Monday, April 03, 2006


The following is an insight to my whimsical nature. I give the best practical jokes I ever pulled.

One day my mom came home in an especially vile mood. She kicked off her shoes and yelled for me to take them, along with another pair sitting by the door, upstairs and put them in her closet. Both pairs of shoes were identical except one was black and the other navy blue. I dutifully put mi madre’s shoes away but in inverse order. So, I arranged them blue-black-black-blue. I knew she’d grab either the pair on the right or the ones on the left ensuring she’d have to walk around all day in miss-matched footwear. She didn’t disappoint.

Me and Leonard were driving down a busy street here in Denver one morning around 3 a.m. when we passed a local liquor store that frequently had those massive inflatable beer bottles perched on the front lawn. Much to our surprise the proprietors of the store just deflated the bottles and left them out front. So being the enterprising little scamps that we were we designed to pilfer the deflated bottle. We stopped, removed the mooring straps from the stakes embedded in the ground, rolled up the bottle, and stowed it in the back of L’s truck. We’d seen similar giant inflatable stuff before and knew it required a big ass fan to blow the thing back up but none was in sight. It appeared we had been stymied in our attempt at the joke hall of fame. My bladder was near the bursting point as a twelve pack of Coors light will do that so I hid in a nearby trash enclosure to drain the main vein. Eureka! The dumbasses at the liquor store had stowed the fan behind the dumpster. Our plan was nearing fruition. We took the bottle, fan, and another twelve pack to the roof of L’s school where we proceeded to inflate the giant bottle of Bud. The principal at L’s school was greeted that Monday morning by a most unusual sight, a thirty foot tall beer bottle turned on its side.

In high school we had this letch of a teacher named Mr. O. We all hated him. He coached the girls’ cross country team, ostensibly to ogle their goodies as they bounced during the daily 5-10 mile jaunts around the neighborhood. So, one day after school whilst he was at practice and the school was nearly deserted myself and several mischievous friends devised a most sadistic joke. Mr. O’s prized possession was his 1965 yellow VW Bug. Now, anyone who’s ever owned one knows they’re insanely easy to break into. So, we popped open his door, took the Bug out of gear, and pushed it next to the gymnasium wall which jutted out about forty feet and was thirty twenty feet tall and had a set of double wide entry doors. We pushed his car into the middle of the gym and closed the door. Here’s the kicker, our basketball coach/head gym teacher, Mr. G, was watching. His reaction was of utter disbelief. You could see the look on his face. Next thing we saw was Mr. G head around the corner then we heard him explode with laughter. Mr. O never found out who violated his sanctity as Mr. G was an impossible nut to crack.

There was an unwritten rule at our high school that states never be the first to get drunk and pass out at our parties. Many people went home with fairly vile and embarrassing tokens scribbled in magic marker all over their bodies. Some even had their hair dyed a different color or were stripped of all clothing save a strategically placed bear can, box, or plastic grocery bag. We were not nice people. Now, if you were the first to pass out and were disliked by a large portion of the onlookers you were screwed. One night this kid whom I’d developed a stern disliking of was the first to pass out. I chimed up to everyone to let me go take a wiz and contemplate his fate. Everyone knew I hated the guy and also knew of my reputation for creativity and inventiveness. They all laughed as I went off to do my thing. I was drunk as shit and when I’m like that I have a tendency to do bizarre stuff. After I’d emptied my bladder I started snooping in the medicine cabinet. Sweet mother of God if I didn’t find the perfect tool of torment. I reappeared and a hush fell over the crowd as they could see I was holding something behind my back. I donned a shit-eating grin and revealed…a bottle of Nair. This kid looked like a young Jason Voorhees come Monday morning.

After I broke my neck in 1990 I spent six months at Craig Hospital here in Denver. After two months in I was paired up with Zorba the Greek in room 308. We developed a tight friendship and all the staff and our fellow gimps knew it. One day we acquired the the number by which you could access the hospital intercom from any phone in the building. Nick insisted we use this to play a joke on the patients and staff. Zorba held the phone, dialed 483, and I announced, “Attention Craig Hospital patients and staff. We would like to announce a change in the education protocol. Disabled sexuality and driver training will now be taught in the same car.”

Please let me know what your best practical jokes were and I’ll start a Hall of Fame. Leave as detailed accounts as you can possibly remember. Later.