Another Boo story
When I was in primary school, after a long day of flicking pens up the back of my chair I walked home to find one of those Green compost bins my parents had ordered in the front garden. I had forgotten my keys (as always) so instead of waiting on the doorstep I climbed inside and peered out of the top every now and then.
Anyways the neighbour sees me and gives me the spare key so I let myself in and drag the compost bin into the front room, and hatch a plan to scare my two sisters.

The first sister comes home and I pounce out the top shouting boo, not a flutter. Not disheartened by this I wait for my other sister to come home, alot easier to scare and wind up (Simply saying Kelly Jones is a sheep shagger starts her off on one).

Waiting in the compost bin I hear the door open and wait for her to come into the front room and inspect the big green thing in there. I pounce once more screeching for all my pre drop worth. She screams grabs a book, realising my plan is about to back fire I beat a hasty retreat into my Green tank only to be beaten by a book, saved by my other sister who dragged her off.

Apologies for lack of evilness... (pop)
(Deadjinx, Thu 13 Dec 2007, 20:33, Reply)

Teddy
One more.

When I first left home, I figured it was time I threw away the teddy bear I'd owned for as far back as I could remember. I was a grown man (well, teenager) for god's sake, I'm never gonna need it again, so it's going in the skip! And it did. And it looked at me, and I relented. Teddy was saved.

Some time later, whilst living with my mate and his mum, I decided that enough was enough. The possibility existed, no matter how small, that a real live woman might one day see the inside of my bedroom, and no way was that bear gonna put me off my stroke (or, more accurately, put her off shagging me). In the wheelie bin he went, first thing in the morning on my way out of the house, before anyone else was up. He looked up at me as I covered him with another bin bag.

Got home that evening, everything was normal until I went upstairs, and there, on the bed, was the bear. Like he owned the place. And he was looking at me. I near shat myself. The guilt of throwing away my childhood companion coupled with the sheer incredulity upon him somehow (obviously) climbing out of his rubbish-filled grave to hunt me down for vengeance made me feel a little wobbly.

My landlady had spotted a little bear paw when she went to add another binbag to the wheelie bin and decided that I couldn't possibly have wanted to throw him away, so pulled him out.\

Cut to a few months later. It's a party, I'm kinda drunk, somebody mentions the bear. I decide that enough is enough, and this time he's not coming back. Into the kitchen, and off with his head courtesy of the bread-knife. Into the bin and finally, the fucker's dead.

Cut to about eighteen months after that. Another party, drunk again, and as I lurch into my bedroom there, on the bed, is teddy. With a series of Frankenstein like stitches holding his head on. My bastard mate had kept the thing for that long just so he could fuck with me. Thankfully he stopped short of the red LEDs he'd wanted to install in its eyes.

That night the bear was doused in lighter fluid and burned. It was the only way to be sure.

Insert length here.
(kithkill, Thu 13 Dec 2007, 20:31, 3 replies)

Not entirely evil...
I'm in my first term of uni, and i have a big rugby playing second year on my corridoor in my halls.
He decided to initiate us with many pranks, including the general turning-upside-down of everything in your room, removal of furniture when you're pissed, etc...
Anyway, he went away for the weekend, we got a rather small friend to climb through his window, and we decided to cover his room in tin foil.
What started off as a small prank quickly escalated.
Within 2 hours we had over 20 people working in the room, including several parents who had come to see the hall play.
Over 1km of tin foil was used and everything from his ceiling, down to individual drawing pins on his poster board was covered. My favourite touch was a pencil case in which every pencil was individually wrapped. Like i said, it wasn't entirely evil, but reflection of heat and al that physics malarkey means that its either absolutely boiling, or arctic in there.
i82.photobucket.com/albums/j260/Luke2442/foil1.jpg
i82.photobucket.com/albums/j260/Luke2442/foil3.jpg
i82.photobucket.com/albums/j260/Luke2442/foil2.jpg
length? 20 people, 6 hours, and over 1 kilometer.
(Pingoo likes cheese, Thu 13 Dec 2007, 20:27, 10 replies)

Spent all day in school feeling a nasty cold creep up on me.
Just as I was getting my coat from my locker, I fiendishly coughed into its depths, thus assuring that my friend who shares my locker will, upon opening it, become struck down with my terrible illness. HAHAHA!

Just call me Satan.
(Tip-Top Tomcat but you can call me Tommo, Thu 13 Dec 2007, 20:20, Reply)

Cows! And she was so excited...
This isn't so much a prank as taking advantage of weakness. My sister loves cows. Last spring break we took a road trip through California, which meant fields of cows every few miles. I would randomly point off at some grassy cow-less knoll and declare "cows!"
"where?!"
(giggle at her)
"you suck."
Twenty minutes later...
"Cows!"
"Where?"
(giggle)
"That's a tree, bitch."
Twenty minutes later...
"Cows!"
"Where?!"
(giggle)
"Stop it!"

And so on, every twenty minutes for 16 hours of driving. It never failed.


I'm not clever enough to have really pwned anyone, but my mom got me with this one:

I hate Adam Sandler. Absolutely loathe him. I can not even put my hatred for him into words that will clearly express the extent of it. So my mother decided to (A) research Adam Sandler, (B) write him "biggest fangirl evar" mail, (C) sign it with my name, and (D) put my address on it.

I didn't know about this until nearly a year later, because the cunt never replied. Not even one of those stock "thank you for your interest..." letters. Just proves that he sucks. But still. Somewhere there is a letter declaring my love for all things Adam Sandler. Damn you, mom.
(Exempt OH WOW, VICODIN, Thu 13 Dec 2007, 20:15, Reply)

When all this was fields.
And my mates and I were too young for the pub, and had no car, so an E-xciting time in the woods was out, we used to amuse our selfs by necking micro dots, and wondering the streets for the night.

On one such evening we were round a mates house before the fun had begun, waiting for the last of our group to arrive, and enjoying some of natures finest flatty- God I miss that stuff, whoever came up with the idea of soap bar should be shot- when an evil plan was hatched.

The plan: when we're all nicely tripping we'll sit on a bench in the park for a while, then someone should suggest going for a wonder, after an hour or so we should end up on the same bench, then the same person should suggest going for a wonder again. The idea being that the person we were waiting for who we shall call The Bear- for that is his name- will understandably say 'but we just got back' at which point we can all try and convince him the last hour of his life was all in his head, and in reality only a few seconds had passed.

It worked a treat. The Bear span right out, and was on a bad one for the rest of the night.

Not very nice really, but sixteen year olds are cunts.

Length- It's all to do with perception.
( The Awful Puppy Bakery is still bored, Thu 13 Dec 2007, 20:07, 1 reply)

Drinking rule number 34:
Passing out on your buddies couch WITH YOUR SHOES ON warrants getting fucked with. Kick your shoes off, you'll be ok.

otherwise:

http://www.b3tards.com/u/6a9c0cdf8af1c1c1404d/oh_mike_001.jpg
http://www.b3tards.com/u/6a9c0cdf8af1c1c1404d/oh_mike_007.jpg
http://www.b3tards.com/u/6a9c0cdf8af1c1c1404d/oh_mike_009.jpg
http://www.b3tards.com/u/6a9c0cdf8af1c1c1404d/oh_mike_011.jpg
http://www.b3tards.com/u/6a9c0cdf8af1c1c1404d/oh_mike_013.jpg
http://www.b3tards.com/u/6a9c0cdf8af1c1c1404d/oh_mike_014.jpg
http://www.b3tards.com/u/6a9c0cdf8af1c1c1404d/oh_mike_015.jpg
http://www.b3tards.com/u/6a9c0cdf8af1c1c1404d/oh_mike_016.jpg
http://www.b3tards.com/u/6a9c0cdf8af1c1c1404d/oh_mike_020.jpg

I'm behind the camera on this one
( Krog3r has acquired some deceant lurkage, Thu 13 Dec 2007, 19:49, 4 replies)

A few years ago...
... I decided to fool my kids into thinking I was killed in a canoeing accident, then fucked off to panama with the missus and pissed the insurance money up the wall
(animal252 last activated his kitten hammer on, Thu 13 Dec 2007, 19:44, Reply)

Coffee arse
I can't believe I've just remembered this. Another tale of scuba diving japery.

Years ago some of the club went on a week's diving holiday in Scotland and stayed in a caravan park.

One of the lads (we'll call him Davey) could be a bit obnoxious, and was always taking the piss, especially after a skinful. One evening, after a heavy post-dive debriefing, i.e. piss up, the lads had decamped back to their caravan. Davey, somehat the worse for wear, declined the 'one for the road' and slunk off to bed, pausing only to undress himself before slumping bollock naked into bed. The others were still up for a bit more drinking and were by now very, very drunk.

One of them decides that Davey needs to be taught a lesson, having been particularly offensive to everyone that night. In his drunken wisdom, he grabs the coffee jar and a teaspoon, stumbles to where Davey is by now comatose, and pulls back the duvet to reveal Davey's naked arse, which was quivering rythmically as he snored.

Opening the coffee jar, he kneels down next to the bed, dips the spoon in, and proceeds to ever-so-gently part Davey's buttocks. He then inserts several spoonfuls of coffee in Davey's sweaty arse crack. However, while he's doing this, another of the lads spots what he's doing and is less than impressed.

"What the fuck are you doing"? he asks, swaying unsteadily in the doorway. "give us that bloody spoon you idiot, coffee costs a fucking fortune". And with that he grabs the teaspoon, and proceeds to scoop the coffee granuals (by now a bit damp) out from Davey's arse cheeks and back into the jar.

At this point, everyone has been hit mightily by the effects of a day's diving and excess alcohol, and all stumble into their beds where they spark out instantly.

Can you see what's coming?

Next day, as they are all nursing stonking hangovers, Davey arises and apologises for being such an obnoxious cunt the night before. By way of amends, he offers to make everyone a cup of coffee. Having been totally pissed to the point of oblivion the night before, no one remembers what happened and accept his caffeine-tinged apology.

One by one they are all sitting enjoying their brew, when Davey exclaims, "I don't know what I ate last night, but my arsehole is absolutely burning this morning. Don't think I'll be diving today".

It was at this point that collective memories started coming back, and four divers, in pefect synchronicity, pushed their by now half empty coffee mugs away from them in horrified realisation...
( Davros' Granddad a voice of calm reason in a world of spastics., Thu 13 Dec 2007, 19:35, 6 replies)

falling
At uni, we lived in halls which was basically a high rise tower. Every floor was identical and every room on each floor matched the one above and below in every way bar decor.

We had friends on the ground floor and the 8th floor and their rooms were in the same location relative to the floor layouts, ie identical shape, size and location. A plan was hatched.

We arranged with mutual friends for the ground floor friend to be taken out on the piss. Whilst they were out we swapped every bit of furniture and decoration between his room and the equivalent room on the 8th floor.

Ground floor guy back came back, rendered useless, and propped up by our co-conspirators. We met them outside and took him into the lift and went up and down a bit so he lost his bearings and couldnt tell what floor he was on. We got to the 8th floor and told him it was the ground floor and pushed him into his flat. We joined him and made some drinks, had a smoke etc, he had no idea he was on the 8th floor and hadnt looked out the window. If he had been asked, somewhere in his alcohol addled unconscious would have been able to tell us that he was on the ground floor in his room. Our dramatic removal/swap had worked.

Suddenly, after a few conspiratorial nods, We opened the big window, grabbed him and forced him on to the windowsill. He was confused but laughing along with us, we were struggling to contain our mirth, he knew that he would just fall back about a metre. We pushed harder.

I like to think that on the way down he realised what we had done and found it funny. In retrospect, it probably wasnt. We all agreed later that for quite an amusing prank, the cost of having to see a good mate forever a paraplegic in a wheelchair being fed by others for the rest of his life and pissing into a bag was high. Did he find it funny? We dont know. To be honest, communication hasn't been his strong point recently, he kind of became a bit distant after we left Uni a few years later. Still, good times... good times.
( I have run out of coke is a little sweaty, Thu 13 Dec 2007, 19:31, 1 reply)

A few years ago
When I was in school, the whole of my year got called into the Assembly Hall one day, none of us knew why.
My friend Becky had a singing lesson though and had to miss it.
I can't remember what the big meeting was about, but it wasn't important.
Afterwards, Becky asked us what had happened.

"Crabs" I said. "Apparently there's been an outbreak of Pubic Lice in our year."
"Really!?"
"Yeah, each one of us is gonna have to go to the Nurse to get some special cream, y'know, to make sure we don't catch it. It's called Crab Cream."

She believed this for quite a few weeks before we admitted it wasn't real, she said she didn't believe us anyway. Bollocks to that.
( Lollylegs lite, Thu 13 Dec 2007, 19:20, Reply)

I have a slightly unhealthy obsession
with pranking my friend Chris at Uni.

I've replaced his mattress with old clothes, the like, but I think I really came into my own when he left his phone around for me to tamper with.

As a backstory, in our first term of Uni, we'd both been fairly drunk at a party, and Chris had found a lady friend. I did my own thing, and left him to it. The next morning, my mouth felt like a tramp had pissed in it, but I was cheered up enormously by his tale of woe concerning this girl. Apparently, they'd been walking back to hers, now Chris was sobering up at this point, and realising that his prize catch wasn't quite the beauty he'd previously imagined. She was constantly stopping to latch he gaping maw onto his desensitized face, "I've never been so bored of kissing in my entire life" he told me. So, upon eventually reaching her all-female residence, she dragged him to her room, all the girls on her corridor peeking out of their doors, like vultures, eager to catch a glimpse of the latest poor piece of carrion brought back.

Chris had, at this point, realised that it would be easier for him never to talk to this girl if he didn't sleep with her. So, in a fit of genius, he claimed that his Uncle was ill (he actually was, but that doesn't make this bit of deception any less stupid) and that he needed to make a phone call. At 4am. Smooth. Anyway, he leaves, he maintains pleasantries via text for a few days but largely ignores her. Lucky escape.

Except, I found his phone, some 8 months later, and I changed her number to mine. Showing remarkable patience, I started up a text conversation, platonic at first, but building up into Chris and his current girlfriend being propositioned for a threesome. I heard with glee stories of him running around to all his friends, asking how best to tactfully refuse this offer. My masterpiece was phoning him while he was in my room, knowing he would never pick up, and watching him look at his phone as if it were alive and wanting to bite his cock off.

Soon after that incident, Chris found out it was me, he'd been looking through the old texts and had found one saying "fancy a game of pool?"... I'd been a bit lax in deleting my old texts to him from before I'd changed the number.

Length? He shrivelled at the thought.
(LickOutTheJamsMotherfuckers!, Thu 13 Dec 2007, 19:19, Reply)

DJ Yam
We were at a DnB night last year and some guy starts talking to my absolutely slaughtered housemate, and they spend about ten minutes just chatting about the gig and music in general.

Our mate turns back to us, shrugs and says "I've got no idea who the fuck that was", so quick as a flash I reply "Oh my god, you don't know who that was?? That was DJ Yam!!"

He looks confused and as the rest of my mates cotton onto what I'm doing, we between us manage to convince him that he is the latest and greatest DnB DJ to hit the scene, he's number one in all the DnB charts and that he's headlining that night.

He then spent the rest of the night (and a week or so afterwards) excitedly telling anyone that would listen that he'd met and chatted with DJ Yam, when in fact it was probably just some dealer trying to shift him some pills.

He was well disappointed when we told him the truth, bless.
(daylightroddery, Thu 13 Dec 2007, 19:16, Reply)

Dammit, Mom!!
Mom bitched me out for something that I hadn't done. Later, when she was out of the house, I used furniture polish on the linoleum between her room and the kitchen, and buffed it out until it was slicker than greased owl shit. She came in later, and slipped, her body fully horizontal in the air, and then hit the floor with an almighty WHAM!!!

I had to quickly run down the hall into my room and bury my face in my pillows so she wouldn't hear my screams of laughter.
(Jeepgun, Thu 13 Dec 2007, 19:16, 3 replies)

Time for a pearoast me thinks
One of my mates occasionally has too many when we go to the pub, and rather than leave his car there, has the nasty habit of driving home trolleyed. One night he did it when I was staying at his, and to this day he swears he'll never do it again.

You see, the next morning after a heavy session at the local he was still in bed nursing the mother of all hangovers. I'd got up a few hours before him due to my not being totally wankered the night before, and happened to catch the local news. It turned out that some old duffer had been knocked over and killed by a hit and run driver the night before. Well...the opportunity was just too tempting.

So with a spring in my step I almost ran down to the town center. I had three stops on my list:
The butchers (Pigs hearts a free if you ask nicely)
The hairdressers (They look at you funny but they'll give you a bit of hair if you ask)
The Off-Licence (You still have to buy a local paper)

So back I go to his house. The coast is clear. Good. No going back now. After little more than 2 minutes my master piece is ready for action. The corner of his car looks like an Iraqi. Its doused in pig blood and little bits of flesh and hair, and the headlight is smashed. I paused a bit before smashing it, but decided that it would make it look more real, and wouldn't cost too much to replace.

An hour later up he gets, still half asleep. He glances at the perfectly placed paper but thinks nothing of it. Then about half-an-hour later he goes out to his car. The look of slow realisation dawning on his face has he realised what must have happened was absolutely priceless, and worth any amount that the headlight would cost.

Then it reached a new height of funny for me. He started almost crying saying that he'd have to turn himself in. At this point most people would have stopped, but not me...no way.
I offered to go with him, and let him get all the way to the front door of the police station before I told him the truth.
( Furness, Thu 13 Dec 2007, 19:12, 5 replies)

sweet revenge
my now ex girl friend did not like the amount of time that I enjoyed in the land of nod, and she would frequently become enraged that I would not wake to deal with her personal needs (as a side note at the time I was on permanent nights at hospital and so was soooo tired I did not dream for about 2 years, I got in and fell in to a deep sleep as soon as my head hit the pillow) but none of this mattered as my ex 's needs were formost in her mind and my need for sleep did not matter.
one day she decided to tip a pint of water over my groin in a vain attempt to wake me up and as a punishment for not "sorting her out"........... I awoke and she gleefully tried to tell me I had wet the bed , i sniffed it and having an amazing sense of urine detection smell from working in the caring profession I fell back to sleep.
Then the thump on the chest to try to wake me. That worked , so one pissed off and tired FPK had a day to formulate a plan.

Afew days later revenge was mine , she got drunk and I got chocolate button.
After "sorting her out" (her terms not mine) she fell a sleep in a drunken happy haze. so I slipped a few chocolate buttons between her butt check and left them to melt over night .
The joy was all mine when I woke her up and pointed out to her that "she had better clean her self up as I think she may have had an accident"
brown stains all in the bed and a look of horror in her eyes .
ah sweet revenge
And the look on her face as I smelt the sheets too closely and got some on my nose !
(fpk, Thu 13 Dec 2007, 19:07, Reply)

Monkeyboy...
...was off on holiday with his fiancee "fish face" in a couple of days, so we thought we'd play a prank on him. We stole his passport and wrapped it very carefully in many layers of cellophane, then submerged it in water in a nice deep tin and froze it. Once frozen we removed the tin and left the block of ice in the freezer.
A day later, when he was due to go to the airport later that day, he was frantically looking around for his passport. He was getting more and more frantic as time passed until finally we couldn't take it anymore.

"Are you SURE you haven't seen my passport?" he asked.
"Um, have you checked the freezer?"
"The Freezer? THE FREEZER?"

He was not amused. He was not amused by having to smash the block of ice open, or chip away at the ice surrounding his passport; he was also not amused to find that cellophane isn't very waterproof, and many of the ink stamps in his passport had run. He put it in the airing cupboard until he left, and it was prety much dry by the time he presented it at customs. He managed to get away on holiday and return, but "fish face" dumped him only 2 days into the fortnight, making it quite a miserable experience; I doubt the passport stunt had anything to do with this.
(mcnelson, Thu 13 Dec 2007, 19:07, Reply)

Ka-boom
"Bet you can't drink a pink of undiluted orange squash"
"Bet I can"
"Here you go then"

FX: slurp, guzzle, sloo

Pause

FX: distant thunder

Pause

FX: approaching cavalry

Pause

FX: ominous hush

Pause

FX: Krakatoa

Mind you, that's the sort of thing that happens if you drink half a pint of undiluted orange squash ... and half a pint of syrup of figs.
(ubergeekian, Thu 13 Dec 2007, 19:06, Reply)

cocklesnot!
I was going to tell you about plugging my kb/mouse into the back of someones computer at work to give them a scare but then I realised it wasn't really that special. But this was!

When I were 17 I went on a teenage christian 'outreach' (ie a large collection of fundy idiots gathering in some town or other to thrust the good news of jeebus at the unsuspecting citizens) in Southampton. All the teenie-fundies were gathered into the church hall having dinner. My mate (as pre-arranged) pretended to sneeze into a (fresh) hankie, and then opened it up gradually, making disgusted noises, to reveal a huge bogey that was actually a cockle (I'd bought a jar specially!) I then leaned across the table, plucked the loogie from the hankie and gobbled it up.

Several people at our table actually went green, and everyone was totally disgusted. I think I seriously upset one of those fragile christian girls you get.

Length? She probably needed prayer ministry for years after that!
(teasus likes tea, Thu 13 Dec 2007, 19:03, Reply)

Garlic Bread with Cheese
Many years ago I was at the kind of house party that still goes on today, parents out of the country, drugs in one room, pseudo-politics in another, lots and lots of alcohol everywhere.

The party was still in full swing at 1am, people shouting, screaming, dancing, fighting and shagging all over the place. Myself and my friend were a wee bit peckish, so we ordered a 16-inch garlic bread with cheese, known colloquially round these parts as a Garlic Bastard.

When the chappie came to deliver it and rang the doorbell, our host had a bit of a moment, thought it was the police, and ran around the house turning off stereos, crying 'hide that! put that away' before he answered the door.

Anyhow, he was a little upset with this unnecessary panic, and had a minor rant at me and my pal.

We were not going to let this aggression stand.

We ate one slice each of the Garlic Bastard, and put the rest of it in the clothes dryer with every dressing gown and towel we could find.

That'll learn him.
(FiftyFour, Thu 13 Dec 2007, 18:59, 1 reply)

One time, after a heavy night,
a mate of mine passed out on the living room floor in a drunken stupor.

He'd passed out face down, with his t-shirt riding up his back, giving us the perfect opportunity to write on his lower back, where he wouldn't see it for a while.

We wrote "I LOVE COCK" and "FREE ENTRY" with an arrow pointing down his arse crack. 'twas rather amusing at the time.

In the morning we went back to the pub for breakfast, and my mate sat with his back to the rest of the pub in such a position that when he leaned forward, his t-shirt would rise up and reveal our handiwork to all and sundry.

At first only a couple of people saw it, so while being very funny for us, it wasn't too bad for him. Then one of the blokes who saw it shouted "Oi everyone, look at this" and everyone in the pub turned and saw what we wrote on him.

Having 20-30 strangers pointing and laughing at him can't have been very pleasant. Poor chap.

It was fucking funny though!
(MrTrent cannot think of a clever sig., Thu 13 Dec 2007, 18:54, Reply)

The parent trap
I'm not very good at playing pranks. I give the game away before the denouement by laughing myself silly or nodding vigorously in a feeble attempt not to give the game away. So this story is about a really nasty evil prank played on me, which haunts me to this very day.

I am of the species "Onlyius childus" and as such was adored and spoiled by my loving parents. I wasn't wrapped just in cotton wool but a nice layer of bubble wrap over the top and big squishy quilt, just in case. My mum only worked part time so that she could collect me from school everyday and make me banana sandwiches and cake. It was fab, but it also meant that I was cushioned from any sibling pranks and did not acquire a hard veneer of coolness in the face of trickery.

One awesome Tuesday when I was 10, my mum informed me that on Thursday evening she was going to have to be late home from work, no big deal, she'd be in by around four-ish, but...and here comes the big awe-inspiring moment...I was going to have to LET MYSELF IN, with a KEY, to the HOUSE, which would be EMPTY. If my life had ended at that one moment I would have skipped through St.Peter's gate with a shit-eating grin on my face. I was overjoyed. At last - I could almost feel my parents' grip loosening on my freedom.

Wednesday felt like time had not only stopped, but was actively running backwards. In the evening my mum handed over the sacred key (on a really cool keyring that had a hula-girl on it, when you pointed it one way her hips went left and the words at the top said "I wiggle and I giggle" when you tilted it the other, her hips went right and the words changed to "'Cos I like it" Weird eh? What a strange keyring to give a 10 year old over protected GIRL) and I experienced an almost spiritual moment of joy, followed by terror that I would lose it and be locked out.

Thursday finally arrived, and as I walked home from school I felt very grown up. I trod on cracks (Childish to worry about mothers' backs) and carried myself in a whole new adult fashion (I probably looked like a little hooker, but hey - this was a different time and there weren't peodos waiting to pounce on every corner.) When I got to the front door - and I'm feeling really self-conscious as I write this - I rang the doorbell, I was scared to just use the key and wanted to make sure I was alone. I knocked on the door and also *blush* shouted through the letter box "Hellooooo mum? are you there?". No reply, and by now I was starting to experience my first incidence of doorstep incontinence. I slipped the key into the lock, opened the door and ran up the stairs for a wee. I left the door open (The freedom) and sang a little song "I'm having a wee-eee in the house, and there's no one he-ere" I bounded down the stairs, excited as a little puppy and as I ran into the living room, a creature leapt out from behind the door and shrieked "BOOOOOO!!!"

Well, all I can say is Thank Christ I'd been to the toilet. My heart leapt into my throat and the adrenaline started pumping. Fight or flight wasn't in it I fucking FROZE and I let out the most enormous scream of my life. I actually saw a tunnel with my nan at the end beckoning me towards her. Fuck! I was so scared.

Who was this tormentor? Who would have done such a thing, It must be a murderer - or maybe that scary man from those videos they showed at school - the one with some puppies and sweeties, and a sinister undertone I didn't quite understand. I turned and gazed upon the monster who had so ruined this magical afternoon, and who, ultimately was likely to kill me and eat me.

It was my mum.

Who knows what possessed her to do such I thing? I've asked her, she just shrugs, looks a bit embarrassed and laughs. hmmmpfh.

I can imagine her, hearing the ring of the doorbell, the knock on the door, the "yoohooo" through the letterbox and secreting herself away, a little giggling girl herself once more.

In the end, I wept for about an hour - I felt fury, embarrassment, bewilderment and betrayal in equal measure. But, in the end, I think I got my own back - I made her suffer for weeks - and in a way almost to this day - as I never forgot and here I sit 23 years later repeating the story to an audience of thousands - mwhahaha.

She apologised and so I pass that one onto you - mine's for length, hers was for almost killing her only daughter with fright.
( my_cat_has_no_shoes meh meh meh MEH MEH, Thu 13 Dec 2007, 18:54, 2 replies)

My little brother's just discovered rock and roll...
I love my little brother, K (abbreviation for anonymity). He was born when I was 15 and I've always felt rather responsbile for him. I've changed nappies, bathed him, taken him out in the pram on my paper-round, took him to see Sheffield Wednesday, everything.

However, the poor fella has taken on a family trait in the form of complete gullibility. This is compounded by the fact that since I've been a figure of authority ever since he was knee high to a grasshopper, he's always trusted anything I've said.

So, picture the scene.

It's K's 11th birthday, and he's very excited.

He's getting into music, and loves bands like The White Stripes and the Arctic Monkeys, and spends a lot of the time jumping round the house to their latest chart-toppers.

So, during a pre-visit phonecall I tell him for his birthday that I've got him a special present (as well as the FC Koln shirt that I fetched from a trip abroad). Something that he'll cherish for ever, and will last him a lifetime.

I tell him, that I've got him a guitar. Not just any guitar...

You can tell where this is going.

I spin round to my mum's house, and upon arrival I can see my dear sibling bouncing up and down with excitment in the front room.

K is practically having an epileptic fit when I get in doors... "where is it, where is it?"...

So, I give him the car keys, say "it's in the boot", and watch him sprint off with glee to my car, pop open the boot and...

There's nothing there.

Well by this point I'm in stitches. My ma's cottoned on what's happening and trying not to laugh. K's look was a combination of puzzlement and disappointment. Something was not right.

Of course, I'd bought him... a brand new Air Guitar!

I walked up to the car, asked what was wrong, K said he couldn't see anything despite me explaining that it was right in front of him.

The poor sod hadn't got a clue what was going on. In fact, when I explained what an air guitar was, that he didn't have to learn to play it, and he could take it anywhere he wanted and not break it, he was in tears.

Yes, I'd ruined my little brother's birthday.

Cue 11 years of carefully fostered trust, understanding and brotherly love thrown out of the window for a silly prank.

The fact that me, my other brother and my mum were laughing so hard we were in danger of ruining our underwear didn't help matters, neither did the fact that thunder and lightning started, ruining his hopes of going out on his new bike from his estranged dad.

The poor kid. Barely into double figures, and now the realisation that life is actually quite shit was hitting him quite hard on the very day he should be celebrating his existence. I'm surprised he didn't break into his mum's make-up box, get out the eyeliner and turn into a Goth right there and then.

So since then, instead of the automatic hug, cup of tea and biscuit presentation I get when I go round my mum's now, I get a scowl, a frown and a 'what do you want'? I like to think that this is his hormones kicking in, but we both really know it was down to that pristine air guitar still waiting to be used.

He likes Gangster Rap now.

Bastard.
(scentless_apprentice takes two bottles into the shower!, Thu 13 Dec 2007, 18:42, 4 replies)

My pussy needs to feed!
Back in the days when the farmer and I were a happy couple we used to hang out in a large group - most of us had been at school together and therefore knew each other's limits and secrets. This led to an ongoing prank war between Stuart - a fantastic guy (looked like a dark haired version of Steve McQueen but sadly, like McQueen, no longer with us...yeah, die young - stay pretty) and everyone else...

So we're all at a party hosted by Estelle (now a lawyer and always up for a laugh). The music is on loud, everyone is drinking, laughing and generally having a good time.

Stuart and the farmer slip outside for a fag. A plan is hatched...Stuart gets on his mobile phone and dials Estelle's house number...this is about 10 or 12 years ago so no caller display on her landline phone.

Estelle answers the phone, Stuart disguises his voice, tells her he lives down the street and asks her to "Turn that infernal racket down! My pussy wants to go out to feed!"

Estelle was renting the house and is an upstanding member of the community so she apologises profusely, gets off the phone and turns the music down as promised.

Stuart and the farmer come back inside deep in conversation about Stuart's latest motorbike (which sadly was to bring about his early and unnecessary demise). Stuart wanders over to the sound system and turns the music up - higher this time than it was before.

Estelle notices and calls over to him, "Stu! My neighbour has been complaining about the noise, we need to keep it down"
"It's fine. Tell your neighbour to piss off"
"But he says his cat can't eat it's food"
Stuart falls about laughing and turns the music up and then goes outside again, ostensibly to have another fag.

Outside he gets on the phone again....and the conversation was repeated but this time in stronger terms. Estelle did a sterling job of trying to placate her 'neighbour' and promised again to keep the music down.

This time she also asks her boyfriend, Oli, to keep an eye on the noise levels and ensure Stuart doesn't turn it back up....But Oli was in on this....

Again as before, Stuart comes inside, turns the music back up and laughs off Estelle's neighbourhood problems, despite her getting more and more upset.

Now he decided to get really evil....

Music turned up, he walks out again, Estelle turns the music down...the phone goes again...this time Oli steps in, "I'll speak to him"
Then a row of epic proportions begins....insults are hurled, accusations made, the guests look on horrified to see the usually jovial and friendly Oli offer to take apart the neighbour's pussy and shove it where the sun don't shine...and then, "Yeah, go on then, fucking call the police! I'm coming round to sort you out you bastard!"

Estelle was nearly in tears....and then...

Stuart walks into the house still on the phone,

"Don't you dare do that to my pussy!"

The look on her face was that of a scared rabbit in the headlights as she tried to make sense of what was happening.

Stuart was an utter evil bastard and very much missed.
( chickenlady b3ta's very own Elizabeth Taylor, Thu 13 Dec 2007, 18:24, Reply)

One of my worst...
I give a pretty full accounting of it here: http://www.b3ta.com/questions/thattaughtem/post77606

I think you'll agree, that's pretty evil.
( The Resident Loon Not a demographic. Do not measure., Thu 13 Dec 2007, 18:23, 8 replies)

Och. See you Jimmeh!
Back when i was younger, my mother used to own a hotel in Blackpool. To cut a long intro short, the holiday trade went down the pan so she started taking in students from the local college.

Well there was this one guy, Scottish and probably the whiniest, whingiest, complainingist Nuck Fuggit you could ever wish to meet. He would complain about everything, from the wrong kind of tiolet roll in the bathroom to one of the chips being slightly over brown on the edges.

Well, me and my mother had had enough of his incessant griping so we asked him one day if he would like Haggis for dinner (on account of he had spent the whole day going on and on about how great it was in Scotland) So my mother sent me out to buy a durex and a large can of Pedigree Chum (or indeed any other top selling dog food) I then proceeded to stuff the contents of the can of dog food into the durex until I had built up a nice large round and strangely appetizing haggis.

Into a bowl of water over a pan of boiling water it went (So as not to burst the latex on the hot pan) and 20 mins later out comes one very convincing haggis, which my mother happily served to him(After episodes of complaining that dinner was taking it's time).

30 or so minutes later the plate comes back to the kitchen, empty.

Unfortunately I was not there when one of the other residents told him what he had actually eaten. Would have loved to see his expression.

Needles to say, there were no more complaints from him and he moved out about 3 weeks later.


Length? Trojan
(Phoenixx1973 Will be campaigning for the "Vote Saxon" party., Thu 13 Dec 2007, 18:18, Reply)

The ex wife (again)
Does this qualify as a prank or a piece of really calculated and evil manipulation? You decide.

Some months before the ex and I split up, way back in 2001 to be precise, she started a leadership development course. As part of this course she was assigned a mentor, and every so often had to go on residential courses for a couple of days. I’m not a possessive type, and figured she should go on them (she wasn’t so sure, but I persuaded her to anyway) as it would be an opportunity to meet other people. Not that we had no friends or anything, but we moved in pretty tight circles, and at the time I was getting involved in my local scuba diving club. Separate interests are healthy, I think. I still do.

So anyway, she does meet new people on the course, and seems to be really quite enthusiastic about it all. I’d often get a text message at work from her (always a text, never a call for some reason) asking if I minded if she went out that night, to a quiz, or for a meal. “Of course not my love, go and enjoy yourself”, would be my stock response, and it gave me the opportunity to stick a video on and chill out at home. Most of the time she would come home, but on a couple of occasions she would inform me that she would stay over with one of her new-found friends, as these get togethers were often miles away and sometimes she fancied a drink.

When I look back on all this, I can only shake my head and think what a naive bastard I was at the time. But I was in what I believed to be a loving and trusting relationship, so why would I have cause to suspect anything was going on? Those that know me would probably vouch for the fact that I am pretty laid back, trusting and totally non possessive, or jealous

She was, of course, by now jumping into bed at every opportunity with her leadership development mentor, but in deference to the fact that she was married, would actually ask my permission via text message under the guise of ‘pub quiz’ or ‘night out with new friends’. Bloody twisted Catholic guilt! Even when she informed me that she was leaving (just after New Year, and after I’d picked her up from a night out – nice touch) she didn’t have the decency or respect to tell me that there was someone else. Instead she dressed it up as needing her independence. Oh, and she didn’t even have the decency to move out after dropping that particular bombshell, so we ended up sharing the same house space for a further 6 months before I found somewhere to rent.

I’ve probably gone wildly off topic now – sorry, it’s therapeutic. It’s taken me the best part of 6 years to build up any sort of bile or acceptance that she was a devious, manipulative cow whose declarations that she still loved me and would never rule out reconciliation were, in fact, a back up ploy to keep me hanging around in the vain hope that we could get back together.

If any female B3tards are living in the north east and about to do a leadership development course, if you are assigned a mentor called Graeme Slaughter, do me a favour and kick him in the bollocks please. And don’t get involved with him – he’s an irrational, bad tempered tit who will throw a wobbly at you for not buttering his toast for him.

I’m now taking my vitriol home with me. Good night one and all.
( Davros' Granddad a voice of calm reason in a world of spastics., Thu 13 Dec 2007, 18:16, 4 replies)

Pranks on my kids, Part 3.
When he was about 12 or so, my oldest son used to be very fond of falling asleep on the couch after school in front of the TV. It usually took a bit of effort to wake him up for dinner, so I wasn't too fond of this habit of his- I mean, if I can get up at 5:00 and stay awake until 10:00, he should be able to as well, right?

So I used to wake him in odd and memorable ways. Once I held a strange looking Burger King toy about three inches from his face and grabbed his shoulder with a shrill howl and screamed "It's the end of the world!" Another time I put on a weird pair of goggles and this wild headdress from a Halloween costume and shook him awake while whooping in his face. He used to wake up screaming and disoriented as his father seemed to be some strange monster in front of him, much to the amusement of his siblings.

So one weekend when I had been up far too late the night before I lay down for an afternoon nap, and he decided to take his revenge. Using leftover Halloween paint and costumes, he painted his face green and tried to look as weird as he could, then snuck into my bedroom and howled as he shook me by the shoulders.

I opened my eyes groggily and said, "What time is it? Do I need to be making dinner yet?" and yawned.

He stood staring at me for a moment, then said "Yeah. And I guess I'd better go wash my face," and stomped grumpily down the hall.
( The Resident Loon Not a demographic. Do not measure., Thu 13 Dec 2007, 18:13, Reply)

Evil Dad
Not me, but a dear mate of mine. His father is one of those people termed "a character". He's a bit weird by normal standards, but I really like the guy, and sometimes even envy my mate a little for the great relationship he has with his dear ol' Pa.

This is the guy who enjoys nudging his son in the ribs, pointing at his mum and saying in a conspiratorial whisper "I've had her." Followed by "She was great."

He's also fond of pranks. The one I found most horrifying was when my mate clawed his way towards consciousness (typically late in the day) and turned over to find his dad lying in bed with him, stark bollock naked. "Hello son," he said, looking down into his son's confused and bleary eyes, in his very best impression of the Kurgan. (I should point out that my mate is very much an adult, not a kid, so although it would be a lie to say that there was nothing freaky going on, at least it's self-inflicted freakiness - he deserves what he gets for still living at home).

His dad also enjoys rabbit every once in a while, and like eskimos and whales, he needs to use every part of the rabbit. Which is why my mate has woken up to a dismembered rabbit's head on his pillow, like some bizarre homage to The Godfather, and one memorable morning found a rabbit's head in his coffee. Staring at him, and bobbing up and down faintly.

His dad also enjoys using the word c**t in front of his mother-in-law, who just accepts this as normal these days and calls him "a bit rude". I find this *fantastic*.
(kithkill, Thu 13 Dec 2007, 17:58, 2 replies)