I was chatting with a friend on Facebook when somehow the subject turned
to practical jokes. Executed right, they linger for a long time. Executed wrong,
they . . . linger for a longer time, I guess. When my friend challenged me,
I couldn't resist telling her about my own personal masterpiece:
One of my cousins was one of the most obxnoxious brats you ever met when
we were kids. Whenever we visited this particular aunt and uncle and cousins,
there she was, being the superbrat that seemed to have been her God-given
gift. I was determined to let her have it but good but lacked inspiration until,
one fine morning in school, before class was to begin, I inadvertently overheard
one of my girl classmates telling her pals about the nasty trick her older
brothers pulled on her the night before, to wit: she owned three Barbie dolls,
and opened her closet to find them hanging from the coat rail, their heads in
well-crafted nooses tied in thick pieces of her mother's knitting yarn.
She told the story with a bit of a shudder amidst her retroactive laugh, though
she admitted at the time she wanted nothing more than for her mother to
have her brothers lined up and shot. At that moment, I remembered my brat
cousin receiving a Thumbelina doll as a recent gift---if you're my age, you
remember Thumbelina as the baby doll who squirmed like a live human infant
by turning a large knob in her back, under her little dress. And my fevered
little brain click into full overdrive.
Within two weeks, we were driving back into the city to visit the same aunt,
uncle, and cousins. Before we piled into the car, I made sure to find a piece of
thick enough clothesline rope and hide it inside my jacket. We arrived, exchanged
the usual familial greetings, settled to some pleasant lunch, and sure enough,
my opportunity came, when brat cousin joined one and all in the living room
with no apparent intention to leave for awhile. Then I excused myself to the
bathroom. With no one to see whether I'd actually be there, I went to quick
work.
I slipped into her bedroom and moved the clothes to one side, then I tied my
clothesline to the coat rail, and tied a noose into the other end about ten inches
from the rail. There was Thumbelina reposing in the basket in which brat cousin
liked to keep her when not playing with her, so I picked her up, wound up her
back knob as far as it would go to guarantee at least ten minutes worth of
infant-like squirming, put her head into the noose, and tightened the noose.
Then I walked back into the living room where everyone else was, and non-
chalantly asked my parents if I could have a quarter for an egg cream in the
corner candy store. They were kind enough to oblige, and I glanced back
before leaving the apartment. I walked out the door, down the three flights
of stairs, and toward the lobby exit.
The split second I went through that exit and to the street, I heard the
unmistakable scream.
I savoured my egg cream and had to fight to keep my face from melting
into an amused smirk; the couple who ran that little candy store/luncheon-
ette were close friends of my aunt and uncle, and I didn't want to chance
them calling up to demand something like my head on a plate for my
crime. (They were good humoured but I don't think they would have got-
ten this gag.) And then it hit me that the moment I returned to my
aunt and uncle's apartment, I was liable to be killed on sight. So I walked
upstairs very gingerly, bracing myself for certain death, and opened the
door very quietly, before walking into the living room likewise.
The moment everyone saw me, they broke out in wild laughter. Brat
cousin---who got suspicious about two moments after I'd left the
apartment and headed to her room just in case--- was unamused, rushing
to kick me for all she thought I was worth, but everyone else kept laughing.
I finally knelt down and told her I loved her but I got tired of her being
such a little brat, and short of having her stripped, drawn, quartered,
and tied to the Third Avenue El tracks, hanging her Thumbelina was
the best I could come up with.
And, if she didn't quit, next time I'd take the hood off. But I knew
in my heart there'd be no next time. That kind of gag only works once.
Come to think of it, for a very long time when we visited them again,
whenever I needed the bathroom either my aunt or my uncle would
scurry into her bedroom to make sure I hadn't left her any further
little surprises. They took no chances. Which was as good a way
to acknowledge my personal practical joking masterpiece as any,
when you think about it.
OK, that's mine.
How about you lot? What's the greatest practical joke you ever pulled
on anyone? Keep it clean, but let's make it last!
