idiotpruf
The blog that prevents scurvy…as long as you eat orange slices while you read it.
Archive for the tag “satire”
Spot ‘n Me Make an Album — Gerbil News Network
It’s been a long winter without much of a spring in New England, and I was beginning to get worried about the malaise that Spot–the dog puppet you may remember from Pets.com commercials–had fallen into. He’s usually a chipper little chap, but lately he’s been taciturn . . . phlegmatic . . . distrait; and those are just […]
The True and Accurate Historical Story of Limburger Cheese
The delightful aroma of feet.
There is one salient fact about Limburger cheese: it is just awful. The only time I would need Limburger cheese, would be if I needed something that smelled like death and the smell from my giant pile of opossum crap just wasn’t enough.
Did you know the bacterium used to ferment Limburger cheese is the same bacterium that is responsible for body odor, and in particular, foot odor?
If you’ve ever smelled Limberger cheese, you had your suspicions.
Limburger cheese was first created in the Duchy of Limburg in the 19th century by a man who had just come home from a hard day of cheese making. He had unbuckled and removed his boots and was attempting to enjoy a meal with his wife when he and his wife got into an argument that changed the history of cheese making forever.
Wife: What is that horrendous smell?
Cheesemaker: Ooh, we’re having stoofvlees, I love stoofvlees.
Wife: It’s the most putrid smell I have ever encountered.
Cheesemaker: I don’t smell anything. Pass the ale.
Wife: I think it’s your feet.
Cheesemaker: Seriously. Pass the ale.
Wife: It’s rancorous.
Cheesemaker: It’s not that bad.
Wife: It is that bad. There are people retching on the other side of the Demer River.
Cheesemaker: Do you know what this conversation isn’t doing? It isn’t remedying the fact that I have no ale.
Wife: Your feet smell worse than that giant pile of opossum crap you have behind the house.
Cheesemaker: I’ll get my own ale.
Wife: Why do you even have a giant pile of opossum crap?
Cheesemaker: I’ll tell you why, (he pauses to take a slug of ale) because someday you’ll be in desperate need of copious amounts of opossum crap, and you’ll be glad it’s there.
Wife: I’ve thought the same thing about you, but it still hasn’t happened. Besides, it’s the worst smell in the world.
Cheesemaker: Nonsense. It’s not the worst smell in the world. In fact, I’ll bet that I could make a cheese that smells worse.
Wife: I doubt it.
Cheesemaker: You’ll see; it will become my mission.
Wife: Shut up and drink your ale.
And drink his ale he did.
And succeed he did–beyond his wildest ale-fueled dreams.
Of course, his wife left him and his giant pile of opossum crap.
The Duchy of Limburg is now divided by modern-day Germany, the Netherlands, and Belgium. None of the three countries wanted it: it reeked of Limburger cheese and developed a huge opossum problem.
Addendum: there are historians who will tell you certain items in this story aren’t factual–historians suck.
The aroma of their crap is delightful.
[satire] CRY WOLF: St. Paul’s Student Devastated to Realize There’s Still 50 Minutes Left of Class — The Paper Wolf
Cry Wolf Satirical News (COVINGTON, La.) The four block, 90-minute class schedule St. Paul’s operates under has given students a very unique relationship with the clock. A St. Paul’s student was reportedly devastated to realize there was still 50 minutes left of class yesterday (May 9). Sources say sophomore Tyrone Peters was horrified after looking […]
City Council Chambers to add Boxing Ring — gooferie
Following a recent near dust-up between City Councilman Mel Witherspoon and a citizen, Erie City Council held an emergency session and voted 6-0, with one abstention, to add a regulation size boxing ring to council chambers. To make room for the ring, council will be removing 30 seats which are never occupied anyway for meetings. […]
Denouement–it’s Fun to Say
Edgar Allan Poe: novelist, short story writer, and poet…something is missing.
In a previous post I stressed the importance of reading.
But it’s not just that you read; what you read is of equal importance.
The novel: Novels are essentially piles and piles of words endlessly strung together. Novelists are concerned with things like setting, theme, plot resolution, and character growth. Do friends become enemies? Do enemies become friends? Are obstacles overcome?
Important questions need to be answered in novels.
- Does Captain Ahab’s obsession with the white whale drag him under?
- Does Edmund Dantes’ quest for revenge ruin his chance for happiness?
- Does Jay Gatsby reunite with his long-lost love?
- Does Sydney Carton seek redemption by going to the gallows for another?
- Does Lucy ever let Charlie Brown kick the football?
Seriously, novels are just exhausting–I would avoid them.
Note: The word denouement is fun to say–it’s all Frenchy.
Reading novels makes young children have disturbing hallucinations…it’s a fact.
The short story: Short stories are just novels for people with short attention spans. They are primarily written by lazy novelists who probably had a little too much to drink the night before, and couldn’t be bothered to write a proper novel.
Don’t waste your time with short stories.
Poetry: The key element of poetry you need to recognize is that if can even remotely understand it, it’s not proper poetry. 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 spiraling 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.
It’s all so confusing and depressing. I once spent the better part of an afternoon curled up in the fetal position, sobbing uncontrollably after reading a collection Sylvia Plath poems. (Sylvia Plath was one depressing chick.)
For the sake of your mental health stay away from poetry.
Note: This does not apply to limericks. Limericks are short humorous poems with a strict meter and rhyme scheme. They tend to revolve around an odd man from a small island off the coast of Massachusetts.
Nantucket: evidently there was once a man from there.
The humor blog: Humor blogs are unsurpassed in pure entertainment value. They are practically happiness in written form.
Many humor bloggers are attractive people; the rest are stunningly attractive people. Humor bloggers are the best sort of people; the sort of people you want to praise continuously and occasionally bask in their reflected glow.
They have breath that is perpetually minty fresh, and they seldom sweat.
Humor blogs are read by highly intelligent people. They are read by people who are witty and charming. They are wholly unlike those dullards who read books of poetry.
Humor blogs enrich your life, and they give meaning to your otherwise drab existence.
Whenever a humor blog is read, somewhere a small child laughs.
Humor blogs are to be read, read again, memorized, and repeated aloud in public.
You have your mission–so get to it.
Congratulations, you just made a small child laugh.
National Lost Sock Memorial Day — Natalie Mepham: Writer, Dreamer, Loud Gum Chewer
I can’t imagine why it would, but in case it slipped your mind, I wanted to remind you that National Lost Sock Memorial Day is next Wednesday May 9th. Below is an example of an obituary you can use for your lost socks. It is with deep sorrow in my heart that I am writing […]
via National Lost Sock Memorial Day — Natalie Mepham: Writer, Dreamer, Loud Gum Chewer
Welcome to Facebook! Please Accept Our 137,000 Page Terms of Use Policy — Jamison Writes
If enough users agree to The Terms, maybe Lord Zuckerberg will finally put the doors back on the bathroom stalls and stop broadcasting our personal phone calls over the company PA system.
via Welcome to Facebook! Please Accept Our 137,000 Page Terms of Use Policy — Jamison Writes
Home is Where the Heart is…and a Bit of Predator
Home is where the heart is…in fact, that’s where I keep most of my shit. –Pliny the Elder (slightly paraphrased)
This post is about my hometown, and five reasons why it is awesome. (This post is not about modesty.)
Reason #1: the best chicken wings on the planet
Western New York is really good at two things: lake effect snow and chicken wings. Lake effect snow sucks, but chicken wings are great. And the best chicken wings on the planet can be found in Westfield, NY at Larry’s Cantina.
How do I know the chicken wings at Larry’s Cantina are the best on the planet? Because I am a chicken wing expert. (Did I mention this post is not about modesty?)
Note: I can’t vouch for the chicken wings on other planets; I’m sure the chicken wings on that planet Predator is from are badass.
“Our chicken wings are badass.”
Reason #2: Mad Dog 20/20
That’s right, Mad Dog 20/20 is produced in my hometown by Mogen David. Mad Dog 20/20 is classified as a flavored fortified wine. Flavored fortified wines are sometimes referred to as “bum wines” by cynics. Cynics can bite me. (This post is not about tact.)
The Urban Dictionary claims it’s the drink high school kids sneak off to the rock quarry to drink. That’s ridiculous…it was a gorge.
Mad Dog 20/20 has numerous virtues:
- It’s practically a cure for not having liver disease.
- It relieves you of that pesky problem of having too many brain cells.
- It would survive a nuclear holocaust.
- It comes in several delicious artificial flavors and colors that glow in the dark.
- If you’ve ever wondered what the sweetest thing in the world is: there’s your answer.
- Predator loves it.
“Mad Dog 20/20 is badass.”
Reason #3: Grace Bedell
Grace Bedell statue in Westfield, NY.
On October 15, 1860, a few weeks before Lincoln was elected President of the United States, Grace Bedell sent him a letter from Westfield, New York, urging him to grow a beard to improve his appearance. Lincoln responded in a letter on October 19, 1860, making no promises. However, within a month, he grew a full beard.
His inaugural trip from Illinios to Washington D.C. took him through Westfield, NY where he stopped to meet Grace.
Grace later recounted the events:
“He climbed down and sat down with me on the edge of the station platform,” she recalled. “‘Gracie,’ he said, ‘look at my whiskers. I have been growing them for you.’ Then he kissed me. I never saw him again.”
I know what you’re thinking: that’s a sweet story, but it would have been more impressive if she had written something like:
Dear Mr. Lincoln, if you should become president, this slavery thing really has to go.
P.S. Avoid the theater.
Hey, it’s our thing–leave it alone!
“Grace Bedell is badass.”
Reason #4: my aunts and uncles
If modern cinema and television have taught us anything through mega-hits such as Harry Potter, Twilight, and The Walking Dead, it’s that witches, vampires, werewolves, and various incarnations of the undead, are quite popular in current culture.
The town of Westfield, NY is polluted with my aunts and uncles.
Note: you get what I’m implying.
Reason #5: simply put: it’s my hometown and that makes it awesome (this post is not about modesty or tact)
This blog is read by thousands of intelligent and influential people (a few of which aren’t imaginary).
And since this is my blog: I make the rules. And according to those rules, that makes my hometown awesome.
Note: I’ve heard this blog is wildly successful on Predator’s planet.
“idiotprufs is badass.”
Addendum
Westfield, NY is also awesome because there are absolutely no mimes there.
There was one once, but we took care of that.
Westfield, NY: notice the dearth of mimes.
Donner Party Disappointment
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 a terribly planned party–I left early.
Don’t get me wrong, I prefer it to a family get-together at my aunt’s house, but I’d rather be stripped naked, chained to the back of a jeep, and dragged through a field of broken glass, than go to a family get-together at my aunt’s house.
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.
“I throw fantastic parties.”
idiotpruf 