On Email Pranks

Oh, yes, email pranks are among the easiest to pull, but they can also be the least satisfying, especially in this day and age of spam when people just don’t respond to everything.

My favorite line goes something along the lines of “I found your wallet at the grocery.”  Usually someone will respond with, nope, sorry, I have my wallet, but once a guy really did lose his wallet.  I arranged to meet him to give it back to him, but of course I didn’t show up.  After that, he wrote me a message calling me everything from the C-word to a Mofo.  It wasn’t very nice, but I was delighted with the response.

Another one I often use is “You got me pregnant.”  It’s funny when I send it to women.  They always are so apologetic about being the wrong email address.  Once I insisted that a woman was the one who “got me pregnant.”  She ended up sending me links on reproduction and sex, and I told her to stop sending me porn.  That was the end of that one.  The guys can be fun, too, especially if you get one who is desperately trying to remember who he’s had sex.

I get the email addresses from random websites.  It’s fun to start at one blog and keep clicking on the links until you get to some guy from Zimbabwe or some exotic, erotic place like that, and then telling him he owes the US government $1,000 for his last trip there.


Last week

It was a horrendously shiny day, one of those ones where you want to stay in bed until the sun goes down. People call them “beautiful days.” Well, the only thing beautiful about them is their nightfall. I had to rise from the long comfort of my glorious bed, down comforter over me since i crank up the air to freezing. I’ll use up as much energy as I can just so some treacherous soul in the future won’t have any. Anyway, I had to go to the post office to mail another one of my pranks (I’ll tell you about that one, someday. I’m waiting to get a response to it!) when one of those prissy blond bitches with the sunglasses that look like the kind old people wear stopped right in front of me to talk on her damn cell phone. I ran into her, but she didn’t say sorry or anything. So I decided to teach her a little lesson.

She started walking again, so I slowed down right next to her, kept her pace even as she tried to change it. She was talking to her boyfriend with this high pitched squeal, like she was, like, you know, a bird or something. I couldn’t stand her. I had to do something, so I stepped in front of her and screamed, “How could you! You said you were breaking up with him!” loud enough for him to hear it. Then, I grabbed the phone and told him to leave her alone, that we were together now and she didn’t want to see him again.

Oh, you should have seen her face! The shock was so great that she couldn’t even pull the anger up to the surface. My, oh, my, it was a beautiful expression. I promptly handed her the phone and continued on my way, content that I had created an awkward situation for a girl in oblivion.

Stupid people should die

Really. I mean, they have the Darwin Awards for those who do, but there should be more Darwin Awards. I mean, we should round up anyone with an IQ of less than 100 (I’d prefer 110 or 120) and stick them in giant pens with guns, dogs, thumbtacks, some duct tape, and paperclips and see how many of them kill themselves. We could do it, say, once a month? The way I figure it is that we could have the dumbest ones dead in a year, and we can reevaluate how often we need to round them up after that.

Just imagine – a life without people who turn left from the right lane, or people who stand on the left side of an escalator, or George W. Bush. What a wonderful world that would be, then maybe we could listen to Louie’s song, although it needs to be turned into a punk song with mind rattling guitars, because I can’t take that slow shit.

Ahh, the cruel life!

Such sweet, sweet fun to ravage the souls of others, to trick them, to prank them, to make them feel so uncomfortable. Yes, yes, I am enjoying my pranks immensely, so much so that I thought I’d share them with the world.