idiotprufs

Illegal in 38 states–frowned upon in the rest.

Archive for the tag “satire”

The Absolutely Indispensable Gift Guide–2016 Edition

bad gift

“You said you liked me au natural.”

All you want is to give the perfect gift for Christmas. The gift that will brighten a child’s face. The gift that shows thoughtfulness and caring. The type of gift that will result in moments to be cherished forever.

What a load of crap that is!

You are an insensitive oaf, but social convention dictates you must give gifts at Christmastime. What you really want, is to give gifts that won’t result in icy glares from your significant other, and more crucially, gifts that won’t result in a face-stabbing.

Granted, most of your big family get-togethers result in a face-stabbing, but there is no need to exacerbate an already tense atmosphere.

Note: that knife-wielding aunt of yours is stunningly spry for a lady with such chunky thighs.

Note to the note:  do not get that knife-wielding aunt of yours with the chunky thighs, a Thighmaster for Christmas–it will not be taken in the spirit with which it is intended.

Since I’m practically an expert at screwing things up badly (I mean, I am shockingly good at it) I am going to aid you in what gifts not to give.

Don’t give your goth cousin a bottle of skin bronzer. Her pale, nearly translucent skin, is her choice. It is not a result of her inability to tan naturally. Her flesh will not burst into flames if it’s exposed to real sunlight. It’s Holy water that makes her flesh burst into flames.

Don’t give your still single aunt a copy of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein, because the only way she’ll find a man is if she constructs one herself. She will not find it as amusing as you do.

Don’t give your girlfriend, and I cannot stress this too strongly, a self-help book of any kind with the phrase “for dummies” in the title. Just don’t.

Don’t give the guy your cousin is dating this book, when what he really needs is a book about better decision making.

bitches

Don’t give your aunt a jar of anti-wrinkle cream and bottle of wart remover. She will not appreciate them…regardless of how desperately they’re needed.

Don’t give your uncle, who likes to hunt, that bottle of scent-masking spray he’s been asking for. The first thing he’ll do is try it out, and nobody wants to sip eggnog while they sit next to someone who wreaks of deer urine.

Note: Sure, your uncle generally wreaks of urine, but he splashes on that deer stuff like it’s cologne.

Don’t give that same uncle a book of vegetarian recipes; he’s just going to use its pages to start the fire he’s going to use to roast the woodchuck he hit with his pickup truck on the way to the Christmas party.

Don’t get your vegan cousin that Chia Pet. It looks entirely too much like bean sprouts growing out of tofu, eventually, he’s going to try to eat it. He’ll be rushed to the hospital, and your entire family will blame you.

Don’t get your aunt and uncle that home drug testing kit. While it may be applicable, your cousin carries a blade, and she will cut you.

Don’t get your wife a rat trap.

Note: Not a joke. One year my uncle bought my aunt a rat trap for Christmas. True story.

Don’t give anybody anything that has Justin Bieber on it. Why: because it has Justin Bieber on it. Enough said.

Don’t give any of your aunts or uncles this book:

problem child

Don’t avoid this gift because you fear recrimination. Avoid this gift because it’s just too late.

Don’t get your boss this mug; he may not have a sense of humor about it.

boss coffee cup

“Why does everybody laugh at me when I drink coffee?”

And finally, don’t give your grandmother that DVD of Deliverance; home movies can be so tedious.

You are now prepared for gift giving this Christmas season.

Addendum

If John Wayne Bobbitt had listened to me when I told him kitchen knives were a terrible Christmas gift for his wife Lorena, perhaps their marriage wouldn’t have become so severed. (Ha! I used the word severed.)

knife

A set of kitchen knives from Bed Bath and Beyond. It was the beyond that got John Wayne Bobbitt in trouble…she cut his penis off.

 

Reefer Madness and a Bit of Math

pot shop

Albert Einstein almost never hung out here.

Dutch researchers have done it again.

From the people who have already given us windmills, Holstein cows, gouda cheese, Heineken, orange carrots (seriously, orange carrots-look it up), and crucially: the idea that my date will pay for her own meal, comes another breakthrough.

Dutch researchers have determined that students who were banned from smoking marijuana in Dutch coffee shops were found to be more likely to pass exams, specifically math based ones.

The effect is “five times larger” for courses requiring quantitative thinking and maths-based tasks, the researchers wrote. They then crossed out that figure and changed it to “four times larger” before crossing out that figure and changing it to “ten times larger.” They then admitted that they were quite confused and unsure of the figures–they had been smoking a lot of pot that day. They then put on some Steely Dan records and sent out for munchies.

Note: in an unrelated study, Dutch researchers have discovered that people who repeatedly whomp themselves in the face with a wooden shoe, are more likely to suffer from headaches than people who don’t. Additionally, people who drink a case of Heineken every day are even more likely to whomp themselves in the face with a wooden shoe, but less likely to feel the effects. The Dutch are freakin’ awesome.

The Dutch, known for their thoroughness and incredible dyke building skills, have compiled a list of activities hindered by the use of marijuana:

  • Basic math skills.
  • Advanced math skills.
  • Common core math (actually, heavy drug use helps with this).
  • Operating heavy machinery.
  • Operating heavy machinery while trying to remember the lyrics of your favorite Grateful Dead song.
  • Operating heavy machinery while remembering that your favorite Grateful Dead song has no lyrics; it’s just 25 minutes of twangy guitar music.
  • Taking deep breaths without hacking up a lung.
  • Finding Lake Titicaca on a map.
  • Saying the name Lake Titicaca without giggling uncontrollably.
  • Not giggling uncontrollably.
  • The ability to have a conversation with a person without referring to him as “man” repeatedly.
  • The ability to enter a grocery store without purchasing a case of Twinkies.

Additionally, the Dutch have discovered in manufacturing companies where marijuana use is prevalent among its workers, production levels have seen a substantial drop. However, this doesn’t apply to companies that produce tie-dye clothing; drug use in those companies seems to cause an explosion of production…at least until everyone forgets what they’re supposed to be doing and they wander off.

Note: it is a little known fact that tie-dye was invented in 1928, when after eating a tainted breakfast burrito, Walt Disney vomited on a co-workers shirt, and really liked the way it looked. He then drew something about a mouse on a steamboat. The Dutch don’t invent everything.

Meanwhile in North Korea:

Thanksgiving with the Family 2016: Oh the Humanity

thankgiving hindenburg

The big family Thanksgiving almost went this well.

You’re back at the big family Thanksgiving for another year of turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes, yams, a giant heaping of accusation and guilt, and copious amounts of liquor to numb the senses.

They’re all there: grandma, grandpa, aunts, uncles, cousins, second cousins, Cousin It, fat hobbits, in-laws, out-laws, felons, those still awaiting trial, significant others, insignificant others, and the cast of that creepy movie The Others.

Your family is a bit like the Manson Family, but your leader isn’t in prison.

You’re in for a treat this year because your uncle (the volunteer firefighter) is going to cook the turkey in a deep fryer.

You question the wisdom of allowing your uncle (the volunteer firefighter) to operate a deep fryer as his presence seems to frequently precede catastrophe.

You decide to check on your uncle (the volunteer firefighter) to see how he is doing. Not out of concern, but out of the sheer the enjoyment you derive when bad things happen to him (your uncle–the volunteer firefighter).

Note: you may think I’m bringing up the point that your uncle (the volunteer firefighter) is a volunteer firefighter a little too often. But it’s not as often as he brings it up.

“How are things going with the turkey,” you ask.

“Things are going great–I’m volunteer firefighter you know,” he boasts.

“I’ve heard that once or twice,” you tell him. “It’s just that…when you leave a place, things tend to be on fire that weren’t on fire before you got there. You’re really more like a fireman from Fahrenheit 451 than a genuine firefighter.”

“If I understood that reference, would I be pissed off?” he asks you.

You explain that Fahrenheit 451 is a Ray Bradbury novel set in a dystopian future where firemen start fires rather than putting them out.

“If I knew what dystopian means, would I be pissed off?” he follows.

“I think you’d be fine with it,” you reply.

You decide you don’t actually want to be within the blast radius when events unfold as they inevitably will, so you go back inside.

You discover one of your cousins sitting on the couch moping because her boyfriend couldn’t be there. It seems coming within one-hundred feet of your family is a parole violation…for him and 12 different members of your family.

One of your uncles enters the house in full blood-stained camouflage hunting gear. You ask him if he had any luck in the woods today.

“What makes you think I’ve been hunting today,” he replies.

You walk away quickly.

One of your aunts comments on how well things seem to be going this year. “There hasn’t been one stabbing yet,” she exclaims. Then she shows everyone how well the bayonet wound in her face is healing.

One of your cousins is reminiscing about the year her father was carving the turkey and inadvertently cut his thumb off.

Note: he drinks.

Clarification: he drinks an enormous amount.

Luckily your uncle (the volunteer firefighter) was there to administer first-aid.

“The doctor said they could have reattached the thumb if it hadn’t caught on fire,” your cousin comments. “The doctor said he had never seen something packed in a bag of ice catch on fire before.”

You spend some time talking to the guy with the eye-patch and the hook for a hand. You have no idea how you’re related to him, but he’s the only one you actually get along with.

hook hand

You have no idea who this guy is, but you like him.

Your aunt arrives with a bunch of homemade pies, creating a horrible dilemma: you love sweet potato pie, but your aunt is a twisted wreck of hatred and soul-devouring evil…but you love sweet potato pie.

Your uncle (the one you refer to as Two-Faced Rat-Bastard) starts to make an announcement.

“I’ve discovered something disturbing about my wife,” he says.

“We’ve all heard about her vestigial penis,” you tell him.

“It’s not the penis thing,” he says, “it’s something much worse.”

But before he can make his announcement, another cousin bursts through the door to tell everyone your uncle (the volunteer firefighter) has accidentally set his face on fire.

“How did that happen?” your aunt yells.

“I don’t know,” your cousin responds. “It just burst into flames like the Hindenburg. One minute he was just standing there telling us about how he’s a volunteer firefighter, the next minute he’s burning like he’s full of hydrogen.”

“Did anyone put the fire out?” your aunt demands.

“We tried. He just yelled,don’t worry, I’ve got this, I’m a volunteer firefighter.’” Then he ran into the barn and shoved his face into a big pile of hay.

“And that put the fire out?”

“No,” your cousin answers. “Also, the barn’s on fire now.”

As luck would have it, as your uncle (the volunteer firefighter) was running from the barn after setting it on fire, he tripped and fell face first into a pile of cow manure, extinguishing the fire on his face.

“Amazing,” you comment, “normally the bullshit is coming out of his face, not going into it.”

Your family stares at you with a level of hatred that’s more intense than normal.

“Relax,” you tell them. “At least it wasn’t a stabbing.”

fire

Your uncle (the volunteer firefighter) was here.

 

Taglines and More Taglines

taglines

Because they haunt your dreams.

“Striving every day to do the least idiotic thing possible, generally failing.”

The above statement had been the tagline of this blog since its inception–sadly, it’s also been the guiding principle of my life–but it felt as if it was time for a change. (For the tagline, my life’s an irreparable heap.)

So I decided to change it this:

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

Well, it’s time for a change again. So I’m trying out a few possibilities.

idiotprufs: what happens when you don’t listen to that nagging little voice in your head.

idiotprufs: the blog that is wanted by the authorities for questioning.

idiotprufs: just do it. (Evidently, the people at Nike think they own everything.)

idiotprufs: the blog that got so drunk last night, it can’t remember where it left its pants.

idiotprufs: the last blog you will ever read…after you’ve stabbed your eyes out with a shrimp fork.

idiotprufs: the blog that makes my friends deny they know me.

idiotprufs: the reason most of my aunts no longer speaks to me. (I wish I had started it sooner.)

idiotprufs: the reason I’ve been burned in effigy by Bolivian pudding makers.

idiotprufs: reading it will make your breath perpetually minty fresh.

idiotprufs: the blog labeled a bitter disappointment by its parents.

idiotprufs: the blog that was a banana slug in a previous life.

idiotprufs: the blog that is…um…interesting.

Note: The above tagline is an actual quote from someone after reading this blog; I think she thought it was more polite than saying, “it made me vomit uncontrollably.”

idiotprufs: the blog that was abandoned in the wilderness, but found its way home.

idiotprufs: the new black–black is now forest green.

idiotprufs: it’s addictive like heroin, but without the needles.

idiotprufs: the subject of dozens of lawsuits.

idiotprufs: it’s only libel if isn’t true.

idiotprufs: it’s better than chugging a bowl full of Sea Monkeys.

idiotprufs: the blog that requires you to have all your shots.

idiotprufs: the crayon drawing of the literary world.

idiotprufs: not everybody that reads it suffers from a debilitating brain aneurysm…but it helps.

idiotprufs: it’s like something Mark Twain would write, but without all that annoying humor and wit.

idiotprufs: five minutes of your life that you will never get back.

idiotprufs: it’s like that rash that just won’t go away.

idiotprufs: reading it prevents scurvy.

idiotprufs: the blog that has resulted in almost zero cases of rabies.

idiotprufs: it’s practically a cure for not being an ax-wielding maniac.

idiotprufs: the blog that has never caused cancer in lab rats. (However, it is a death sentence for yaks.)

idiotprufs: Bigfoot’s favorite blog next to Outdoor Life.

idiotprufs: overlooked by the Pulitzer committee for purely political reasons.

idiotprufs: the blog that ran into Piers Morgan’s blog in a crowded bar, and beat the crap out of it.

idiotprufs: the real reason Edward Snowden fled the country.

idiotprufs: the only blog read aloud in Buckingham Palace.

idiotprufs: the blog that openly wonders if men from Nantucket ever get sick of being facetiously asked if they’re “the guy” from the limericks.

idiotprufs: the blog that caused Justin Bieber to snap.

idiotprufs: only stupid, repugnant, ugly people don’t like it.

idiotprufs: the blog that is being carefully monitored by the NSA.

idiotprufs: the greatest thing on the internet since that piano playing cat.

idiotprufs: the real father of Snooki’s baby.

idiotprufs: the blog that makes your eyes do this:

kimberly goodman

What did I just read?

idiotprufs: it’s considered a vile profanity in Portuguese.

idiotprufs: virtually none of the death threats were credible.

idiotprufs: developed in a secret underground laboratory below Martha Stewart’s house, by a race of super-smart ferrets.

Note: Mr. Squeakers, a ferret that escaped from Martha Stewart’s compound, described her home as wreaking of buttermilk pancakes and fear, but he also described it as being very tastefully decorated.

idiotprufs: the blog that’s destined to rule the world with an iron fist!

I kind of like the last one.

Irate Beaver ‘Takes Man Hostage’

mad beaver

Irate Beaver ‘Takes Man Hostage’

When I saw the headline above in my news feed, I felt an irrational giddiness, and a myriad of questions sprung to mind. (My giddiness faded slightly when I realized it didn’t read: Irate Bieber ‘Takes Man Hostage.’)

  • Did the beaver have a list of demands?
  • What was on the beaver’s list of demands?
  • Did he want a million dollars and a helicopter, or was he just after some good dam building thrush?
  • What was he so upset about?
  • Was he tired of the way his wife sarcastically says, “yeah, he’s as busy as a you-know-what,” when he hangs out with his buddies the muskrats, most of whom she does not approve?
  • Did he stumble upon a mirror and shockingly discover how ridiculous his teeth look?
  • Was he fed up with all the new EPA regulations that are making dam building a nightmare of red tape?
  • Was he just sick of hauling around stones and mud in the muck?
  • Who was the guy he’d taken hostage?
  • Was it some jerk throwing rocks at his dam?
  • Was it a smart alec who made one too many derisive comments about his big floppy tail?
  • Or was it one of those jackasses from the EPA who are always up in his business?

I decided to read the article to find out.

A rogue beaver struck terror into the heart of a man making his way home late at night in the Latvian city of Daugavpils, according to a local newspaper report picked up by Latvian Public Broadcasting.

The man, identified only as Sergei, says the beaver ran out of some bushes and suddenly bit him. He fell over as he tried to fight the rodent off and was bitten again as he tried to get up.

In what USA Today describes as a “Kafkian nightmare,” Sergei phoned police as the beaver “held him hostage” and refused to let him get up, only to have his plea for help allegedly dismissed as a prank call.

I can’t be certain, but I think USA Today may be confusing the works of Franz Kafka with Mad Magazine.

Sergei managed to persuade an initially disbelieving friend to come to his rescue, but the friend was pulled over by police for speeding. Cops—after breathalyzing the friend—accompanied him to the scene and discovered he had been telling the truth about the hostile beaver.

It is literally impossible to read the preceding paragraph and not feel happy.

And I would be remiss if I didn’t point something out: every time I’ve been pulled over for speeding because I was on my way to help a friend who was being held hostage by a beaver, the police here in the great Commonwealth of Pennsylvania have been nothing but helpful. Sure, they beat me tree branches and taser me a bit, but that’s to be expected.

Animal welfare officers were called and the man’s ordeal ended with him receiving 15 stitches, though the beaver is still at large. Latvia’s TV.Net reports that authorities in Daugavpils are taking the incident seriously, though it is “quite difficult to choose the measures which should be taken” to prevent similar attacks by beavers, which can become increasingly aggressive when they seek out new homes in spring.

The beaver is still at large? So the beaver outsmarted Latvian police and animal welfare officers–good for you beaver…good for you.

And it is quite difficult to choose the measures which should be taken. So let’s do nothing, because the more stories that pop up like this one, the better. (Except for Sergei, my apologies to Sergei.)

beaver

Latvian police sketch artist rendering of alleged perpetrator–be on the lookout.

A World Record by a Nose

miller noseIn August of 1976, Tom Miller of the United States, spent 4 days, 23 hours, 47 minutes, and 3 seconds, pushing a peanut to the summit of Pike’s Peak, with his nose.

He set a new world record for pushing a peanut to the summit of Pike’s Peak with your nose and forever became known as “that weirdo who pushed a peanut to the top of Pike’s Peak with his nose.”

The Guinness Book of World Records took notice and recorded his feat not once, but twice.

#1 For pushing a peanut to the top of Pike’s Peak with his nose.

#2 For the biggest waste of 4 days, 23 hours, 47 minutes, and 3 seconds, in recorded history.

Tom Miller’s parents wept tears of joy…well, they wept a lot.

Tom Miller’s life would never be the same.

But few remember the other participant in this record-setting  journey and how he was left forever broken.

mr peanut

“Tom Miller can bite me.”

 

Top Ten Ways Tom Brady has Passed the Time During his Suspension

tom brady family

Tom’s been spending a lot of time with the family lately…and with a big creepy firetruck.

As many of you are probably aware, New England Patriots’ quarterback, Tom Brady, is entering the final week of a four week suspension from the team.

The NFL imposed the suspension in an official statement that read:

As the all-powerful and omnipresent National Football League, we hereby declare that Tom Brady is liar-liar-pants-on-fire cheater. We believe he oversaw the purposeful deflating of official game balls so they would more readily fit in his tiny little-girl hands. We also believe he occasionally taunts squirrels and steals their nuts, just for the fun of it. While squirrel taunting isn’t expressly against any NFL rules, we just think it’s creepy.

As a part of the suspension, Tom can have no contact with the team or his teammates. So he had to find ways to pass the time.

#10

Needlepoint: Tom has mastered the craft of counted thread embroidery. His home is now decorated with dozens of embroideries that bear the same quaint saying: Roger Goodell Sucks.

#9

Ancestry.com: upon studying his ancestry, Tom discovered he is descended from a famous 19th century hot-air balloonist. Tragically his ancestor perished when he attempted to make a flight with his balloon badly under-inflated.

#8

Football Accident: Tom has been dealing with the fallout after inadvertently hitting his sister, Marcia Brady, in the face with a football on the day of her big date with Doug Simpson the local football star.

football brady

Tom Brady’s sister: Marcia Brady.

#7

Giselle: he’s been spending a great deal of time hanging out with his wife, Giselle, and her friends.

Victoria's Secret

In case you were starting to feel sorry for Tom…don’t.

#6

Scrapbooking: after taking a scrapbooking course at the local learning annex, Tom compiled a complete history of the entire deflategate saga. He entitled it: Roger Goodell Sucks.

#5

Some Light Reading: Tom read The Truth about Inflation by Paul Donovan. It had absolutely nothing to do with footballs.

Tom Brady

A horribly misleading title.

#4

Some more light reading: after the bitter disappointment of The Truth about Inflation, Tom joined a book club. They were reading The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants by Ann Brashares. He found it to be heartwarming, and lamented that he and Rob Gronkowski can never find a pair a jeans that perfectly fits them both.

Note: Tom also read a biography of Roger Goodell–it sucked.

#3

Part-Time Job: Tom took a part-time job at a local service station checking tire pressure. He was let go for obvious reasons.

#2

Frivolous Lawsuit: Tom has filed a ridiculous and petty lawsuit against a small-time blogger who may have or may not have implied that Tom occasionally taunts squirrels and steals their nuts.

#1

Viagra Spokesman:

brady

“When that special moment starts to happen, is your “game ball” under-inflated?”

Errant Cannon Fire from Niagara Deflates World’s Largest Rubber Duck

I am overjoyed at how many people thought this really happened.

gooferie

frdTragedy struck at Erie’s Tall Ships Festival this morning when a cannon from the Niagara misfired and shot a cannonball into the world’s largest rubber duck, deflating it within minutes.

Witnesses say the giant duck was floating about 30 yards from the Niagara when the shot was fired. “It’s a shame,” said festival patron Ernie, no last name given. “I’m awfully fond of that rubber ducky.”

Repairs are already underway as workers have gathered over 100 rolls of duck tape to patch up the hole.

The owners of the duck, Big Duck LLC, plan on sending the bill to the Niagara League. They will also submit an invoice for damages.

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How to Appreciate Poetry in a Right and Proper Way

 

bullwinkle

Bullwinkle, appreciating the hell out some poetry.

Every now and again, when I’m feeling intellectually illiterate or a bit lowbrow, (anyone who has read this blog to any extent can understand how frequently that may be) I will resolve the feeling by appreciating poetry.

I just head to my closet, yank out my poetry sack, pull out a big wad of poetry, and appreciate the hell out of it.

Note: my poetry sack also serves as a repository for random unmatched socks.

When appreciating poetry in a right and proper way, there are a few things that are key:

Comprehension

If you can even remotely understand the meaning of a poem, it isn’t a proper poem. Poems tend to be vague or nebulous. Poets like to throw around a dizzying menagerie of random imagery, designed to confuse and disorient. If you’ve just finished reading a poem and you haven’t vomited in your mouth a bit, it isn’t proper poetry.

Symbolism

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 spiralling 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.

A morbid bunch–poets.

Emotional Response

Poems are written to evoke an emotional response from its readers. Once after reading a collection of poems by Sylvia Plath, I spent hours curled-up on the floor in the fetal position as I sobbed uncontrollably.

An excerpt from Daddy, one of Sylvia Plath’s best known poems:

If I’ve killed one man, I’ve killed two——
The vampire who said he was you
And drank my blood for a year,
Seven years, if you want to know.
Daddy, you can lie back now.
There’s a stake in your fat black heart
And the villagers never liked you.
They are dancing and stamping on you.
They always knew it was you.
Daddy, daddy, you bastard, I’m through.

Holy Crap! Right?

Note: I don’t want to paint the picture that all poets are emotionally distressed alcoholics with father issues– but the really good ones are.

But Limericks Are Fun
Limericks are short humorous poems with a strict meter and A-A-B-B-A rhyme scheme. They tend to revolve around a man with an odd ability, from a small island off the coast of Massachusetts.
Sonnets
Sonnets are fourteen line poems that rose to popularity in the 13th century. They tend to be written by William Shakespeare and lovelorn teenage boys who are trying to impress teenage girls who are way out of their league.
Haiku
Haiku is not proper poetry, let’s all just stop pretending that it is.
Epic Poems
These are lengthy poems that generally involve deeds of heroism. A few examples of epic poems: Divine Comedy by Dante, Paul Revere’s Ride by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow and Horton Hears a Who by Theodor Seuss Geisel.
Dr. Seuss
Don’t be fooled by this charlatan, while he may be the brilliant author of dozens of classic children’s books, he is not and has never been a medical professional.
Emily Dickinson vs. Angie Dickinson

Be sure that you know the difference. You don’t want to be chatting up a girl who is gushing over her love of Emily Dickinson when you say, “I know, she was smoking hot in Big Bad Mama.” Seriously– it ends badly.

angie Dickinson

This is not Emily Dickinson.

Interesting Fact
The Baltimore Ravens, the NFL franchise in Baltimore, is named after Edgar Allan Poe’s The Raven.
Note: if I had named the NFL franchise in Baltimore after an Edgar Allan Poe poem, I would have called them the Baltimore Conquering Worms. How much cooler would that have been?
A Moment of Braggadocio
I once wrote an essay in college, explicating The Tyger by William Blake, on which I received a grade of 99%. Take that doubters.
You Are Now Ready
You are now ready to pull out your own poetry sack, and start appreciating the hell out of poetry.
Final Note
I don’t want any whiny comments from people who love Haiku, write Haiku, read Haiku, or though the certifying of some bizarre clerical error at the hospital, have been named Haiku. It was just a joke…mostly.

Physically Fit to be Tied–And a Bit Older

image credit: TMZ

(image credit: TMZ)

“Are you physically fit?” bellowed the man on the television screen as he jabbed a muscular finger in my direction.

“I don’t know,” I exclaimed, a bit startled by the suddenness of the question.

“Are you physically fit?” he persisted. This man was loud, muscle bound, and so deeply tanned that where ever he was, he must have been near the surface of the sun.

“You’re getting older,” he continued.

I am getting older, I thought, nearly every day.

“Do you even know what it means to be physically fit?”

I had to admit that I really didn’t.

“Of course you don’t know what it means, you’re a tiny pathetic weed of a man.”

I still didn’t know what it meant, was a little insulted, but wished that someone would tell me.

“Well I’m going to tell you.” He seemed to be reading my mind. “Physical fitness is the ability of the body to function with vigor and alertness, and with ample energy to engage in leisure activities. Endurance and cardio respiratory integrity are the overt signs of physical fitness.

Well this was absolutely no help at all.

My body functions with vigor and alertness, in as much as I seldom fall asleep when I don’t want to. I have endurance; I can run over one-hundred feet before the searing pain in my side renders me unconscious. As far as cardio respiratory integrity goes, my heart’s been beating for my entire life and hasn’t stopped yet, how much more integrity do you need?

Ample energy for leisure activities? Any activity that requires an amount of energy that can be characterized as ample, isn’t leisurely at all.

Here are a few activities that I don’t consider leisurely: running, jogging, speed walking, walking normally over long distances, walking slowly up an incline, lifting heavy objects, carrying heavy objects, lifting then subsequently carrying heavy objects, rock climbing. Rocks should never be climbed, if you’re trying to get somewhere and there is a rock in the way, go around it or blow it up. Why do think Alfred Nobel invented dynamite? They didn’t name that award after him because he wasted his time scrabbling up and down rocks.

It was at this point that the man on the screen began doing squat-thrusts. There has never been a time in the history of mankind that it was necessary to do a squat-thrust.

I decided to change the channel. Eventually I found a man reclined in a hammock, sipping a drink through a straw as waves washed a sun soaked beach in the background.

Now that’s a leisurely activity; one for which I have ample energy.

idiotpruf

Goofy has the idea.
(image source: wondersofdisney.com)

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