Are you smarter than a Barleysworth?

I woke up in the fifth grade classroom of one of my kids last Tuesday afternoon and spent a half hour there before I was asked to leave (teachers always hate people with the farts). I learned more that half hour than I did in the 3 years I spent in 4th grade before I dropped out back in 2003. I was inspired to take this experience and challenge people to see if they know as much as the fifth graders, but I was told that this is already a show on TV with that cultural elitist, Jeff Foxworthy.

Realizing that there was a market in questions, I decided to make my own game show. I will ask people questions as they compete with a member of my family. This will show whether or not they are smarter than a Barleysworth. I will call it, appropriately, "Don't be an idiot, you moron."

Here are some sample questions. If you are going to try to compete, stop reading here, because I will use these questions on the first show once NBC agrees to air it (we are in legal debates right now(they don't like my methods of negotiating(I have kidnapped 14 children of NBC executives over the past week trying to get my show on the air))).

Questions:

1. What is 5+1?
A. 6
B. a million
C. two million
D. a bucket of kittens

2. What aisle in Wal Mart has terlit paper?
A. that one next to the hedge clippers
B. a million
C. two million
D. a bucket of fingernails

3. Who is uncle Muffert's sworn enemy
A. mailman Jeff
B. Kevin Spacey
C. German philosopher Max Stirner
D. a bucket of used Q-tips

4. Where do you shoot a bunny to kill it?
A. Left leg
B. Right ear
C. its head
D. a bucket of toast crumbs

5. What time does the sun set?
A. noon
B. at sunset
C. first thing in the morning
D. a bucket of Grampa Dinger's anti-racist pills

6. Who invented beer pudding?
A. Billy Mays
B. Local Indian Chief yells like dying yak
C. Cousin Noser
D. a bucket of frozen used tissues

7. How many times do you have to knee a goat in the head to get it to stop eating your socks?
A. 14
B. 8
C. 22
D. a bucket of armpit hair dandruff

Let's see how you did.
Answers:
1. A
2. A
3. C
4. C
5. B
6. C
7. A

I will let you know when NBC agrees to air it.

More to come.

In the kitchen with Skubert

I recently discovered the joys of cooking, partially due to a great meal I had at my cousin Minwyeh's house (I know, he has a weird name. His dad tried to tell the nurse "Marbs" when she asked what his name was to be, and he sneezed. He wasn't aware that he could tell her to change it. He didn't let the name "Marbs" get away though. He used it for his daughter), and partially because I learned that cooking would give me an excuse to handle knives while drunk.

While some people swear by cookbooks, cooking shows, or recipes found online, I have my own ways of establishing my culinary genius: I wing it and change my recipes when my cooking results in hospitalizations or passing a bottle of ipecac around the dinner table. While there may have been a couple of meals in the past month that my family liked, a majority have not been good. I made this a positive thing, though. Nobody makes 'Ipecac Pudding' like I do.

I have found success in the following dishes: Pickle soup, waffle sandwiches, and mustard pot pie. If you want the recipe for any of these winners, let me know. While these have been family favorites, there have been others that my family has been able to keep down safely. These are: bologna-sausage-bacon delights (bacon, sausage, and bologna fried in butter), doritos & peanut butter, pile of salt, chicken breasts with mushroom sage sauce, and toothpaste burgers.

While it would take me a long time to remember and record all of my mistakes, or as my family puts them, "Papa's oopers, oogers, pukers" (or POOP), I will try to remember a couple so that you don't have to learn this the hard way. A couple of pieces of POOP are: whisky tuna corn flakes, mud tacos, sweet peppers and pocket change stew, spaghetti and popcorn fondue, hair subs, and cheese trout on a pile of sand.

Ah well, you can't win them all.

More to come.

Manners are dummers

(Editor's note: My name is Ricky Johnson and I am writing this "interview" as it is happening for Mr. Barleysworth. He threatened to steal me if I didn't comply, then he bit me. Out of fear, I agreed to write this)

Skubert Barleysworth: I am here with Mary Livingston, the teacher of the Etiquette classes at the community college.

Mary Livingston: Thanks for having me, Mr. Barleysw-

SB: WAIT YOUR TURN, I WAS TALKING, YAPPY YAPPERSON

ML: I'm sorry...please proceed

SB: Don't try to use your reverse psychology on me, ugly.

(Mr. Barleysworth has paused for a minute, and now started smelling the floor.)

SB: Ugh...Okay, moving on. What is a fork and why do I need one?

ML: Well, a fork is an eating utensil that is used to eat solid or firm foods and prevents one from soiling his hands or clothing.

SB: Right, well what about terlit paper. Do I really need to buy that stuff? Only French people use that stuff.

ML: I don't think you're...are you mistaking toilet paper for a bedet?

SB: 'the hell are you talking about?

ML: Sir, toilet paper isn't a matter of etiquette. It is a matter of hygeine.

SB: Moving on. How would you respond to a dinner guest who insisted on making goobers with your sister under the table during dessert?

ML: Goobers? Do you mean to tell me your guest fornicated with your sister during your dinner party?

SB: Farmlidade? No, he made smibbles with her.

ML: I would politely ask this gentleman to leave and apologize to my guests, I presume.

SB: Did you ever see that movie where the guy's balls got stuck in a milk jug?

ML: No. Sir, this is becoming inappropriate

SB: You're right, how do we make it manners and stuff?

ML: Well, first I would like to discuss the details of-

(Mr. Barleysworth just jumped out of his chair and tackled a passing librarian)

SB: AND STAY DOWN!

ML: Alright, sir, I believe I have to leave.

SB: I hate everything about you....


More to come

Jobs are stupid and so is work

So my friend, Beardy Bearderson (who unfortunately fell face first into a fire a week ago, leaving him completely hairless on his noggin), advised me that I would probably have to sink even lower in social class if I continued trying to live day to day without a job. Ever since Doogers.org shut down, according to Beardy, I haven't made any money, and this is a bad thing. I have 29 children and I need to support at least 6 of them to be able to face myself every morning.

So I went job hunting. I set my sights high at first and applied to an investment firm, but they quickly realize that I was lying and that my knowledge of investments pretty much included the lottery (which I am starting to understand) and betting on my kids in fights I push them into with untamed wildlife. They politely asked me to leave, I politely told them all to go to hell, they politely walked me to the door, I politely farted on some guy's neck, and then I left.

Realizing that I need to find a more fitting job, I set my sights a little lower and applied at the local diner, "Gummer's Ummers," which is run by an old guy named Gummer Footwreak. This place is also a bit elegant beyond old Skubert's liking, but I knew that I had to earn a living for my family. Long story short, don't try to prove your ability to make yourself vomit on command for guests as you serve them their food, even if they deny your ability to do it or beg you not to do it. After I hucked on 6 customers, I was politely fired. Losing my patiences with manners, I contemplated my revenge while dancing a jig I learned one night when I was drunk. I finally decided to hurt Gummer where he would feel it, and kicked the closest customer, Gummer's mummer, in the head.

I also applied to the local speakeasy, "Bar," for a job as a bartender. I like beer. I don't like paying for things. Do I need to explain why I got fired in 14 minutes?

I think the only job that I had into a second day was as a security guard at the mall. I ensured that the malls were safe until I was forced to retire on my third day. Beating people who steal is okay, but beating people for practice until I find somebody stealing is "wrong." Whatever, I am glad that guy looked at me funny, sending me into a fit of 'Barleysworth Rage' which led to an impressive beating, causing my early retirement.

More to come.

Einstein owes me royalties

Scoff, I dare you. I am the one who came up with the idea of special relativity. Mr. Albert Crime-stein stole it from me like I stole my hat from a bald kid in a wheelchair. I can prove this with the most rock solid evidence that can be produced: a vague story that I can support with drawings on the soles of favorite pair of bowling shoes.

So me, cousin Boobie, laffy Pete, and Funkle went to the Slippy Floor Alley out there by the gas station. This wasn't an ordinary bowling night, as the Slippy Floor is to regular alleys as Burger King is to regular restuarants. So wearing our finest dress tank tops and work pants, we set out to a night of luxury to celebrate laffy Pete's first day at his new job (which he missed to go bowling). Ordering the finest beer and selecting the most gourmet items from the vending machine, we felt like high society.

That is when I realized that my ball, rolling down the lane, was an independent unit in its own inertial frame, with velocity and mass relative to other inertial frames, thus eliminating any potential for absolute states of rest. Describing this to the group with my enthusiastic dance and drawings on my bowling shoes as visual aids, I described this new perception of reality to them, knowing for sure that I was to change the scientific community for the better.

This is when cousing Boobie, a tenured physics professor at Georgia Tech, broke the news to me that this had already been discovered by that stupid head Einstein. I made it my goal that night not to sleep until I got royalties for my discovery.

I woke up the next day and spent most of the morning looking in my phone book for this Einstein guy, but he must be unlisted because I couldn't find crap.

More to come.

Libraries = Blogs, free toilet paper, and lots of wrestling space

My name is Skubert, and I used to be the famous columnist for Doogers.org. I was told there to give an alias, but I didn't know what that meant, so I showed up with a canoe paddle. I wrote 60 articles for them over the course of a year and then they closed down without telling me, so I showed up every day suspecting an extended weekend or something.

I was forced to stop going to the office after the policemen told me I wasn't allowed to be there anymore. In the two weeks I kept showing up, I had been arrested for loitering, public nudity, stealing a bus driver's contact lenses, and vomiting on a baby, all while waiting outside of the office for my boss, Dr. Charles Booby IV, to show up.

I hitched a ride in my neighbor's daughter's bike basket to the library, as I did every Tuesday, to shower, and I noticed that the library, perhaps having won the lottory or something, had computers. Ignoring the game of solitare some old man was playing on the closest computer, I squeezed my way into his chair and started this blog.

More to come.