Nasty Practical Jokes for fun or revenge.

Replying to a different topic here I had a flashback to my college years.
My lab partner convinced me to help him in a wicked plot of revenge.
We coated the interior if the victims car with VSD powder. (Visual Stain Detection powder.
This wonderful translucent powder reacts with the amino acids on skin which then turns into a highly visible colored stain which can last up to a week.

This got me wondering.
with all the intellegent and twisted minds out here in SD land,there HAS to be quite a few stories out there.
I am hoping you overlook poor grammar and share your best revenge or practical joke story.

Osip


Oh your from Wales?? Do you know a fella named Jonah?? He used to live in whales for a while.

Its not that big of a prank.

But when I was a little kid I knew this girl down the hall in our apartment building. I guess I was jealous of her because she was a single child who always got big giant chocolate easter bunnies and I came from a poor family of 4 who was lucky to get a hollow teeny chocolate bunny, did I mention hers was solid chocolate?. So one day she came over and we were all eating french fries, you know the ones that come in a bag and you cook them in the oven…anyways I hollowed out the biggest fry on my plate and filled it up with tabasco sauce, sure enough she reaches for the biggest fry on my plate and took a big bite.

Lets just say she won’t be eating my frys anymore…never forget the look on her face it was totally classic.

I guess I was a mean little bastard when I was a kid.

It used to be, you were very cautious when opening a gift from my father, he had a tendancy towards practical jokes in them.

Some of my favs.
He cut the nozzle off a can of shaving cream, and taped a modified glove to it. The can and glove were stored in a coffee can which was wrapped in gift paper. The victim opened the ‘gift’ and then opened the coffee can. He was treated to a wonderfully smoothly paced glove inflating with shaving cream and flipping him the bird.

A guy at work liked to smoke foulsmelling cigars. He knew of dad’s proclivities towards jokes, so was rather wary when he unwrapped the gift, setting it down after unwrapping it and seeing that it was a cigar box. Then the lid of the box popped open, and a rubber cigar popped out, rotated to face him, and proceeded to squirt him with perfumed water… My dad spent a week taking apart the Radio Shack remote control car, and rebuilding it so that he could use its servos to control the cigar. He had the remote in a pocket during the party. Was a classic.

>>Nomex underwear is optional for dragons. <<
—The dragon observes

Are you familiar with the old “Farrel’s” chain of restaurants? I haven’t seen any around since the mid-80’s, so they may be long gone. But they were something.

They didn’t serve particularly good food, but the desserts- ice cream galore, in more flavors than you could imagine, in larger servings with more toppings than any other place on earth. Sort of a “Friendly’s” type place. Except for one thing.

I don’t know how “Friendly’s” handles birthdays, but at “Farrel’s”, birthdays were the main event. When they announced a birthday, sirens would go off across the restaurant, and the entire staff would come out singing “Happy Birthday”, and the last guy in line would have a huge bass drum strapped to his stomach and pound out the beat. Party hats were placed upon the heads of everyone sitting at the birthday child’s table, amidst other fanfare and extravagant hoopla. For a kid, this was truly the most wonderful thing in the world (okay, early-80’s most wonderful thing in the world. For the modern Nintendo-animatronic jaded child, it might well have been boring as hell. But for us genX kids, it was heaven on earth).

So my father and my mother go out to dinner at Farrel’s one night with my uncle Charlie and his girlfriend of the time- don’t know her name, so I’ll just call her Denise. It was Denise’s birthday, and Denise was completely unaware of what having a birthday at Farrel’s was all about. So my uncle Charlie had decided to give her a sudden instructive lesson in the humiliation that was being an adult during a birthday party at Farrel’s.

So my parents and uncle Charlie and Denise are all sitting around the table, finishing up their meals and chatting when my father excuses himself to go make a phone call. In fact, my father was in on the joke and Charlie had asked him to make arangements so as to avoid suspicion. Shorty after my father returns, it starts.

The lights in the restaurant dim. A voice announces over the loudspeaker “We have a birthday!” and suddenly sirens go off across the restaurant. Denise, suddenly and painfully aware of what’s going on, begins to flush bright red as the entire staff wanders out with one guy in the back pounding his big bass drum. And soon, everyone is singing “Happy Birthday to you/ Happy Birthday to you/ Happy birthday dear Charlie…” and they go over at stand around my uncle Charlie and put a little party hat on his head as he’s vociferously protesting that no, it’s not his birthday, it’s Denise’s, honest, no, not him, her, and my father is laughing so hard at the little switcheroo he played that he falls straight out of his chair.

So now you know where I get my sense of humor from.
Postscript: About five years ago, I went to a restaurant with my father and my uncle Charlie. This restaurant was run by my second-cousin, and she came over to visit and talk with us. During the course of the dinner, she brought over the maitre d’ to meet us, and she told us that the maitre d’ was actually a trained opera singer currently between jobs. “You can imagine,” she added, “what it’s like when he sings ‘Happy Birthday’ to one of our patrons.”

Needless to say, my father’s eyes lit up at the very thought, and he excused himself from the table to make a phone call shortly afterwards. A few minutes after he got back, the staff came out and began singing ‘Happy Birthday’ to my uncle Charlie; I can still remember the booming, operatic voice of the maitre d’ singing “Happy Birthday to You / Happy Birthday to You / Your brother made us do this / Happy Birthday to You…”

Apparently, my cousin had briefed the staff on what to expect from her family.


JMCJ

“Y’know, I would invite y’all to go feltch a dead goat, but that would be abuse of a perfectly good dead goat and an insult to all those who engage in that practice for fun.” -weirddave, set to maximum flame

God damn, I say God DAMN, Narile, I love your dad! Whatta card. still laughing at the cigar joke

Can’t think of anything I’ve done in the vein of practical jokes, but I had to hijack just to give props to Narile’s dad.


All I wanna do is to thank you, even though I don’t know who you are…

There are tons of ideas in a couple of my fav books by Hayduke, GETTING EVEN.

One of the local radio stations hates the campaign signs left out long after the election, so after every election, they have a contest and whoever brings the most signs down to the station wins two hundred dollars. My two friends Chris and Jason started stealing the campaign signs way before the election, so by the time it rolled around, they had abut a thousand signs. Of course, since they had so many of the signs, the radio station didn’t have their contest because there were no complaints about the signs. So Chris and Jason were so desperate to unlaod these signs, anyone who mildly pissed them off for the next month got a yard covered in campaign signs. Some guy stole their tap, and the next time it rained–five hundred signs in their front yard.


"A man can’t turn tail and run just because a little personal risk is involved. What did Shakespeare say? “Cowards die a thousand deaths, the brave man… only 500”?

Where can I get this VSD powder from? Got an asshole flatemate who keeps nicking beer from me. Was advised to piss in an empty wine bottle but don’t like the idea of having a bottle of piss in my fridge for a week.

A friend of mine was on a course with some football jock arseholes who did things like break all the toilets and piss all over the floor. They were in the room next door so he and his mates got a coke can with pennies in it, through a string over the projection that came out above and between the windows outs ide the rooms and rattled the coke can in shifts all night every night for the entire week. Not a wink of sleep was had by them!
This is probably apocryphal but hey I liked it!

In my residence at university we were limited to non-destructive jokes (very snall residence, you could usually tell who did it).

There was this chick on my floor who was extremely vain, and proud of her long blonde hair. She had been makin gour lives hell during finals by playing the most annoying music she could find (to us at least). She also had one particular shower stall that she loved, and didn’t want anyone else to use.

So the entire floor got together, in a conspiracy with the maintenance guy. We filled her shower head with red Kool-Ade (Aid?) so that when she stepped under it she’d be coated with a sticky red substance. Then we filled the second shower head with blue Jell-o powder, and the third with instant lemonade (such were our resources at the time). As well we asked the maintenance guy to turn off the water to that bathroom at our signal.

So she got into the shower, got covered in red. Got into the second shower to rinse off the red, and got covered in blue, then in the third shower got covered in yellow. Then the water stopped to all showers.

She had to walk through the entire college, including the public areas, to get to the women’s washroom in the other wing to wash it all off. It took her five doses of shampoo to get the sugar out of her hair, and she was late for her class.

We got pictures.


This post is made of 100% recycled electrons

I really enjoyed the dorm shower story. We used to paint people’s soap with clear nail polish; you ought to see them at about 5 a.m. trying to figure out why they can’t work up a lather.
However, the best dorm one I know was perpetrated by a friend of mine who discovered (who knows how) that if you poured lighter fluid onto the tile floors in our dorm and then lit it, the fluid would burn off and not even damage the floor other than some singeing that washed right off. Soooo…she’d wait until you were sleeping and then pour lighter fluid under your door and light it, then knock on your door. There is NO feeling like waking up and finding your floor on fire.

I’ve got one I’ve always wanted to to do an ex-girlfriend. In middle of the night go to her front lawn and take lye or gasoline and write something on the grass. Anything really, “bitch”, “slut”, “whore”. The grass will slowly die. A week later dead grass will spell something, and it wont grow for another year or two.


“Clatu, Verrata…nector?..neck-tie?”

A good (and very easy) way to stick it to assholes in parking lots, shopping centers, whatever.

Keep a box of wooden toothpicks in your glovebox, and when you see where the offending driver has parker, simply stick the toothpick halfway into the keyhole on his door, and break it off. Repeat for all doors and trunk.

About 10 seconds of work, and they will to call a locksmith to get into their car.

Mouthbreather: I hope never to piss you off in a parking lot.

This one’s probably in the book handy mentioned and I’ve been saving it for someone I really hate. Simply put: sign 'em up. Use those postage paid cards from magazines (library would probably be useful here) to sign the deserving a-hole up for magazine subscriptions, book and CD clubs, Franklin Mint atrocities, insurance info (oh yes indeed, please have the salesman call me!), and catalogs for ::ahem:: adult products. Anyone ever done this? I’d be interested to hear about the fallout.

I once heard of a guy who signed up a former friend to the NAMBLA newsletter, to be delivered to his work address. Yeek!

This is what I like to do. Only works on not very bright people. They need to have a windows machine. Take a snapshot of their desktop, as is. Save it as a gif or jpg. Make it the background for your desktop. Make the desktop a webpage so that all icons are hidden. The person then freaks out. They try to click on the icons, but the icons don’t do anything. Sometimes they even have to call MIS to figure it out. HEEE HEEE> :wink:


history repeats itself, the first time as tragedy, the second time as farce - Karl Marx

Rorschach:

Only had a brief minute to wander the web looking for a company selling to the public.
I did Find. www.spybase.com/neatstuff.html

Oh your from Wales?? Do you know a fella named Jonah?? He used to live in whales for a while.

Ahh, the college days.

During I-Week (initation week into my fraternity) we played a game called “Brad Roulette”. There was an associate named Brad who was older and stronger than the rest of us, and had served in the Army Rangers for a few years.

He and a few guys slept downstairs, the rest of us didn’t-sleep upstairs. We would wait until Brad was just getting to sleep, then the person whose turn it was would stand at the top of the stairs and bellow 'BRAAAAAD!!! BRA-AAAD! BRAD!" over and over until he’d run upstairs and assault them. The game was to get under the covers and fake sleep before he got up there to kill you. It was fun. When it was my turn, I got up and yelled for him, then dove into my sleeping bag. We didn’t think he was coming, so Shit-stain got up to take his turn. Right as he got to the door, Brad appeared out of nowhere behind him, grabbed him, threw him in the air, and smacked him around a bit. Funny as hell. BTW, Brad came up the back stairwell. I was never found out.

Brad had his revenge, though. None of us top-floorers slept more than two hours a night during I-Week, so by Friday we were dead tired. So Brad, who had taken to sleeping during the day, stayed up all night, and kicked us in the head any time we tried to sleep.

We also played Eno Roulette. Same game, only against Eno. He was an initiated member, so we’d go to his room, pound on the door as hard as we could, and bellow “EEEEENOOOOOOOO!” until he got up. This ended when he kicked the door open and charged us with a knife.

A two weeks ago, during this I-Week, while we were gone from the house, at about ten, two of our guys showed up at the house to get something. When they arrived, they saw a rival frat (the D-Chis) throwing books all over our yard. OOoooh, guys, good prank. Throw something USEFUL in our yard! It turns out this prank was formulated by a mentally, er, not-so-prominent member.

My friend Keay and I got them back. One night a few weeks ago, we went and bought about $8 worth of salt. We went to the D-Chi house and wrote “Cock Hungry” in foot high letters on their grass with LOTS of salt, then put water on it to soak in. I expect it to show up soon. If not, we can always re-do it in diesel or bleach.

–Tim


You can’t accidently create a handicapped baby whilst smoking pot. - Coldfire

This is on the “write something in the grass” vein:
Anyone who’s been in the military knows there are rivalries between different sections, career fields etc. It was brought to my attention that my radio airmen and some air traffic controllers had taken sand bags and spelled out “eat me” in 6’ letters in a field ajoining the RAPCON…the day before the Aeorclub family day. Naturally I had to order them to remove the sandbags…at their convenience. Wanted to make sure the grass was good and dead.

[QUOTE]
Originally posted by Proudest Monkey:
Simply put: sign 'em up. Use those postage paid cards from magazines (library would probably be useful here) to sign the deserving a-hole up for magazine subscriptions, book and CD clubs, Franklin Mint atrocities, insurance info (oh yes indeed, please have the salesman call me!), and catalogs for ::ahem:: adult products. Anyone ever done this? I’d be interested to hear about the fallout.

[QUOTE]

I have done this. The person I did it too really deserved it. I still will fill some out on occasion, if I see a particularly irritating advertisement floating around. I only wish I was there to see his face when all of the religious self help books arrived, or the pretty doll from the Franklin Mint showed up, or the interesting catalogues and magazines.

I made sure that each of these things are cancelleable, or returnable, as I don’t want to get in trouble (much). But it is a definate pain in the ass for the intended.

Satisfying.