I never laugh harder than at a good prank. That shit on Jackass where the giant, spring loaded boxing glove pops out from behind a handbill and whomps that midget dude (little person male) makes me crap myself. I guess it goes back to my first ring and run. We had this neighbor – the Kellers. They used to fight so prolifically and so vociferously, that all the abutting families would leave their doors open for the live dinnertime entertainment. Also, the Kellers’ son, Big D, grew up to be one of the best drunks in a four-town radius. The DUI with kids in the car is always a laugh fest. Who doesn’t love a good couple of tangents?

Meanwhile back at the ranch (more like the spa – it was an entirely Jewish neighborhood), the Kellers would actively seek out the perpetrators of a ring and run. We would all scramble to different hideouts and watch the hunt and listen to the threats. To us, sheltered overfed little shavers, it was like there was horseback perched posse with torches after us and Mrs. Keller was the wizened yet wise sheriff.

Rather than go through the pedigree and ramifications of all the pranks hatched by yours truly, let me present a list with commentary:

The Surf’s Up: Take a garbage barrel to the front stoop of a house. Hint – the door must open in. Fill garbage barrel 3/4 way with water. Hint – outdoor spigot with hose must be nearby. Lean barrel slightly against door. Ring doorbell and run like hell to observation point. When the occupant opens the door – SURF’S UP! If you have the balls, the prank is enhanced by playing the Hawaii-50 theme from a boom box at the exact point the door is opened.

SUCCESSFULLY PERPETRATED ON THE FRIEDMANS, Summer, 1984.

The McDonald’s Ashtray: Many won’t remember the time one could smoke inside a McDonald’s. But you could (Burger King too).They had these little, soft aluminum, disposable type ashtrays. For those with stunted imaginations, here:

I spent a day filling a jar with pee. In other words, a day like any other day. I then portioned out the pee into about 17 stolen McDonalds ashtrays. Have I mentioned that smoking was once permitted there? Then I placed the pee-trays in the freezer. About three hours later I retrieved these dastardly little dishes and people’s doors. So, Brandeis University class of 1989, if you ever woke up in the morning and stepped in a mysterious puddle in your door room – that was probably my piss.

The Conference Call: In my house we had the parent’s phone line and the kid’s phone line (before texts and cell phones. Yeah, I know, I’m old and farty. We had Atari though. Imagine a blue zig-zaggy line, then imagine that blue zig-zaggy line is Superman). Again, for the internal-visualizationally challenged:

Before conference calling was even available to residences (and this prank works just as well and it’s a lot easier now), I realized there was more to having two phone lines than plain convenience. I was able to rig them together so I could place a call to two separate people and all three of us could hear each other. Then I realized that I could place a call to two separate people and they’s hear each other and I clam up. Each would think that one dialed the other. So of course I started calling couples who had recently broken up. If the timing worked out just fine, they’d each pick up at about the same moment and say hello. I’d say nothing. Here’s an excerpt:

“Hello.”

“Hello.”

“Who is this?”

“You called me.”

“No I didn’t, you called me.”

“Bruce?”

“Chantal?”

“What the fuck do you want?”

“Bitch, you called me.”

“No I didn’t. Why would I call you after you fucked that cunt Missy under the bleachers – under the fucking bleachers – like a rabid fucking dog – don’t you even have a fucking car anymore?”

“Is that why you called, to bitch about my choice of fuck spots?”

“You fucking called me!”

“So what happened to you car – did you get shitfaced and wreck it again.”

“No. Did you decide to get a new boyfriend and NOT fuck him for a month TOO?”

~

So… do we all get the point? Phones can be so fun. Calling up the hardware store and asking for black caulk is good too, but Bruce and Chantal was better.

SUCCESSFULLY PERPETRATED SEVERAL TIMES DURING SENIOR YEAR IN H.S (Class of 1985).

That should whet your appetite for childish and douchey behavior. Check back early and often for updated editions.

If you live in Central Texas or Northern Mexico, the predominant supermarket chain is called HEB. One might think that’s where people go to buy Jews, but as it turns out, that’s Steinmart. While that could be an interesting, albeit short thought all on its own, it’s not. Nor that it’s not interesting and short, there’s more.

There’s vastly different ranges of HEB stores. Some have electronics departments and sommeliers, others have lurking meth heads.  Not long ago I was in one of the tweaker HEB stores and was checking out with my usual, I know this won’t be close to enough, 12 pack of domestic beer and noticed the next-in-line person’s basket. Of course the fact that she was four-ten and four-ten (height and weight) kind of drew my eye (in the way that a steaming landfill draws the nose) as did the dime sized oddity on her face.

In that basket were some condoms. Okay, she has a willing sex partner, or she’s going to fill them with mustard and toss them into traffic. Small shudder either way. Then she gets to the front, unloads said basket, and onto the conveyer is placed seven… huge shudder… Massengill douches.  It is SO rare to use the word douche accurately, but this is what’s happening in front of my eyes. Then she unloads the condoms… two packs of 24. Now I am convulsing. Admittedly, I’m not expert on female plumbing but it seems to me that when the douche is needed that’s like the gynecological equivalent of calling Roto Rooter. Ick.

Add the fact that she looks like one of those pig guards standing post in front of Jabba’s castle, and someone is sleeping with her up to 48 times – it’s mind numbing. Then again, maybe she’s a prostitute. If that’s the case I guess I feel badly. If she’s having unpaid, consensual sex then she’s likely happy. Either way, guys will bang anything.

I take big shits. I mean I’ve seen some of the detritus left in the hoppers at airports and bars and have concluded that mine are titanic sized turds. Not like a cinderblock of course, more like a baguette, but less crusty and less like to enjoy with butter and some peppy apricot preserves. It’s not because I eat excessively, it’s because… actually, I’m getting sort of off topic. I want to talk about clogged toilets.

Sometimes, when you know you’ve dropped some serious loggage, you pray for the “gurgle.” That’s the noise the toilet makes after it has cast your foulness right the fuck out of your house – it makes a gurgle – or a glug glug glug kind of thing. This is especially important when you’re early on in a relationship and you’re at your bf/gf place. Then the “gurgle” becomes prayer worthy.

If you don’t hear the gurgle then it’s plunger time. If you’re at home, it’s no biggie, but kind of a hassle because shit is gross, and mashing it up with an implement is even grosser. I sometimes wish for certain bad people to die and be reincarnated as a plunger – not a lot of people, but people like Bernie Madoff and Guy Fieri come to mind.

However, if you’re at the home of your new squeeze, then the worst seven words that can possibly be uttered are “Honey, where do you keep the plunger?” Well, “Is this blood coming from my penis,” or  “I just jiggled your Golden Retrievers nuts” aren’t beauties either, but I think the plunger one is the worst.

The larger point is that the plunger, despite its low caste, holds a position of tremendous prominence and stature in the household. It’s the only thing that can do the intended job. You can use the little file part of the nail clipper as a screwdriver, or a lighter to open up a non-twist top beer, but there is no understudy for the plunger. Your hands aren’t the answer – trust me on that.

Next time you’re in Home Depot check out the array of plungers (sometimes referred to as force cups and “tuffatore” in Italian). They range in price from around six dollars all the way up to about eight dollars. Let’s say they average seven dollars. Seven bucks for something you’d pay $100. Maybe even $1,000 (remember, you get 10% of your purchase if you open a Home Depot credit card – so $900). Seriously, the plunger people should get together and fix prices. So, the next time one of those brown burglars sneaks out your back door and doesn’t make a clean getaway – thank the plunger people for doing what they do so well and at such a reasonable price.

PS. It’s best NOT to take a dump at the home of your significant other until your well established. Jiggle the dog’s balls anytime you want though.