Monday, April 12, 2004

Report: Day 40 

Bad luck that play a practical joke would fall on the weekend. Even worse that it would fall on Easter Sunday. I live by myself, so the interaction required for this particular challenge must be found outside my home and with it being a holiday... well, you see the dilemma. Additionally I live in a county with honest to God blue laws. This means that most stores are forbidden by law from operating on Sunday. Exceptions are pharmacies and grocery stores.

I started looking around locally for an establishment that was open on Easter Sunday which would facilitate a practical joke. And that's when it occurred to me that bars were open on Sunday, maybe even Easter Sunday, and as luck would have it there is a biker bar three blocks from my home.

So, I called them up. "Do you have Prince Albert in a can?" I asked innocently.

"What are you talking about?" replied the bar matron. The sounds of moving beer bottles and washing glasses could be heard in the background.

"Prince Albert in a can. Do you have Prince Albert in a can?"

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

I hung up, satisfied that they were open.

At roughly dinner time I headed out wearing dirty clothes and trying to look rough around the edges. You know, to fit in. I ordered a drink and took a seat in an obscured corner. I watched the ebb and flow of the patronage and tried to get a handle on the place. After about an hour I felt comfortable enough to make my move. I crept up to what I determined to be the most used bar stool in the place. I pulled it out, and as surreptitiously as I could I placed a whoopee cushion on the seat and slid the bar stool back into place. Then I retook my seat in the back to watch the hilarity unfold.

I had visions of an enormous biker making time with his skanky biker chick. He would pull the stool out for her, grab her around the waist and hoist her into the stool, where she would land on the whoopee cushion and make the most horrible wet farting sounds ever! Then he would be so shaken by the horrible noise coming from his lovely lady that he would turn all red and have to leave. He would run out of the biker bar holding his nose and only then would she investigate the cause of the noise, discover the whoopee cushion and run out of the biker bar after him, trying desperately to explain what had happened! This was gonna be better than a plate full of fake dog crap.

Well, it didn't take long before someone headed straight for my rigged stool. He pulled it out and then something caught his eye. It was the whoopee cushion. He picked it up and held it high yelling, "what the fuck is this? Is this a goddamn whoopee cushion? What the fuck is this!?"

He tossed it in the garbage and took his seat. I finished my beer and slunk out.

Today I'm applying for a knighthood.

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