We tried smoking various…stuff. Not drugs. Just stuff we wondered what would be like if smoked. This included:
-Cocoa
-Trix cereal
-Dog food
Yes, the dog food was the worst.
Sometimes now I wonder what kind of tumors are waiting for me down the road. I didn’t consider this at the time.
I went to high school in the 80s in SoCal.
My sophomore year, someone put real sharks in the olympic swimming pool. That’s the same year someone dumped a ton of sand (seriously - several large trucks were used) into the quad.
My junior year, a friend of mine put a Volkswagen on the sloped roof of the cafeteria. That is no easy feat, and it was the talk of the school for the rest of the year.
My favorite, though, is the night we deflated the plastic blow-up of Orca attached to the “Visit Seaworld!” billboard on Newport Boulevard so that we could insert a fake leg --a jean leg filled with newspaper and complete with a shoe on the end–and then reinflate Orca.
hehehe
Oh, and we rearranged the letters on the movie marquee from Clash of the Titans to Rash of the Tits.
giggle
I think I’ve posted this before, but here goes…
A bunch of us climbed up on my friend’s roof and started diving into the pool.
Of course, that wasn’t macho enough for a bunch of 15 year-olds, so of course we had to turn it into a contest to see who could dive into the shallowest amount of water.
The guy whose house this was at stood 6’6" and dove into 3’ of water. We instantly ruled him the winner at that point.
So how is it that we didn’t break our necks?
I had a friend who chased a Hasidic (sp?) jew down the sidewalk with a frying pan yelling, ‘Make me an omelette!’. Why? In his pharmaceutically enhaced state he was sure it was an Amish man. And he was also sure that the Amish were famous for their omelettes.
As a bit of advice, don’t, under any circumstances, snort nutmeg. It hurts and makes you bleed. And for godssakes, don’t try it again because you think somehow it may be better the second time around.
My high school had an Olympic sized swimming pool. I - er - somebody once decided it would be cool to recolour the thing. By adding Pottasium Permanganate to the water.
Lovely purple colour it was.
Fond memories…
Stealing a 9’ fiberglass chicken from outside a restaurant and installing it on the roof of the girl’s gym.
Tossing liferaft dye into the pools
Breaking into the PuppyHut (the octagonal kiosk in the quad), lining it with plastic, and filling it with water and goldfish.
Making nitrogen tri-iodide in Chemistry, then using it to silence the geese outside the physics lab.
Setting mice loose in the Admin. building overnight (which set off the motion sensors every 5 minutes)
Putting a dissected cat back together…sort of…and hanging it inside Mary Ludeking’s locker. (You could hear the scream on the other side of campus.)
Surprisingly, none of us every got suspended. 
Let’s see:
A bunch of us in Yearbook created a fictional student, who we then seriously considered running for president of the freshman class. It ended up that a couple of them made a campaign banner advertising his run for “Speaker of da Hizzouse” and held it up at a pep rally.
We also dared one of my friends to drink the remains of a bottle of barbecue sauce for $5, which he did. It was probably almost a quarter-cup, and he said it burned like hell after he did it.
My junior year, the graduating seniors let loose a chicken in one of the classrooms, which proceeded to shit all over the place.
There was a physics teacher who I never actually had a class with, but he let students hang out in his room after school and use the computers. This was in the last days of BBSes, when the Web was still text only and only of interest to scientists. On one particular day, I was bored while waiting my turn on a computer and looking for something to do. I saw the end of an electrical cord that wasn’t attached to anything, with the two wires exposed. I wondered what would happen if I crossed the wires and plugged it in.
A few seconds later, all the power in the entire wing of the school went out. I got suspended for a couple days over that stunt.
Oh, the amount of crazy stuff my friends get into is amazing. I chose my moniker for a reason, ya know. One story has stood out at me for the last two years as a paragon of, if not craziness, at least inanity:
Chemistry class, as others have stated, was a great place for mischief to begin. In this case, my friend K and I decided to hoard some magnesium from the experiment we were doing. In retrospect, I have no idea whether or not we were actually using it for an experiment or if we just stole it for the fact that it was magnesium. But I digress.
Anyway, outside at lunch, we decide to light a bit of it. Sadly, K’s lighter doesn’t do the trick, even when we pump it up to “crack lighter” status. I pretty much give up hope, and leave K to his business.
K discovers a small branch with a notch in it that is perfect to hold two small strips of magnesium. He proceeds to install the metal, and insert it into the nearest power outlet. Sadly, I was not facing him when he did this. All I remember is seeing a flash out of the corner of my eye and hearing a large ‘WHORN!’ sound.
I turn to see K cradling his hand and hopping around, getting small chunks of it on him. Not enough to seriously damage, but enough to sting. The truly wonderful part about all this? The security guard comes over and yells at K, not for stealing school property. Not for lighting the magnesium. No, he got yelled at for possession of a lighter.
Aren’t public schools grand?
This is the funnest thread ever.
I’m feeling very insufficient right now. 
Oh well, on the bright side, I still have two more years.
Oh, just had a flash of rememberance. So its Spring Break, and George and I were walking to a mutual friend’s house. As we’re strolling down the street we hear a car driving up behind us. We look up to see Cat pull up next to us, Liz in the backseat and a large metal pole sticking out of the front seat of her extremely beat-up Mustang convertible.
“Hey,” she said to us, extremely nonchalantly.
“Hey,” we replied. We pointed out the wonderfulness of the Scooby-Doo blanket. Oh, did I not mention? The large metal pole? Covered with a Scooby-Doo blanket, so to not arouse suspicions. And it turns out the large metal pole was formerly the street sign from the corner of Third and Stevens. Signs still attached.
“We’re gonna go drop this and Ben’s house.”
“Okay. See you there.”
So George and I walk a little farther as Cat and Liz pull ahead. A few minutes later, they come back towards us. “Ben wasn’t home. We’re going to Alex’s.”
And we thought that was the end of it as they took off, us going back to our original plans. Turns out she wasn’t home either, so they had to find a new home for the sign. And that’s when they remember that Bryanna’s apartment complex has a pool table in the laundry room for people to put things they no longer want.
So Cat and Liz haul it there, and get the sign with pole still attached not only in the building but onto the pool table as well. From what I hear, Bryanna walked into her building, passed the laundry room and stopped. Backed up. Looked at the sign and said to herself “I know one of my friends did this.”
So yes. I am definitely TheOnlySaneOne around here.
There was often coloured (possibly falvoured) condoms filled with helium floating in our hallways.
I started a pumpkinhead cult. I’ve worn a carved, hollow pumpkin on my head on more occasions than I care to mention. Gets warm in there. During one of our two hour long lunch hours (usually we’d get those around the end of a semester), I was pushed in a shopping cart, with my pumpkin head on and all, down main street by my faithful followers. I was let go around the town pump and ran - pumpkinheadfirst - into the granite walls of the post office. The pumpkin broke, revealing a dazed li’l wizardess of Oz. The cult dispersed after that day.
My friend Gord began his own religion shortly after. I can’t say the name, because it was his last name, and I’m sure he wouldn’t want it revealed here. 
However, it did give rise to the sayings “Gord damnit!” and “Oh my Gord!” to which he would reply angrily, “Do not say Gord’s name in vain!” He had two profits: myself and a guy named Simon. I loved Simon. We used to sing the lyrics of Weezer’s “The Sweater Song” back and forth to each other, like cryptic code, each week a new installment.
Some of us once dropped mayonaise balloons from the roof of the high school at anyone who was walking by. We mostly hit the kids who were trying to sneak a smoke on school property, and a couple of teachers who were doing the same.
I don’t know what was going on on this day, but in the student assembly room, I walked past, and noticed an entire class of students, lining three walls - backs flat against the walls, hands stuck straight out in front of them, all of them humming the Bond theme song. Our math teacher was rocking out in the middle.
I once went to the washroom and entered a stall, and upon lifting the lid of the toilet, discovered a goldfish swimming in the toilet water. I said, loudly, “There’s a goldfish in my toilet.” And got the replies, “There’s two in mine” and “Mine looks like a guppy.”
In every book about pregnancy in the library, someone had slipped several bookmarks that said things like "Girls Girls Girls!"and “Live Nudes!”
In the music room was a storage closet for the instruments, and someone had painted, in large, beautiful letters, in blue with lovely shading: “I learned to play the skin flute here.”
We saran-wrapped a friend’s car pretty tightly on his birthday. He couldn’t get into it that day, and had to get a ride home with someone else. Not sure how he did finally get into it, but he was good about it, and had a good laugh.
We tried to bleach our hair with Ajax in the back of the art room. It kind of worked. One of us went bald before graduation.
One night, before a big production, a friend and I sprayed down the entire stage with Pam cooking spray. It was Hamlet: On Ice!
Not really crazy, but a friend of mine spent a year painting a reproduction of Van Gogh’s “The Starry Night” on the back wall of the art room. She had a photographic memory, and the reproduction is astounding.
All in all, the funner things were (mostly) innocent.
Boy, am I tired.
Flavoured.
Prophets. Neither Simon nor myself ever contributed any money to our buddy Gord. Damnit.
Among other things…
My junior year, several of us had an off period that we normally used to leave school grounds and go get a more edible lunch. One January afternoon, with a ton of melting ice and snow on the ground outside the school, our looniest friend - the one who said he was an alien god from an alternate dimension - convinced two of us to go eat food in spite of the weather. Our feet were absolutely soaked and freezing. When we re-entered school grounds, he danced his way back to the building while we stumbled around because we couldn’t feel our feet.
We had to go immediately to physics to take a test, which he probably aced. I did something almost as unique: I took the test barefoot. My shoes and socks were drying on the heater.
This reminds me…I was really bored with high school, so I did a lot of things just to relieve the tedium. I don’t know that they were really “crazy.”
Coup d’etat
I decided that the student government was silly, so I created a political party and got “accomplices” to run for all the seats: pres., vice-pres., treasurer, and 18 assembly seats (six for each grade). It was called the Conservative Foolish Party (ala the Liberal Foolish Party of Monty Python)—emblem, a jester; motto, “Vote Foolishly.” We passed out buttons with “Jerry the Jester” and the motto, and handed out flyers with our “slate.” We won every seat, except for president, which is sacred ground, I guess, but the president didn’t even have a vote in the assembly, which controls everything, including spending. So my accomplices voted as I told them to, and I ruled the student government. First point of order was to change the constitution of the student government, by creating a Speaker of the Assembly. Then they elected me the Speaker (I was one of 18 elected assembly people). Outside of the usual bake sale approvals, we passed “foolish” rules, like a resolution declaring war on Canada and that certain fashions in vogue at the time were “frowned upon.” On the floor I would decry the Liberal Foolish Party, though it didn’t exist. I also considered changing the school mascot to a pig, but decided it would be politically risky. We did, though, vote for the purchase of a multi-track tape deck for the media center, so my friends’ band could make a demo tape. The rich kids, who formerly had run the student government, got pissed off that I was making a mockery of it, and tried to countervail by creating their own party for the next election: the SAP, or “Student Action Party.” But it didn’t work. The Conservative Foolish Party had garnered a certain popular cache, and again we won every seat except for president. I think people just liked those buttons with Jerry the Jester.
Three-fifths of a Bomb
When I was seventeen I was interrogated by the FBI. A friend from out of town was arriving at the airport, so I thought maybe he’d find it interesting–upon disembarking the plane—to have a strange person suddenly hand cuff on him a briefcase with strange hi-tech electronics and diagrams, and then disappear. (You know, the old Hitchcockian espionage mistaken identity thing.) So I put on a disguise (I was into disguise makeup that actually fooled people)—“foreign agent”—beard, different colored wig, fake glasses, darker skin; it took all morning. Then I threw into a briefcase a bunch of electronic things (bicycle light battery, phase shifter, etc., basically a lot of junk) all wired together, and some electronic schematic diagrams. I went to the airport, and before entering, I hand cuffed the briefcase to my wrist.
At the x-ray point (this was long before 9/11, when you could go to the gate without a ticket to meet friends and family), the security guard asked me to put the brief case on the belt to be x-rayed. I said I couldn’t, and showed him that it was hand-cuffed. He said, “Hmmmmm. Okay, why don’t you open it up for my supervisor.” So I went over to the supervisor, and opened the brief case. “What’s that?” he asked me. “Important electronic equipment and the information that pertains to it,” I answered. “What?” I repeated exactly the same monotone way, as if this were my training: “Important electronic equipment and the information that pertains to it.” He scratched his head and said, “Well, I can’t let you through until I know what that is.” So I turned around and headed for the parking lot, to put the briefcase in the car, so I could at least get in and fool my friend with the disguise. But before I could get outside, two Port Police grabbed each of my arms, and practically lifting me off my feet, took me to their back room.
They sat me down, and by this point they figured out that I was in disguise. They called out the other officers to look at the disguise. “Hey, that’s pretty good,” etc. Then their captain, or sergeant, or whatever he was came out. He was real serious, more or less saying, tell me what you’re doing, etc. I acted like I had a vow of silence, saying only that I worked for “Henderson.” This just pissed him off more, while the low-level officers clearly thought the whole thing was funny. They said they had to do a “mug shot,” which was just a Polaroid for their records, and told me to take off the disguise, but that would involve removing the latex base of the beard, which was fastened with spirit gum. I said, “O, come on, can’t I leave it on? I spent all morning doing this disguise.” And they actually let me keep the disguise on as they took my picture, standing in front of a felt board that had feet and inches to indicate height. Then the captain kept saying, “You know, what you have here is three-fifths of a bomb. (How he ever came up with that particular fraction, I don’t know.) You’d better tell me what’s up. This is some kind of college fraternity thing, isn’t it?” But I was stubborn and wouldn’t say it was a joke. So eventually he calls in an FBI field agent, who saw immediately that it was a just a kid with a fake beard and a briefcase filled with junk handcuffed to his wrist. He got real mad, saying that he was pulled away from a kidnapping case just for this stupid kid, but he was mad at me, not at the captain who called him. I wanted to say, hey, I didn’t call you in! He said they could arrest me even for just making a joke, so I relented and said I was sorry it was just a joke. Because I didn’t have a plane ticket, they took that as a sign that I hadn’t in fact intended to board any plane. And since I was a minor they called my father, who sent a friend of his who was a lawyer, who somehow convinced them to let me go. Imagine trying to do something like that today.
Air Raid
Late one night I got into the high school (dressed in black, of course, eluding the security patrol twice), climbed on top of the buildings, and re-wired the PA system speakers (it was antiquated, and the wires were exposed). I fed a lead near the band practice room window. The next day two accomplices in the practice room (I was in pre-calculus) hooked up a high power amp to the leads, and fed a tape recording of air raid sirens, which screeched throughout most of the school. Other accomplices in various classrooms then did a “duck and cover,” telling everyone to get down, “The Soviets are coming,” etc. The sirens played for a good 15 minutes before my accomplices had to disconnect it.
I did a lot of other things (including holding hostage the trophy that was secured each year by the winner of the “Big Game” with a “rival” high school–they met my demands; and going to graduation in a disguise that only one person figured out), but only once did I get suspended, and that was for making the French teacher think that international spies were out to get him (he was delusional anyway). They concluded that it was me, and word was out that if I turned myself in they’d be lenient, so I did, and spent a week doing nothing but study—in fact, I studied more suspended than I ever did while attending.
Large Marge: We almost succeeded in really getting Sea World. (We hated Sea World.) In the middle of the night, we swam across the channel from Fiesta Isand (in black wet suits, of course, army surplus pitch on our faces) with about three gallons of dish-washing soap. The plan was to put the detergent in the fountain of the Sparklet’s Water Fantasy, so that the next day, it would become a huge, uncontrollable bubble bath. We got into the park, but the mission went awry, and we had to abort.
My first semester in college, someone tossed a dildo into the branches of a tree outside the girl’s dorm. Stayed there for months, I guess no one was willing to climb up and get it down.
And you STILL misspelled it.
Hehehehe…