Stupid Ideas in History

In 1212 we had the "Children's Crusade". Some 20,000 kids marched to the sea, trusting that God would part it for them so they could march to the "Holy Land" and convert the Muslims without force. They all drowned.

Better Tools To Deal With Stupidity

What better way to deal with idiots, knuckle-draggers, and morons than your very own set of brass knuckles with a 950,000 volt stun gun built right in! This baby packs a punch! Only $69.99 + shipping. Too high tech and expensive for your "fighting stupid" budget?
Then there is always this low tech solution. Only $18.99 + shipping.
The Mighty Scarab

Iraq

Enough said.

The Mighty Scarab

Enter The Mighty Scarab

Hey-O. I was asked to contribute to this blog because, as most of you know, a scarab is a dung beetle which makes me an expert on bullshit. I have also spent quite a bit of time around mummys, so I know a thing or two about administering medicine to the dead.

Now that we have established my credentials, let me tell you why I'm here.

It is my job to point out the bullshit that you may have missed during your busy day. I will be doing this in much the same way you would eat an elephant: one 'burger at a time.

Thanks for the invite Spoons. I won't let you down.

Signed,

The Mighty Scarab.

EGAD, THAT'S STUPID...

Goddamn, you look sexxxy with your ass hangin' out o' them pants, boy!!

THAT'S the ticket!! Wear TWO pair of pants!! You look one hell of a LOT smarter that way!!

THERE YA' GO!! THAT'S THE SPIRIT!! KEEP UP THE GOOD WORK! IF YOU'RE GONNA SAGG YER PANTS, DO IT RIGHT, GODDAMNIT!!!

I'll See Your Athiest Tattoo And Raise You A Tiger

In my travels as a traveller's check dealer, I have run across more Stupid than I have witless skunks. I'm not sure which smells worse. Last week I had the misfortune of hitting both stupid and a skunk and the compounding stench took my breath away. But, since we're talking about Stupid, I won't bore you with the skunk.

I stopped off at a roadside hovel near a shit neighborhood. I needed smokes and they had them. I went inside where two lovely young black ladies were zipping back and forth trying to serve both the local derelicts and the globally divine (me).

As I was waiting for the ladies to find my highly exclusive brand, a terrible, unwashed hippie walked in. He was wearing cutoff cargo pants, a dirty tee and a scraggly beard. He also looked like he had rolled around in the dirt, as he was liberally coated with a dusting of earth and, I presume, incense ash and fairy dust. He began making small talk with the ladies and eventually he admitted to having the "party plates" on his car.


"Party Plates" are special yellow license plates given to "hardcore drunk drivers." Hardcore drunk drivers can be defined as those who drive with a blood alcohol concentration of .15 or above, who do so repeatedly, as demonstrated by having more than one drunk driving arrest, and who are highly resistant to changing their behavior despite previous sanctions, treatment or education."

As he made small talk with the ladies behind the counter, I remembered that I might not have a lighter in my Carmaster 6000, so I requested one.

"Would you like a mini bic, a maxi, or a tatto bic?" she asked as she pointed to the three shelves of lighters.

"I'll take a tattoo lighter; why don't you pick one out for me," I replied.

Rather than just DOING WHAT I ASKED HER TO DO, she brought the whole damn tray over. I grabbed the first tattoo lighter that came to hand; it had a tiger tattooed vertically up the side of it.

"Hey," said Unwashed Hippie, "I have that same tattoo!"

As I turned to look at him, he raised his shirt above his right nipple and let us all view a large tattoo of a tiger identical to the one on this lighter and decidedly fresh. This man got a $400 tattoo based on an image he saw on A LIGHTER.

I turned back to the cashier and said, "I'll have this other lighter instead." I returned the tiger to his perch and selected one with a sword cutting through a carnation.

TALES OF "THE MAGIC HANDLE"

So I come home from work and go upstairs and open the bathroom door. A horrific STINK hits me like a board.

"What the fuck??" I say to myself, and go back DOWNSTAIRS for the Lysol. Before liberally spraying the air I take a quick wiff of the trash can. Nope, that's not it-- there's a poopy diaper in there, no doubt, but the stink I'm smelling smells more like 3 week old urine or something. Horrible.

THEN I open the lid of the toilet.

"OH MY FUCKING GOD!" I cry unto the heavens. The bowl is a hideous shade of cloudy yellow. I grab a bottle of bleach sitting on the counter and pour about 3/4 of it in and shut the lid quickly.

The following is a more-or-less verbatim exchange between me and my spouse:

ME: have you been peeing in the toilet and leaving it there?!
SPOUSE-UNIT: yes. The toilet doesn't flush.
ME: well, of course it doesn't!! Why the hell did you do that? Why didn't you just use the downstairs bathroom?
S.U.: I had to go in the middle of the night!
ME: well, shit, why not just pee in the bathtub and then rinse it?
S.U.: ewww! That's gross!!
ME: [dumfounded] and that horrible stink that's fugging up the entire 2nd floor ISN'T?!? A toilet bowl full of pee that's culturing bacterea ISN'T gross?!"

I don't understand people. I don't understand 'em at all...