Recount a tale of a particularly successful April Fool's prank you perpetrated, had perpetrated on you, or witnessed personally. As a matter of humor, it's best if the pranks are not merely cruel (i.e., if it ends with someone in tears or in the hospital, that's probably stretching the limits of the phrase "successful April Fool's prank"), but aside from that, bring 'em on.
Extra Credit: Prank someone famous. Tell us how.
This prank didn't make it to April Fool's Day. But it's all I've got. And it's been rated PG-13 for unseemly behavior, I guess.
The scene: Sunday morning brunch at my boyfriend's place. One of his friends rings the door bell. When he comes in he's frantic. The girl he slept with the night before is still in bed at his apartment and she won't leave. He finally left because he was tired of dropping hints, so he said he was going out for a paper.
For some reason I thought it would be a good idea to embarrass her. So I decided I would pretend I was his REAL girlfriend and show up at his place like I just came home from a weekend out of town. I got a suitcase and put some of my boyfriend's clothes in it, took the key to his friend's apartment and I was on my way.
I opened the door, making all the noise that people do when they get home, plopping the suitcase on the floor, yelling to an imaginary person who dropped me off -- "Thanks, Tim." I threw the house keys into a bowl by the door as loudly as I could, while calling out, "Honey, I'm home!!" [Yes I did say those very words.] Then I called out my alleged beloved's name and started walking through the apartment looking for him. "Are you still in bed, you lazy bum?"
I opened the bedroom door. And a wide-eyed nude girl is sitting up in the bed, covering herself up with a sheet. It was right out of a bad movie. Heck, it was a bad movie.
"Oh," I said. "Don't get up," as she jumped out of bed and began to scramble for her clothes. It was very comical to watch. She was dropping more clothes than she could hold, trying to cover herself up and get dressed at the same time.
I kept up my snappy patter. "Don't rush. He does this to me all the time. I go out of town and he finds someone to bring home." Meanwhile, she is apologizing faster than Bill Clinton on the fateful morning when he told Hillary that everything in the news was true. "I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry."
I played the role of the martyred, forebearing girlfriend who was used to these tragic scenes. I even began to make up stories about some of the other girls I'd discovered. "There was a beautiful Asian girl he met at [NAME OF BAR] -- did he meet you there, too? No, well, she was something else. She wanted to stay and confront him. But I said, no, it was better to just move on like nothing had happened."
I acted like his "problem" was something I'd chosen as my burden, too. We even shook hands when she left. I wished her well. And my boyfriend's friend came home with a sigh of relief.
Stuff like this never ends, however. It always comes back to bite you on the butt. About two years later I was at an enormous charity ball. There were at least five hundred people in the ballroom of a large hotel. There had to be fifty to seventy-five tables of ten around the dance floor. And who found herself seated at my table, but That Girl. She excused herself after the appetizer and never returned. I wasn't with the guy she'd spent the night with, so I was puzzled by her reaction. If it had been me I would have made a point of sticking it out, maybe even pretending we'd never met. But she bolted.
I was going to tell her the whole story, too. Really, I was.
As for pranking a celebrity. Anyone can do this. If you ever have a chance to meet someone famous, just pretend you have them confused with someone else.
I was in an elevator with Henny Youngman in the sixties -- he was a famous vaudeville comedian who played a violin and came up with the comedy cliche, "Take my wife. PLEASE!" I recognized him and said, "Oh, Mr. Youngman, what an honor to meet you!!" But I didn't rave about how funny I thought he was, I pretended I had him confused with a famous author. So instead of saying "I love you on TV." I said, "I've read all your books." And got off the elevator.
I would love to run into "The Rock" and tell him how much I love his talk show. Or tell Ted Koppel how good I thought he was in Triple X. Even worse, pretend you went to high school with them. Donny Osmond would be good for that one. Give him that look of recognition and then say, "Oh, my goodness, is it really you?" Of course Donny smiles. "It is!!. Bart Hickendorfer! Fifth period. Algebra!! You haven't changed a bit!" They hate that.