Stupid Answers With J-Simp (Part One).

 

    Wow.  Did you all ever come through when I asked for some stupid questions.  In fact, the level of stupidity is so amazing that I think at least one of you is actually Paris Hilton stopping by during her long and torturous struggle with abstinence. 

 

    Anyway, since so many of these questions are of such an astoundingly stupid nature, and rather than blow out my cerebellum trying to answer them, I've had to enlist the help of my friend, and former MTV personality, who, due to contractual obligations, can only be referred to as "Jessica Simp."  Trust me, when it comes to stupid questions, there's no one more qualified to answer them.   Say hello to the nice folks, Jess.

J-Simp:    Lindsay Lohan has a cast on her arm.  Do you think I should break my arm?  Would it help my career?

 

DP:    That's neither here nor there.  Just say hello so we can get on with this, okay?

 

J-Simp:    Hello? 

 

DP:    Good enough.  Our first question comes from Amanda who wants to know:

    Stupid question?

DP:    Very good, Trickster.  That's a stupid question. 

 

J-Simp:    I don't get it. 

 

DP:    Of course you don't.   Anyway, Amanda also wants to know:

    Well Dan, how do I stop from tripping and falling over my shoe laces when I leave them untied?

J-Simp:    . . . . .

 

DP:    I didn't think hillbillies wore shoes, much less tied them. 

 

J-Simp:    You should always wear shoes Amanda.  Britney went into a gas station bathroom barefoot, and came out pregnant.  That's why those yucky porn stars always keep their shoes on.  It keeps them from getting pregnant. 

 

DP:    Umm..  I got nothing after that.  The next question comes from Nancy, who asks:

Why can't people tickle themselves?

DP:    Well, Nancy, the reason why people can't tickle themselves....

 

J-Simp:    I can tickle my brain.

 

DP:    ...is because when you know it's...  what the....?

 

J-Simp:    It's true.  I can tickle my brain. 

 

DP:    I...  You... How?  With paint fumes?  Are you a huffer, Jess?

 

J-Simp:    No, silly.  I can tickle my brain with fabric softener.  When I think about April Fresh, and how I never remembered the month of April ever smelling like fabric softener, it makes my brain tickle.  Oh!  And pink puppies also tickle me.  And it tickles when I loofa my feet.

 

DP:    More than we needed to know Jess.  Way more.  And that brings us to Fred, who asks:

Why do my dogs eat deer poop?

J-Simp:    I know!  I know!  Can I answer this one too, Dan?

 

DP:    Be my guest.  That's why you're here.

 

J-Simp:    It helps them bark Fred.  See?  The deers eat the bark off trees, and then they poop out a...  what do you call it? 

 

DP:    A turd?

 

J-Simp:    No.  It's super-strong.  Like frozen orange juice?

 

DP:    A concentrated turd?

 

J-Simp:    Yes!  Concentrated bark.  The deer poop out the super-concentrated bark fuel, and the dogs eat it, and that's why country dogs always bark louder than city dogs.  There's no deers in the city.  So, there's no fuel. 

 

DP:    Argue with that logic!  I dare ya!  However, we have to move on, and the next stupid question comes from Chris who wants to know:

Why do people ask stupid questions???    

DP:    Because they don't realize that when they shut their mouths, their brains start working.

 

J-Simp:    . . . .

 

DP:    What is it now?

 

J-Simp:    I just think that was very mean.  After all, there are no stupid questions.  There are questions that are stupid, and people ask them, but there's still no stupid questions --only stupid answers. 

 

DP:    Whatever.  Our next stupid question (which really isn't that stupid) comes from soon-to-be-papa VampJack.  He's across the pond in Coventry, and he asks:

This entry was made for US Customs, I get to spend all day answering stupid questions - "what is a book made of" or even better they regularly ask for a better description of something, the other day they asked for better description of "used guitar"...why people send anything to the USA is beyond me.....so my stupid question is - why is US Customs staffed by people who couldn't find their arse with a map?

J-Simp:    You live with nuns, and you have a baby on the way?  What the hell's going on?  There are rules against that sort of thing, you know!

 

DP:    Coventry, Jess.  It's in England.

J-Simp:    Yeah.  I know.  Where the nuns live.  Barefoot nuns.  Barefoot, pregnant nuns. 

 

DP:    Ummm..  Jess?   It's Coventry.  Not "Convent."

 

J-Simp:    Do they have nuns there?

 

DP:    I don't know.  But they have "Bubbles and Squeak" and "Spotted Dick."

 

J-Simp:    Well, that's why we need U.S. Customs, Vamp.  I mean, with things like that, who knows what Paris Hilton's dragging around with her? 

 

DP:    Nevermind her Jack.  The only maps a potential U.S. Customs officer really needs is one that points north and possibly a map of the American Southwest. 

 

J-Simp:    My gardener was a U.S. Customs officer.  He was good with roses.  I think he went to work for the Federlines or Snoop Dog.

 

DP:    Ummm...  Hey!  Let's see if we can't snap that brain of yours with this next question, okay, Jess?  It comes from Raven, and she's desperate to know:

How come so many intelligent people believe that gravity creates 12 personality clones for each month?

J-Simp:    My dad once told me that I have lots of personality, and that I'd better show off my personality before gravity makes my personality sag.  Then, no one will listen to my music, and I'll wind up like Liza Minnelli.  

 

DP:    I think she's asking about astrology, Jess, and why so many people believe in it.

 

J-Simp:    Oh!  Well...  I think we need to study the stars because then we'll all know what planet Tom Cruise comes from.  And then maybe we can contact them, and they'll send us more Tom Cruises so all our daughters can be fairy tale princesses like what's-her-name.

 

DP:    There's simply not enough Prozac to help me deal with that.  Next!  This existential interrogative comes from Daniel Sade, and he asks the simple:

why?

DP:    Your thoughts, Jess?

 

J-Simp:    Look.  This is the last time I will explain this to you people.  She had acid reflux, okay?  She caught it in Japan.  And, as everyone knows, the only way to cure acid reflux is by getting a nose-job.  Duh?

 

DP:    Your eyes are blue because of the paint chips you ate as a child, right?  I mean, everyone knows blue is the yummiest. 

 

J-Simp:    Now you're just being mean again.  What's the next question?

 

DP:    Sorry.  This next question, or series of questions, comes from Cinzano who wants to know:

Does this dress make my butt look big?

DP:    Of course not.  It's not that your butt's too big.  It's just that your head is too small.   

 

J-Simp:    I don't get it.

 

DP:    Of course you don't, Jess.  You don't get out enough.

What Would Scooby Do?

DP:    I'll field this one.  Cindy, Scooby would probably do a French Poodle named Fifi, but with his attrocious speech impediment, he'll have to settle for an English bulldog named Lou. 

Where have all the flowers gone?

J-Simp:    Check Snoop Dog's house.  My flowers all died, and now I've just got a bunch of weed growing in my backyard. 

DP:    You mean "weeds" right?

 

J-Simp:    No.  I mean weed.  I'd smoke it, but I'm not good with fire.

Baby, would you eat this here snack cracker in your special outfit for me, please?

DP:    Oh, you make me wanna walk like a camel!

J-Simp:    A camel?

 

DP:    It's a song, Jess.  You wouldn't know anything about those things.

Who let the dogs out?

J-Simp:    This is about my sister again, isn't it? 

 

DP:    No.  It's just a simple question. 

 

J-Simp:    Oh.  In that case, I blame the French.  I mean, hello?  Celine Dion, anyone?

Do you have the Texas Chainsaw Mascara?

DP:    Celine Dion is...  oh nevermind.  What the hell is Texas Chainsaw Mascara?

 

J-Simp:    It's an Avon thing Dan.  They make it for lumberjacks. 

 

DP:    Umm...  You're not quite all there, are you, Jess?   But, before you answer that, we've hit our 25,000 character limit, and I think we need to take a little break before your head explodes. 

 

J-Simp:   Yeah.  That would be messy.

 

DP:    Not that messy.  Aren't you having fun, Jess?

 

J-Simp:    No.  I thought you had a script for me to read? 

Tags: Humor, Stupid Answers, J-Simp, CarnivAOL