle physics are replaced by one-dimensional objects called strings.

In Spring Theory, the universe isn’t made of strings, but of tiny little Slinkys.

The Slinky

There was nothing better than getting that classic childhood toy on Christmas morning.

You would rush to the top of the stairs and send it marching down the steps in that classic Slinky way. And as if by magic, that Slinky would transform into a ball of entangled metal by the time it reached the bottom of the stairs. That Slinky would provide seconds and sometimes minutes of joyful playtime.

slinky

Good times…and the building blocks of the universe.

The Springtail

The springtail are omnivorous, free-living organisms that prefer moist conditions. Doesn’t that describe us all?

creepy bug

Isn’t it just adorable?

Coffee Springs, Alabama

Coffee Springs is a tiny town in Alabama where, I’m guessing, coffee literally springs up through the ground–how fantastic is that?

Coffee Springs has a population of 228 people who are constantly buzzed on caffeine. The people of Coffee Springs have a hard time sleeping but they get a lot done.

Jerry Springer

Are you feeling badly about yourself? Do you feel like loser or an outcast? Just watch a handful of episodes of The Jerry Springer Show and I promise you will feel better about yourself.

Unless you’ve been cheating on your paint huffing alcoholic cousin with your other cousin (who dresses like vampire and drinks blood) while raising a child who was fathered by, based the indicators of the child’s behavior and appearance, a Malaysian yak, you’re probably good.

Jerry springer fight

“That yak was my baby daddy!”

Addendum

Some of my assertions about Coffee Springs, Alabama may not be entirely by the strictest definition of word: accurate.

But Spring Theory is real.

Murder and Cheese Dip

Party table
What a lovely looking party…it’d be a shame if somebody ruined it.

What if murder wasn’t illegal?

What if murder was just a thing considered rude–something you wouldn’t do at a friend’s party?

Imagine you were invited to a party at a friends house. While at this party you have a bit too much to drink.

During the festivities you question the host’s taste in decor. You toss out phrases like: garish, glitteringly obnoxious, tasteless, and the truly unfortunate phrase: just plain butt-ugly.

During this party, you cause a perfectly nice couple to storm out after you ask them if they named their daughter Liz because she bears an uncanny resemblance to a lizard.

At some point during the night, you murder a guy named Mitch with a waffle iron.

And through an unfortunate accident, you ruin the cheese dip.

Now imagine the thing your friend is the most upset about is the cheese dip. In fact, everyone is mad at you because the cheese dip was really good.

“Did you have to hit Mitch in the back of the head with a waffle iron?” your friend yells at you. “You made him fall face first into the cheese dip…now no one will eat the cheese dip.”

The next morning you apologize profusely as you make your friend some pancakes. (You’d make waffles but the back of Mitch’s head ruined the waffle iron.)

You apologize for the remarks you made about the decor. The decor is perfectly lovely if you’re colorblind, or just plain blind.

You phone that nice couple and apologize for implying their daughter looks like a lizard. (Just because it’s true doesn’t mean it needs to be said.)

You apologize for insinuating that your friend’s wife dresses a tad slutty. Then you remember that you never actually said that out loud, so you apologize for that.

But most emphatically, you apologize for the cheese dip, because the cheese dip was truly delicious.

What you don’t apologize for is Mitch, because Mitch was a dick. Besides, it’s not like murder is illegal.

cheese dip
The cheese dip, prior to Mitch’s dead face.

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