Wall Street Pranks
I had this buddy who was an INCREDIBLE practical jokester/prankster and we will call him Steve because that is what he is called. One time he had this former manager who was jerking him around with transferring his licenses for trading securities.

So, he called a contractor and said he needed to excavate his front yard to find a busted water pipe. He said he had the water company come and mark the pipe's transit through the yard and said he wanted the entire pipe excavated to expose the pipe so it could be replaced. "At least 2 ft on either side of the line."

The evening before, Steve went out to the guys house at 2am and took a can of blue spray paint and painted a line from the street right up to the guys house. The line was 2ft wide.
For those following along, that is basically a 6' wide trench right through his front yard.

The contractor shows up with a back-hoe and a bobcat (both digging machines) and began work. When the guy's wife returned home from her errands, half their front yard was DESTROYED.

I made a note to NEVER get on Steve's bad side.
( Citadel Because the world needs less morons, Tue 18 Dec 2007, 4:10, 3 replies)

Filthy slag mum...
1. Steal your victim's mobile phone.
2. Swap your mobile phone number with his mother's mobile phone number in his phone book.
3. When he has his mobile phone on him, send him a message of your filthy, filthy choice. When I did this, I added the extra (slight) twist of pretending that "his mum" had accidently sent a message to her son instead of her "dogging partner".
4.Witness your friend go pale and in a state of suicidal trauma.
(wonderbrawl was pronounced dead on, Tue 18 Dec 2007, 4:06, 1 reply)

Wasp Bombs
Wasp bombs are a cunning prank a mate and I invented at school. A word of warning though...they do work and they can turn nasty. Instructions are as follows:

1. Get a good size, clean jam jar and put a teaspoon of honey or syrup in the bottom.

2. Cover the top of the jar with a stiff piece of card and secure with a strong elastic band, making a drum skin type cover.

3. Take a freshly sharpened pencil and puncture the card lid ten or so times, thereby making inverse triangular holes in it.

4. Place the jar in a hedge, bush or any other space where you believe wasps are known to frequent on a regular basis.

5. Leave the jar for a couple of days. On your return you should find the jar contains a lot of angry wasps. They are attracted in by the syrup but cannot get out because of the shape of the holes in the lid.

6. Find your victim's bag in the cloakroom and unzip about six inches. Place the jar (now a "wasp bomb") in the bag. In one quick movement pull the lid off the jar and quickly zip the bag back up again.

7. Wait for your vicitm to retrieve his bag and watch him open from a safe distance.

We did this several times. The best result was a 50 odd wasper which we placed in the bag of a class "mate". Cut to first lesson after lunch...chemistry. The lad opens his bag to immediately be attacked by the angry yellow and black boys within. He received at least 8 stings to the face and neck. (oops).

No one ever found who did it. Truly an evil but somewhat amusing gag.
(Mandrill, Tue 18 Dec 2007, 3:13, 6 replies)

Work pranks, eh?
I'd forgotten about this one... :) When I was in t'Fire Brigade some years ago (sad - my only other post relates to my F.B. days), practical jokes were the order of the day, especially on new recruits - nothing generally worth repeating here, the usual deep heat on the testicles, wiping your dick round someone's coffee mug when they'd pissed you off, see all the other posts here.

However, one day when I'd been in a couple of years I found myself riding the shift as the most senior member of the two man breathing apparatus crew with an (even more) callow youth under my tender care and protection, one who's seen no action at all. So half way through the afternoon we get called to a fire in a suburban sem-detatched, ' persons reported' i.e. it's believed that there are people trapped in the fire.

We turn up, rigged up, and pile into the house to begin searching ('cos that's, like, what you do in such circumstances). There's a fire in a couple of the downstairs rooms going well and the house is full of smoke, so visibility is down to about two feet in front of your face. Taking a room each at a time, we soon have the downstairs cleared and proceed upstairs.

The first room I do upstairs is obviously a child's bedroom, and I suddenly think the worst has happened when I see a tiny black hand sticking out of the gloom. When I check, it's a life-size black baby doll. So I did what any self-respecting fireman would have done in my position. I cradle the doll in my arms and come out the the room calling my mate's name (which I forget) and saying "shit, oh shit..." and similarly emotive things.

I can see his eyes through the B.A. mask and he doesn't look happy... Dead people, especially burned dead people, are bad enough the first few times, but kids'll make even the hardest, cruelest fuckwit go quiet and emotional, and I can see this kid isn't liking his first 'experience' of a stiff... so then I threw the doll at him while simultaneously shouting "BOO!!" at the top my voice.... hahaha, happy days....

Length? 25 metres long and 75 mm in diameter if I recall correctly...
(phineas, Tue 18 Dec 2007, 3:02, 1 reply)

Humor cures cancer
For a while my family was living next to a house full of twats. These guys had poser-motorcycles, and made a point of working on them at 7am on a weekend. Rev. REEEEVVV. They would race the wrong way down the one-way street, and just generally piss off everyone in the neighborhood.

One fateful day, my dad found a key on the walk between our houses. Well, this story wouldn't be evil if he had returned it. The motorcycle sat there unused for a few months, and we giggled amongst ourselves whenever we overheard them complaining about it.

Every so often, my dad would pull the key out of his pocket, jingle it, and cackle hysterically. We moved out about four months later, and my dad decided to pass the joy on to one of the neighbors.

There was a family living directly across from us, and the father had complained before about how they would race around with no regard for his young children. He was pretty down in the dumps because he had just found out that he had colon cancer (my dad: "that would explain why he seemed so anal lately"). One day when he was out in the yard, my dad went across the street, pulled out the key and jangled it. He pointed at the motorcycle with a grin on his face, and handed the key to the guy.

His smile was priceless.
(Exempt OH WOW, VICODIN, Tue 18 Dec 2007, 0:00, Reply)

Girl Friday
When I left school I had one of those fill-the-gap temping jobs whereby I worked for the 'call centre' of an equipment repair store, Tvs, Videos and the like. Our back office was staffed by about 7 people with one guy downstairs on the phone to engineers out on the road. We were all school or university leavers so being more or less the same age we all got on well. Too well really because the number of calls we took from worried people threatening to cause havoc (ie throw bricks/knives at the engineers, abuse them verbally) should they be without their daily episodes of Brookside, Corrie, Eastenders, Trisha and the like, diminished rapidly after about the first month of our employment. We discovered the internal email system, quite a novelty in those days, we perfected the art of making cartoons of our fellow colleagues, we learnt how to make speaker calls blare out through the whole building etc, etc. One girl came to work some time after the first of us were employed and soon let on that she wasn't there for the 6 month contract we all had but was planning to work a short while and then go back packing. Fair enough. On her last day at work a new boy came in to replace her. Knowing she wouldn't recognise his voice we asked him to call her internally (which should have been a sign to her) from downstairs and state that he was from Flywizz airline or whatever she was flying to Australia with. The good news? The airline had overbooked the seats on the plane and were upgrading her to first class. Whoopee! As we sat next to her we could hear her side of the conversation. Exclamations of joy and glee at the prospect of free champagne and plenty of leg room. Then came the bad news. We asked New Boy to tell her that the company had already charged the cost of the upgrade, around £1000, to her credit card. 'But you can't do that' we heard her say. You can if you pretend you've already spoken to the passenger's mother who had authorized the payment to go ahead and there was absolutely, absolutely no way they could refund the charge. Shouts of glee soon turned to rage as the girl argued her best to get out of a £1000 charge she'd saved so long to earn. Eventually she hung up in tears. The pracitcal joke had turned sour. How evil we all felt. Thinking it best to own up and brighten her day once more, we told her the truth. She fumed and spat feathers, refused to speak to us and left without saying goodbye. oops!
(Rosemarysbaby, Mon 17 Dec 2007, 23:43, Reply)

Buttons
Oddly, my girlfriend and another friend of mine both suffer from the same rare affliction. As they describe it, it's "not a fear, more like an intense dislike", of buttons.

Prank:

1) In pub, wait for sufferer to go to toilet
2) Place button underneath sufferers glass
3) Watch with glee as sufferer lifts glass, revealing button, and jumps back about four feet
(theweapon never ever bloody anything ever, Mon 17 Dec 2007, 23:36, 5 replies)

Pron in the post
This one started with good intentions...
In a shared house in Manchester, with fellow students.
One day Kelvin comes back home with a handful of envelopes. He'd been out to post a letter, but the box had been overflowing, so he decided to use another one instead. Being a helpful type, he took the overflowing letters too. It wouldn't do, after all, for them to be stolen by a random passer-by.
But as he didn't pass another box on the way home, he decided to leave it til the morning.
Of course, we couldn't resist having a look through them.
Most of it was pretty boring. But we opened up one that was addressed to an insurance company.
It was a bloke claiming on his insurance for a broken patio window. He described how his wife had slipped over and broken it as she came in from the garden.
It sounded a bit bogus to us, so we decided to help him out.
We cut a picture out of Readers Wives (British amateur pron mag) of a 40something woman naked on some grass.
Then we stuck it to the bottom of the claim form, with the note: "Here's a picture of my wife in the garden."
And the next morning popped the letter back in the post to the insurance company.
I'd love to know what happened next.
(Bowens, Mon 17 Dec 2007, 23:05, 4 replies)

Banana torture
My best mate dislikes bananas. No, scratch that, he absolutely hates them.
He doesnt like the look of them, the smell, the tease the feel....you get the picture. Apparently he has always and will always hate them.

He told me once that he refuses to touch them. So to test his hatred I would place bananas on his keyboard, and he would shout at me until I removed them.

Sensing that I could take things further, I would then put a banana on his chair, and watch him use objects to remove it.

I had to go the extra mile, so after being dared by two other workmates, I put a banana in each of his coat pockets, and one in each of his coat sleeves, while he was out of the room.

The horrified look on his face and the tirade of swear words was well worth it.
(Kezmo, Mon 17 Dec 2007, 23:02, 1 reply)

That'll learn her
When I was around 10 years old I went swimming in the local outdoor pool one summer to find my big sister there with all her "so cool" friends.

My sister hadn't put her clothes into a locker and left them beside the pool.

They got stolen.

She begged me, me her little sister, "pain in the arse", target of her constant ridicule, to go home (a 1 hour walk away) to get her some clothes.

I raided the cupboards at home.

The first born much older sister once owned a delightful 60's style "pants suit". It was bright orange with massive psychedelic flowers that consisted of a sleeveless 3/4 length jacket and flared groovy fashion slax. It was truly horrendous and LOUD.

It was so awful that my mum kept it for a laugh.

I returned to the swimming pool with said clothes in a plastic bag, handed them over to her and scarpered with "I'M GONNA KILL YOU!" piercing the air behind me.
( Flowerpot No longer has the vapours thanks to DTH, Mon 17 Dec 2007, 22:17, Reply)

Ginger Steve
Steve was an arsehole of the biggest kind (a ginger as well to make matters worse). He started to hang around with a bunch of us in the local pub (we all thought he was someone else's mate so went along with it). He regularly used to tell us how well he was doing in college and would be away from us and the shit-hole that we lived in as he was destined for bigger and better things.

I let slip that my Mum & Dad had gone away to him once and that a few of us would be having a few drinks at ours one Sunday afternoon before the pubs opened (before the days of all day Sunday drinking). He invited himself and demanded that we pick him up from his house.

He spent the next 10 minutes telling us what shite cars we had and how he was going to get a better one when he had passed his exams and was better than the rest of us.

We got back to my house and the scene was set for drinking games - 6 glasses lined up with a bottle of Coke and a bottle of Whisky ready.

What we didnt tell him though was we were all just drinking Coke while he was being poured straight whisky with the tiniest bit of Coke to colour it.

20 minutes later and 1/2 bottle of Whisky caned by just him, he was a wreck. Made sure he was out of the house in the garden to minimise damage and prevent him from being sick everywhere.

45 minutes later, nearly pub opening time so we got a taxi down there - he was incapable of walking anywhere, being sick out of the taxi window and was pretty much passed out.

Couldnt take him to the pub in that state so dumped him in his front garden, rang the bell and hopped back in the taxi on to the pub.

From his Mum's point of view, she last saw her darling son an hour ago. Her last words to him, don't get drunk as you have an exam tomorrow. She opens the door to find him passed out in the middle of a rose bush, sick all down his front.

He didn't come out with us again - she told him he wasn't allowed to as we were a bad influence.

Last I heard he had a shitty job working for his Dad as he failed his exams miserably.
(brocky, Mon 17 Dec 2007, 22:02, Reply)

Pea Soup
Me and My brother always used to go round to our grans on a Saturday morning/ afternoon. She is one of these old fashioned Nannas who doesn't let you leave the table until you have finished all of your food...! (You know the type). But at the same time, my grandad had flu, so she had to leave me and my brother to eat the pea soup she had home made herself!

Following her leaving the room, we both grabbed the salt and pepper shackers and filled (but not too much) her 'sunday best' shoes with the content of the shakers. She re-enters the room completely unaware of the happenings while she was giving my dearly loved grandad a cup of lemsip lemon tea....

Her feet have never seen right since, and she has never made me or my brother finish our meals again! However, once she did...so I threw it all back up!

Sorted!
(MT0503, Mon 17 Dec 2007, 21:06, Reply)

kelly jettle
Fill your studymate's kettlw with water, introduce a block of jelly, set to boil and leave for home.

Come the morning, james very angry, kettle solid with jelly. meh
(Jack Rarebit ...We like chillies, Mon 17 Dec 2007, 21:05, Reply)

My Dad's tales
My Dad was a policeman (now retired) and tv programmes like Life On Mars are very near the truth apparently for the average nick in the 1970s and 80s. My Dad is full of stories about what happened then...some of them are exactly like LOM and some are more like Heartbeat....none really have the style and panache of The Sweeney...

Just as in LOM they didn't use tape machines to record interviews which meant that a certain amount of 'leeway' could be employed...

This did mean that on some occasions the result would actually be humorous (well, for the outside world perhaps, maybe not if it resulted in you being banged up for a long stretch just because the man in uniform didn't like you...but I digress...).


On one particular occasion a man had been brought in for questioning regarding a crime that the police knew he was responsible for but he refused to budge from his story.

The decision was made to attempt to provide a little 'pressure' to ensure the required outcome was arrived at....

One of the coppers on duty was a member of the police diving squad and just happened to have his wetsuit and gear with him.

This was at a coastal police station so someone was sent down to the pier and a large fish was purchased.

The accused had been left in the interview room for a while, alone...then the door opened and in walked a frogman - full kit including flippers and facemask, and carrying a large fish....The questions were posed again and this time with each 'incorrect' answer the accused received a mighty wet fish slap around his chops.

Eventually the chap 'coughed' to the crime and it all went to court in due course.

Once on the stand the defendant withdrew his earlier confession as it had been made under duress, and explained the situation surrounding it....

The judge had him sent off for psychiatric assessment.
( chickenlady b3ta's very own Elizabeth Taylor, Mon 17 Dec 2007, 20:57, 1 reply)

I just remembered
At work (in a hotel bar) we put the food orders through our till in the bar and the order pops out on the printer in the kitchen. Our roomservice chef was a bit (no a LOT) of a stoner and pill taker and as such was a bit slowish and a bit paranoid, so........ we reconfigured the food buttons to print messages. The best was: "We can see what you are doing and we're coming to get YOU!" Could believe he took it so seriously. Came into the bar in tears, white faced and shaking......... took a few whiskeys to calm him down. Sorry Darren wherever you are.

I am really gonna be pranked HARD soon..........
(astrosinmyeyes is hoping Manson is released before, Mon 17 Dec 2007, 20:54, Reply)

Poodollar!
This one is actually pretty disgusting. I'm disgraced at myself for being party to this. I don't know if it was actually invented by my friend, or whether he just introduced us to it. I never actually did the dirties myself but I went along for the ride and laughed my tits off.

The game was called "Poo Dollar". Basically you photocopy a banknote, say a tenner, as the bait for your trap. You then find a nicely steaming, newly deposited dog turd. Using a stick or other such implement, apply the poo liberally to one side of the "tenner", fold so as to hide the dirties from easy view, and place upon the pavement. Then retreat to a safe distance to watch some poor bastard come along and pick up the tenner, only to have his moment of joy at finding free money on the floor shattered most evilly by the fact that, a) it's not a real tenner after all! and b) he now has poo all over his hand!

This game later evolved into "Poo Phone" an infinitely more disgraceful trick to play on someone. The smart ones among you will probably have figured this out already, but for those at the back of the class... essentially you find a public phone box that have a good view of from a safe place (upstairs window, car parked over the road etc). You then smear dog shit over the receiver (we only did the earpiece. probably). Then call the phone from your mobile and wait for someone to come and pick up. Made even more enjoyable for a bunch of idiotic teenagers because you get to shout "YOU"VE GOT POO ON YOUR FACE!" down the phone at your hapless victim.

I'm actually feeling slightly sick typing that and I do feel very, very bad indeed (what if someone had caught something?). I feel even worse about the fact that at the time it was fucking hilarious. What the hell was wrong with me?
(pmsc, Mon 17 Dec 2007, 20:44, 4 replies)

rag week
not mine, my gf's uncle - he's a good laugh, is Alan.

So anyway.

It's rag week. At a University in a large town. Kingston-upon-Thames, as it goes.

What you do is, inform the workmen digging up the road that a bunch of students dressed as coppers are going to try to stop you digging up the road. Then go round the police station and inform the duty chap that a bunch of students dressed as workmen are going to dig the road up...

Retreat to safe distance and watch. Coppers and workmen *hate* students...

PS apologies if bindun, and that.
(johnnyevil, Mon 17 Dec 2007, 20:41, 4 replies)

I work in a hotel
So there is always plenty of opportunties for pranks. My favourites include:

Adam is always leaving his coffee cup or coke glass unattended, so while he's not looking things find there way into his cup/glass. Started with 5 extra sugars, moved onto salt and then vinager. Last week however I outdid myself. He left a full glass of coke on the table which I emptied a half bottle of tabasco sauce into. But me being me that wasn't enough, I has to go and smear the outside of the glass with jalapeno peppers. Oh how I laughed as he was bending over the sink unable to breath, tears streaming out of his eyes. He got me back though. Try taking a big gulp out of a cup of coffee half filled with celery salt.

We hang out jackets on the edge of a fridge on coathangers and my boss being a shortish fellow has to reach up and pull down his jacket put it on. So one day i come in a bit early and attaching the coathanger to a length of fishing gut and attaching that to a 2kg sugar box gaffer taped to the roof above his head. Filled with toothpicks. Pull the coathanger down and presto, a toothpick shower.... Ever seen 2000 toothpicks drifting earthwards onto a very bewildered spainard? Priceless!!!!!!!

Now that I think about it his jacket has taken quite some abuse. Once filled evey pocket with foil covered sugar cubes, bottle tops amd teaspoons then sewed his pokets closed. Jacket weighed about 10kgs and took ages for him to open the pokets. Oh and every now and then I sew his left jacket sleeve closed about 2 inches below the elbow. (He puts his jacket on right arm first-try it!!) How I havent got fired I dont know..........

We have a mobile phone system for communicating between departments, every manager has one, so thats 10-15 phones in operation at one time, perfect. Pick a target and have everyone take turns to call him/her at two minute intervals, then hang up (during service times is the best) takes a while for them to catch on.......

I am waiting for my retribution, its gonna be messy......
(astrosinmyeyes is hoping Manson is released before, Mon 17 Dec 2007, 20:27, Reply)

It's not funny, kids.
Wikipedia Article

News Story

This is taking it way too far. People are either

A: Fucked up
B: Stupid
(FurtiveBiscuit, Mon 17 Dec 2007, 19:55, 9 replies)

Never shave the hair off my barbie.
A couple of years ago I was living with my brother in his flat. During a particularly lively house party my brother took it upon himself to attempt to shave my head, a quick kick in the twig and giggleberries soon put pay to that idea. Sadly he decided to shave the hair off my barbie. This was an outright declaration of war.

A few weeks later and I'm still waiting for my opportunity to get my own back. The chance presented itself late on a Saturday night. I had left early after a few too many falling over waters. I find out on the grapevine that my brother is on the way home with a young lady whom he has met in of Newcastle's finer hostelries. My plan was hatched.

As he stumbles in with his soon to be conquered companion, I start to scream at her and him, along the lines of

"I cant believe you would do this again to me"

Girl looks across at me and so I start screaming at her about I cant believe my husband would do this to me for the fourth time. She starts looking sheepish and wondering where the exits are, my brother in his somewhat addled state is now truly confused. Just to complete the scene I frisbee'd a plate with the kind of accuracy that Geoff Capes would have been happy with. As the plate smashes into a thousand pieces, my brothers companion looks about ready to risk the four storey drop rather than try and get passed me to the exit. It was at this point I felt I had had my fun, and promptly wandered over to her introduced myself as his sister and told her not to make too much noise.

Length ? He shaved my Barbie, he deserved it.
(snugglesacks, Mon 17 Dec 2007, 19:08, 2 replies)

One mine, one less so.
The one that is mine -- a particularly hirsute friend dozed off on the sofa at a house party. We left his facial hair alone as he had an interview the next morning, and we needed him to be able to afford shampoo.

So we decided to shave his chest. His spectacularly hairy, lady-killing chest.

But just half - down the middle. So that was how I came to shave exactly one half of my mate's chest with another mate's mum's crusty bic razor.

Nice.


Not so much my story:

Once upon a time, in a boarding school far, far away, there lived a not especially popular young man. He learned that derring-do can win a young chap friends.

A particular specialty was a "Superman" -- a carefully executed, high-speed dive. Our hero would tear the length of the dorm, hurl himself betwixt the top and bottom level of the adjoining bunk-bed, gain the soft haven of his own bed, and win the acclaim of his peers.

One day, this activity was encouraged by the nastier boys, who, this being boarding school, were in a significant majority.

The dorm door is wedged open, the run-up began outside in the corridor for the first time.

Faster and faster he came, the look of concentration on his face was plain to see. He was going to impress. He took flight, he soared, glided in to land and then -

*SPONG*

The little shits had only gone and hidden the fire extinguisher under his duvet, hadn't they?


No lasting damage of any kind, miraculously enough.

Length.
(Exiled Youth [witty comment], Mon 17 Dec 2007, 18:43, Reply)

Sandwich prank No.1 - Invertebrates
As we all know working in a factory is pretty boring and a variety of hilarious pranks and stitch ups are the norm. This one springs to mind though:

Mark brought his packed lunch to work every day, he would have been about 21 when this happened and still lived with mummy. Nothing wrong with a pack lunch of course unless you bring in exactly the same thing every day for three years.
1 Banana, 1 satsuma, one packet skips (prawn cocktail), one Cheese and Pickle (branston) sandwich on mighty white cut into equal rectangular halves. Every day. I wouldn't have been surprised if it was the same clingfilm rinsed out a bit.
We tired of this lunchtime monotony and decided to spice up the sandwiches with our own brand of twisted filling. Insects.

At first it was a daddy long leg wing or two. Then when we got a bit braver, a whole bluebottle. He never noticed, not even when we put in a medium sized moth complete with a bogey 'top hat'. Although that one was quite hard to watch.

However, one day the stakes were upped massively and an arachnid was thrown in to the equation. A big fuck off hairy house spider. It would barely fit in the fucking bread.
We watched with baited breath as he casually unwrapped the delicacy...and then...I saw it-
One of the enormous legs was hanging out of the side of the sandwich, and to make matters worse a small cube of pickle had become attached to the end of the leg like some kind of savoury spaz shoe.
I couldn't take any more and alerted Mark of its presence. We made out it had crawled in there at preparation stage and he agreed that was the most likely explanation. The game stopped after that.

More sandwich fun later.
(SPLUFFMYPANTS, Mon 17 Dec 2007, 18:24, Reply)

Million Pound Phone Bill and Dirty Macs
I've got two - both quite evil, decide for yourselves which is worst.

My now ex-girlfriend used to be really bad with money - spending what she didn't have and then expecting me to help her out. She once left her mobile phone on the table in the pub unattended - I copied a friend's phone number into her phone under the entry "ORANGE" (the name of her network provider). She didn't know this guy... and wouldn't recognise the voice.

A few hours later, her phone rings.

"Who's calling? Orange? That's a bit weird."

My friend talks to her for a good few minutes, explaining to her how her call charges had escalated for ever more ridiculous reasons ("We'll have to charge £10 a minute for this call alone"), leaving her in tears thinking that her phone bill had reached 6 figures. Evil, but made a point.

The one I still feel a bit guilty about happened years ago, most importantly before eBay existed, and people used to sell stuff in the free-ads of my local newspaper.

There was a really stuck-up kid in my class at school - very snooty, and thought himself more intelligent than he was. Let's call him Frank - it's close enough. After an incident where he told me and friends we could expect to be binmen in the future, I decided to get revenge.

I put an advert in the free-ads. One that would cause maximum embarrassment, get a lot of calls and ensure that of those callers would all be a bit weird. The advert read:

"50 Adult Magazines for sale. £5 the lot. Ask for Frank. [Phone number]"

This was just before internet usage was widespread, so cheap porn mags were likely to generate a few enquiries.

Advert gets printed, despite the application being handwritten in a 13-year-old's scrawl. Except they miss something CRUCIAL. They don't print "Ask for Frank", just the phone number.

Frank's mum received over 30 phone calls from wheezing dirty macs that evening, all looking for bargain price porn, and then getting even more excited when a woman answered the phone. Two things I didn't know: Frank's dad was working away from home for three months. And their phone number was ex-directory... I had brought it to the attention of every pervert in the town. His mother was at best scared shitless by the calls, at worst... probably thought she was going to be the victim of a sex crime.

I felt really bad. Really, really bad. And I was suspended from school, and in trouble with the police.

In a strange twist, we became friends after that - maybe he'd realised he was being a bit of a cock before - and we ended up living together for a couple of years. I regularly had to avoid eye contact with his mother when she visited.

But it's still funny.



No apologies for length, but I did apologise to his mum.
(Sloppy Giuseppe, Mon 17 Dec 2007, 18:24, 2 replies)

One for the smokers
Here is one that was pulled on me, that I've since passed on. Ask a smoker friend in a pub for their fag packet, as you need it for a trick, or some such excuse. Make a show of carefully pulling out all the fags and tucking them in their fingers (you don't want to get them lost or wet, obviously)and for best results, ensure they are distributed as evenly as possible between all ten fingers.

Then crush the packet and walk away...
(danlondonny, Mon 17 Dec 2007, 18:05, 2 replies)

Damp socks
Pearoast...Try it!!
When aged 15 went camping with some mates for the weekend...My mates mate had a fit but verrrrry posh and irritating girlfreind who would boss us about and generally annoy us with her upper class accent and condescending manner...We got her back by wanking in her socks one night....So in the morning BITCH says"Err my socks are all wet" after putting them on...Revenge is best!!!

She also neveer found out....We told her it must have been dew!!!
(archstanton The gold is next to me....leave me be, Mon 17 Dec 2007, 17:25, 3 replies)

Try this one at home
Choose a target and get all of your friends to ring them up and ask 'Is Dave there?' (or suitable name to fit the situation). Of course Dave isn't there, as your target will repeatedly inform people.

Keep this going until the early hours of the morning when your target is majorly pissed off, then call them yourself and say 'Hi, its Dave. Any messages for me?'

Works a treat :)
(clockworkkillbot, Mon 17 Dec 2007, 17:11, 3 replies)

Truly Evil....
Years ago I lived with a Turkish couple who were great friends...Her brother in law fixed jet engines for a living and one of his best mates Selahattin was coming over to Bristol Rolls Royce on a course...So my mates invite him over for a proper English roast... We then plot to play a 'joke' on him---Waiting until his taxi left I then answered the door to him...A little confused (oh did i mention he couldn't speak English!!)he asks for Nevin & Turan 'Sorry mate dunno them' I reply in best rough Bristolian accent...He gets out a bit of paper with our phone number and points to the phone...I get a bit irate and start to shut the door on him--by now there are tears in his eyes at the prospect of being stranded in a strange city, not being able to speak the lingo and not knowing where he is at all!!! Before he has a stroke/breakdown Turan & Nevin run down the stairs shouting 'Suprise'!!!!

I'm not sure if he ever recovered from his 'near death' experience but Nevins sister and brother in law thought it was hilarious!!!

PS Turks have a very 'odd' sense of humour...In Turkey on April the 1st a typical joke is to phone your brother/sister and tell them their Mum/Dad has just died...HAHAHAHAHA...mmmm
(archstanton The gold is next to me....leave me be, Mon 17 Dec 2007, 17:09, 1 reply)

feeeeesh!
back in the days of living with my sister, her boyfriend would occasionally turn up with his days catch from the local river, which we would then proceed to gut, cook and eat for a treat.. when it was my turn to prepare said fish, i remembered that we had friends coming over for a visit.. i wisely spent 10 good minutes smearing the fish blood from the tips of my fingers, all the way to my elbows and patiently waited... as soon as i saw them walking down the path, i grabbed the largest knife and stumbled out of the door with a look of fear on my face... "OH MY GOD! OH MY GOD!" i proclaimed.... they ran.. pfft! made me laugh :D
(..::poppy-end::.. about 10p or so i 'eard, Mon 17 Dec 2007, 17:01, Reply)