The Power of Pranks -- A Suicidal Nurse and a Fantasy Land

Two DJs called an Australian hospital and pretended to be a prince and a queen in order to get information on the Duchess of Cambridge. The end result was a prank learned about throughout the world and the nurse who fell for it killing herself.

I like playing pranks (last night was one prank after another in Old Town much the uncomfortable amusement of Butter Licker).  Anyone who knows me knows I am fascinated by the power of pranks to transform reality.  I have shut down towns, have had police swarm a house, and other amusing things.  Pranks are like alchemy.

When word of the nurse's suicide got out, a few people asked me if that made any sense to me, and if I would perhaps consider such things before playing another prank.  After all, it seems like such a trival thing to commit suicide over.  A prank call?  Well, no, I won't consider that before playing another prank, and yes it makes perfect sense, but only if you understand that aforementioned transformative quality of pranks.

The nurse who killed herself lived in a fantasy world.  She granted a prince and a queen greater social respect and power than they really have.  They are really nothing more than figureheads, but this nurse, like many other people, think they are more than that.  When she was shown how fragile that belief system is, she took her life.  To me and many others it seems trivial, and I believe she may have bought into that fantasy more than a lot of people, but a lot of people do buy into that false world (and many others) on some level and are therefore easy prey to people who understand the tenuous nature of reality.  If you have invested heavily into that reality, suicide is understandable when that reality is shown to be all smoke and mirrors.  Understandable, but still tragic and senseless -- no disrespect meant to the dead.

Whether your fantasy land is inhabited by queens and princes, dragons, faith that replaces rational thinking not in times of crisis but in standard matters, or any number of other things that are believed without hesitation, then you can easily find yourself victim to people like me.  Your investment in that reality dictates your actions once the wool is ripped from your eyes.  Had this nurses grasp of reality not have included queens and princes she would have been possibly humilated, but she would have understood the sympathy based around the fact that we have all been victims of pranks at one time or another.  Instead, she obviously had a very hard time understanding such a thing because her world had been turned inside out.

So, yes, it is understandable, but also very senseless, like many suicides.  Will it stop me from playing pranks?  No.  My life is an experiment in the reality of reality.  I enjoy playing with it, manipulating it and turning it upside down.  I don't do it to be mean (usually).  I do it with a sense of wonder and to see how people will react because people fascinate me.  I actually believe I could cause suicide through the use of reality manipulation in the form of pranks or otherwise.  I don't do that, though.  That isn't me.  It wasn't the goal of these DJs, either.  Most rational people wouldn't kill themselves over this sort of thing ... but, in all fairness, I have never found a belief in queens and princes and their social status to be all that rational in the first place.

Death Comes A Calling

I had just finished watching a film for review for Film Threat when I heard a familiar noise.  Someone was trying to open my gate.  (Those who have tried know it is a noisy bastard that isn't exactly easy to do.)

I peered through my peephole, ever so mindful of the random home invasion or -- even worse -- religious types offering me the sweet salvation of whatever deity they believed in. 

It wasn't a thug with a shotgun or someone clutching tracts.  It was a witch.  Well, to be fair, I didn't know if she was a real witch, but she looked like you'd expect one who shows up at your door unannounced to look like.  A thin dusting of facial hair on the chin.  Strange eyes that looked ahead three minutes into the future.  A head the shape of a wide pumpkin.  Hair cut close to her scalp.  She was dressed in a heavy coat.  It wasn't that cold out.

"Can I help you?" I asked.

"I was having trouble opening your gate."

"Yeah.  It's tough."

She indicated to her left.  "Do you know if anyone lives next door?"

"Yes."

"They do?"

"Yes."  I had no idea where this was going, but it felt surreal.  I had half the notion she was going to tell me something very dark and very sinister.  Something about how the walls wept blood and things in the walls made slithering sounds whenever the moon went behind clouds.

"They had a yard sale."

I nodded.  "Yes they did."

"They were selling furniture."

I nodded again. 

"I don't think anyone is home."

"They may not be.  I don't know." 

"I bought some furniture from them.  A young woman.  She gave me her cell number.  I've been calling, but nobody is answering."  Now she sounded indignant.

"I can't speak to that," I told her.

She looked over toward the house and then back at me.  "I don't think they're home."

"I don't know their schedule."  Now I was a little irritated.  This was taking up my writing time.  I wanted to get the first draft of the review done while it was still fresh.

"I thought maybe they don't live there."

"They do."

"I thought maybe they didn't."

"Well, they do.  I don't know if they are home.  I don't know why she doesn't answer.  Do you want me to take your number."

Now she got upset.  "She has it!  She isn't answering.  I've left my number several times."

If there is one thing my love of horror has taught me it is this:  Don't piss off old women who look like witches.  They'll shout something at you in Romanian and spit in your eye.  Next thing you know your testicles start to turn to fluid and people start forgetting your name.  Not cool, witch ladies.  Not cool.

"I don't know what to tell you," I said, making my way to my door.

She looked at me one last time and then made her way down the sidewalk.  I wrote my review ... and then she came back.

I heard the gate being pulled again.  Wood screaming as the witch tried to pry it open.

I opened the front door.  "Can I help you?"

She could barely see over the top of the gate.  "I keep calling!  She doesn't answer!"  Her eyes are about twice their normal size with anger.  "She's not answering."

"What?" I ask.  I'm annoyed and it shows.  Fluid testicles or not, this woman has now ticked me off.

"She's not answering her phone!"

I get that older people relish the phone.  Every call was a cherished event when they were growing up.  Grandpa was coming.  The first lightning bugs of the season are out.  There's a dead whore down by the creek and Bobby's got a stick.  Whatever.  I get that every phone call was eagerly awaited and just as eagerly answered.  What the witch apparently didn't realize is that not everyone answers their damn phone.  Maybe my neighbor stays off the phone when the kids are up.  Maybe the battery was charging.  Maybe she forgot it at work.  I have no clue.  To this woman, however, none of that mattered.  All that mattered is that the phone wasn't being answered, and this was some kind of personal slight that I had to somehow rectify.  So I did the only thing I could think of doing.

I said, "Maybe they're dead."

The proverbial "they" states that a picture is worth a thousand words.  If I could've taken a picture of the witch (impossible, as they don't show up on film), this one would've only been worth seven.  "Oh shit, I didn't think of that."  That's what the caption would've been.  That would've said it all.

She straightened herself out, the wind gone from her wicked, ancient sales.  She gave me one last glare, apparently forgetting the Romanian curse that would turn my testes to watered down pudding, and then turned away and slowly made her exit down the sidewalk toward the street.

I can pretty much guarantee that the family's death was not the answer she was expecting to hear.  I would go so far as to say she did not probably try to call them again.  But ... when they finally get ahold of her, I bet the witch's heart jumps a bit.  Are ghosts coming to call?  Is the furniture she purchased haunted?  Did I even exist?

I may or may not be an asshole.  I'll leave that up to others to decide.  I will admit, however, to taking a certain bit of pleasure out of screwing with people's perceptions of reality.  Anyone who has hung out with me a bit knows I do it often and do it fairly well.  I get people to accept some of the most interesting things.  (The post office lady, for example, believes I get packages and phone calls from my dead mother and order DVDs of Oprah's private bathroom moments.)  It's like performance art, only I'm the only one who gets any enjoyment out of it or knows what the hell is going on.  This witch may have been ignorant to what I was doing, but I guarantee she won't forget that moment, and I'd like to think she'll never be that eager for someone to answer their phone again.

Let Chaos Be Your Calling Card

Some random thoughts to brighten your day.  (I'm in a "mood."  My back hurts.)

I've been thinking of shaving my mustache like Michael Jordan and Hitler's.  Hitler obviously ruined it, and Jordan brought it back.  It's a look that worked for both of them.  Now, I have no basketball skills, and I have nothing against Jewish people, but I'm still slightly afraid people will take it the wrong way. 

People in Humboldt County are really upset about the PG&E SmartMeters that are being installed.  These SmartMeters transmit your energy info through the air via magic to PG&E voodoo houses for billing purposes and, if you are to believe some people, mind reading.  If people are that upset they need to leave dangerous animals around their meters or steal PG&E trucks and dump them in a river somewhere.  Non-violent protest only gets you somewhere in Egypt.  These days, you have to hit people over the head with a hammer to get your point across.  To be clear: They only understand violence or the loss of money.  Protest is quaint like the doillies your grandmother still uses.  It's so Sixties.


Never underestimate the power of a well-placed Out of Order sign.  Especially if something is not broken.


Also never underestimate the power of a good prank.  Not only can they change reality and expose the naked emperor, they're just plain fun.  I've pulled off many, and I've got another big one brewing.  It feels good.  Kind of like when you first discover masturbation ... only it never gets old!


Next time you see one of those people who has a funny, pro-shopping key chain or bumper sticker (like the kind that says something like, "Hold me back!  I'm going shopping!" or "Addicted to Shopping") point it out and happily say, "My God, it's like you're sexually assaulting the mall."  Let that image be associated with their novelty sayings for the rest of their lives.  Always smile when you say it, though.  Everyone loves a smile.


Not everyone loves a clown ... in makeup.


Calling people's sexuality into question in a positive way, especially if you are claiming the opposite of what he/she is (i.e., you're a guy and say this of a fellow male, "He's awesome.  He really likes to hug a lot.  I like it.  It's nice.  You don't get many men expressing their feelings this way anymore."), often times shows your foils for who they really are.  Especially if they are homophobic but are afraid to admit it in these PC times.  Homophobia is ridiculous, like buying coffee by the cup every morning or thinking Taco Bell uses real beef.

The Sex Pistols taught me a lot.  They asked concert goers if they ever felt cheated (who hasn't?), and they claimed to be the poison in the human machine.  Words to live by.

A Great Prank

This is from a TV show in Japan, I believe. I love pranks like this. By the way, the set up is that this is a job interview.


Hidden camera sniper prank - Watch more Funny Videos

Anatomy of a Prank

People have asked for it. This is the prank that went down on Friday at Big Pete's in Eureka, California, home of wildfires and 215 cards. Before I get into the prank, let me explain how I view pranks. Some of you may know this. Some may not.

A good prank is like a work of subversive art. When done properly it can change/alter someone's reality either temporarily or for good. I'm not talking about the kind of prank where you send some unwanted pizzas to some cad's house. I'm talking about ones that border on the surreal.

A good prank has a bit of planning and a lot of improvisation. You have to be able to improvise on the fly because you never know what the mark will do. If you can't improvise, you probably can't pull off a good prank. I have gotten good at this. Some would say very good.

My supervisor, Dayna, had a friend coming into town. We will call the friend Jennifer. I suggested she take Jennifer to Big Pete's. Now, I wanted to meet Jennifer because I know how much Dayna likes her. I wasn't invited, but when I suggested I do something really kind of strange to introduce myself, Dayna was down with it. I asked the usual questions in a case like this. What is her temperment? Will I be stabbed? Dayna didn't know what I was planning, which was fine. She had a slight idea, but nothing concrete. I, on the other hand, got into character on the way to the pizza place. I had a few scenarios in mind, figuring I'd choose one at the last moment.

I arrived to Big Pete's first. The people there know me fairly well, so I told them that if my co-worker came in not to let on that I was there. They assured me they wouldn't. I ordered my slices, grabbed a knife and a copy of the North Coast Journal and waited.

The ladies soon arrived. I didn't look at them, but I wanted to make sure to make an impression in case Jennifer looked my way, so as I read something I kind of giggled to myself a little bit. She claims she never heard it, which is fine, but I like to establish things early.

I finished my pizza as they took their seats at a booth far from mine. Dayna didn't know where she was supposed to sit, which was fine. I had ideas for all possibilities.

"Dayna?" one of the staff called out.

"Over here," Dayna replied. The pizza was brought over.

I gave them a few minutes. Enough time for Jennifer to take in the atmosphere and enjoy a few bites. I wanted her comfortable, though I knew Dayna wouldn't be.

I put my dirty plate away, grabbed my Coke and wrapped my knife in the free weekly paper. I made my way to their table.

"Which one of you is Dayna?" I asked. I may have said that I heard the waitress say it. I don't remember.

They both looked at me. Jennifer did not look amused.

"Me," Dayna answered.

"Good," I said. "May I sit here?" I asked as I just sat down.

I placed my cup down, put the knife down with the paper over it. Jennifer had stopped eating.

There were two more slices on a plate near me. I looked at them. So did Jennifer. I almost picked a piece of pepperoni off one, but the time wasn't right. I was going to get weird, but it would be a gradual weird. One thing I was definitely going to say (because I thought it was a great line) was, "I have a room at the Red Lion. It's got two beds. I have a camera. I like to take pictures where I make the girls look like they are sleeping." I never got the chance.

It was silent. Nobody ate.

"Go ahead and eat," I instructed. "I don't want to interrupt you."

Jennifer's face turned into a mixture of anger, disturbance and maybe a possible hint of perplexing fear. At this point Dayna burst out laughing. The prank never went anywhere, though Jennifer seemed glad I wasn't there to do anything too odd.

While talking about the prank later, Jennifer said two things that I thought were interesting. As an aside, she apparently never saw the knife, which I was going to use to do a twisted game of spin the bottle later.

Jennifer said that at first she thought I was one of those mumbler guys that seem attracted to Dayna, which led me to believe that maybe she subconsciously heard the giggling.

The other thing she said struck me as incredible, because I had heard this before. She said what sold her on the fact that the prank was real is that I was carrying the paper. For some reason, paper tricks people into buying whatever reality you are selling.

Years ago I did a prank where I pretended to be a lawyer for a client that was suing the mark for $5,000. As I read the complaints against the mark, I shuffled some papers near the phone so he could hear them. That night my friend encountered him and the mark said he was going to kill himself, so I called him back to say it was all a prank.

"You're just saying that so I don't kill myself," he told me.

"No, I'm serious."

"It was real, Doug. I heard papers."

Paper lends an air of authority to a prank. I don't know why, but I will be exploring this more. I think paper gives whatever you are doing an agenda, and people automatically fill in the blanks as to what that paper means.

Jennifer's observance of the paper was what caused her reality to shift totally. It wasn't something I planned, but it worked. Had Dayna not blown it by laughing, the prank could've taken all kinds of routes. I didn't want to ruin the woman's short vacation, but I would have given her an even better story to take home. As it were, the movie ended early and her reality is back to normal.

I left the table after an hour or so, excusing myself so the ladies could enjoy their company. In the end it was probably best the prank didn't go further. After all, she was staying at Dayna's the next few nights. If things would have went south (I had briefly envisioned getting shot like Greedo), it could've ruined a good trip.

Never underestimate the power of a good prank. It's the one thing that can totally level the playing field. There are no laws against them because how do you write a law that could even hope to cover it? And how could you stop it? How would you even know it's a prank?

Enjoy the day.

25 Facts

Inspired by my dear friend's blog, which was in turn inspired by someone else's blog, which was in turn inspired by ... Jesus!

1. I like to think I have fairly eclectic music tastes. I have everything from Prince to GG Allin in my collection. At times I think I am the only person locally with a certain CD ... and I believe that's actually right. (Does anyone else in Humboldt have Possessed by Paul James or Diesel Rhino?)

2. I've always like the Marvel character Daredevil because he was always on the brink of insanity only to be pulled back at the last moment. I realize now that's because it's how I best operate.

3. Even when I hate my job, I do the best possible work I can do. Don't know why, but I think it has to do with my believe that reputation goes a long way.

4. I named my daughter after Asia Argento, a woman I find fascinating, strong and artistic. These were all things I wanted my daughter to be.

5. While I think I treat women with a lot of respect, I also prefer my sex to be on the dirty side. I see no reason why the two can't be combined.

6. I've never smoked pot, never did acid, and have never snorted coke. I also have never attempted to finish a Tab.

7. I believe murder is often justified ... but not when the state does it.

8. I think smart women are sexy, dumb women are annoying, and body size is nowhere near as important as attitude.

9. I will fight the Presidents of the United States if I ever meet that band, and I think I can take them.

10. I prefer amateur porn to the pro stuff.

11. I do not believe in God, but I think that people who declare themselves to be atheists tend to give organized religion more attention and respect than it deserves.

12. I'm registered Republican, but only so I can take part of their surveys and vote in their primaries ... for the worst candidate.

13. I once played a series of pranks on our local weatherman ... six years apart. And I got caught.

14. The one manuscript I spent the least amount of time on is the one that actually got published ("Pocket Aces: The Newbie's Guide to Online Texas Hold 'Em" if you care.)

15. I really, really don't like hippies who live off trust funds and the kindness of others.

16. I once called a drunk, vomiting homeless man a "human pig" and threatened to cut him with a broken bottle.

17. I rarely call the police, but when I do I like to ensure they'll do something, so　I threaten them with taking action myself. I've threatened to burn down a junkie's truck, drag a mattress into the street, cut the electric to a building, run a person over and so on. I have never gotten in trouble.

18. I have used 911 to sic some cops on some drunk guy that woke me up one morning. I told them the guy was drunk, described his car to the dispatcher, and then said the man loudly declared he would "kill any pig" that tried to stop him. I wish I would've seen that traffic stop.

19. I once gave a co-worker a heart attack and killed him.

20. I believe in the possibilities of ghosts, UFOs, and Bigfoot. I also believe in the possibilities of alternate universes. Ｉdon't believe in God, though, and that seems kind of hypocritical.

21. I do think I would be a serial killer if I didn't write. At the very least, I'd be hurting people.

22. At least once a month I think I have cancer or some other ailment that will kill me. I will not, however, go to the doctor.

23. I never wanted a child, but now that I have my daughter I can't picture life without her. She means the world to me.

24. I'm very bad at math. Very bad. I do make some great garlic chipotle mashed potatoes, however, and actually got my recipe in "Cooks Illustrated."

25. I like scaring people into thinking they are going to die or be hurt. I have pretended to car jack people, push them into traffic, and beat them to death with a log. I don't do this as much anymore because it seems slightly psychotic.

Hero Worship

Every once in a while I'm asked about heroes. Do I have any? Who are they? Why do I think they're heroes?

I don't think I have heroes, per se. There are writers I admire, musicians I admire, film directors I admire and so on. Heroes, though? Heroes are those folks like volunteer fire fighters who dive head first into a flaming building to pull out a drunk who fell asleep with a lit cigarette. That's someone trying to save a life with little regard for their own. Let's face it, even with the proper training there's a lot of danger associated with going into a burning building. At some point you may not make it out alive. Heroes, yes, but I don't worship them.

When I'm asked, I usually instead talk about the people I admire. When it comes to musicians there are three of them. Two of which I've been lucky enough to talk to and even become friendly with.

GG Allin, Henry Rollins, and Jello Biafra.

Allin, whom I was an acquaintance of, was pure emotion. He was dangerous. He made his art (and it was art) mean something. He brought terror back into music, and the audience was worse off for it. He hated the people who came to see him and it showed. I admire that trait in a performer. He understood that the audience was there for him and not the other way around. When he asked my band, JFK's Head, to open for him, we considered it ... for all of ten minutes. Too dangerous for us, but God what a thrill.

Rollins, whom I also used to talk to through e-mail, always represented discipline and self-control. Those are two other traits I admire. He "looked the lie right in the eye" and wasn't "afraid to see too clearly." Introspection took on new meaning, and it was through interviews with him that I became familiar with Nietschze.

Biafra, whom I've written to often but have never heard from, showed me that you could be political and a prankster and make life into one big piece of performance art (like Andy Kaufman -- another one I admire) to not only teach, but to also poke fun. Running for mayor of San Francisco was brilliant. Performing at the Bammies was sublime. Biafra, to quote a Lard song he did, made his life a big prank on a society he hated. I can totally get behind that.

Raw, disciplined emotion aimed at opening eyes and amusing one's self. Those men and those qualities just about say it all. If you can't see it, you'll never get it. And if you do get it, you know how important those things are.

Kafka wrote a story that was called (I believe) "The Hunger Artist." It's about an artist (a performance artist in a cage if I recall correctly) who starves himself. It's an attack on his audience (or at least I read it as such), and that has always stuck with me. Allin, Rollins and Biafra, while all being very different people, also combine all those things "The Hunger Artist" represents.

Hero worship? No way. But a strong respect for the ability of the enlightened? You bet your ass.