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Pranksgiving

Back when I had my own blog instead of this wild and crazy four-pronged one, I wrote a post about a prank I had played on a co-worker of mine named Scott.  The story ended with him promising some sort of payback, and I didn’t doubt his vow’s sincerity.  However, I was not dissuaded enough from trying to get him again less than a year after that glorious tomfoolery.  Why would I do that?  For two reasons: First, he still deserves to be pranked every once in a while and no one else was doing it.  Second, he probably didn’t think I’d have to balls to pull something else off before he’d had a chance to pay me back for the first trick.  Well, balls I have.

I went back to www.thinkgeek.com (where I found the first gizmo) and saw something much better than I ever could’ve imagined.  It was called the Phantom Keystroker V2, and I couldn’t purchase it fast enough.  Here’s part of the description:

The Keystroker emulates a keyboard and mouse and periodically makes random mouse movements, toggles caps-lock and types out odd garbage text and phrases. Switches on the side allow you to choose between keyboard garbage typing, caps lock-toggle, annoying mouse movements or all three. An adjustment dial sets the duration between “events”. We recommend you don’t set it too frequently so as to extend the agony.

I was all for extending the agony, so when I first put it on Scott’s computer, I had it only on the feature that moved the mouse cursor every 15 minutes.  Realizing that there was potential comedy gold with this prank, I kept a little log of my actions.  Oh yeah, this started in January.

Week of 1/18: I put it on the mouse setting only various times throughout the week before leaving it on permanently.

1/26: Scott just replaced the batteries in his mouse because it’s “acting funny” and “doing a squiggly thing up into the corner.”

3/5: The caps lock is really bothering him. I’ve been alternating the two, but this is the first complaint I’ve heard.  Rob (another co-worker) told him that if it persists, to whack the keyboard against his desk.

 3/9: “See?  There it goes again!  I’m not doing that,” he said as his cursor squiggled up and to the left.  I think a switch back to caps lock is in order.

3/24: The caps lock is driving him crazy again.  I took it out for a few days, but today it was “acting up again.”  “Didn’t you replace the batteries?” I asked.  He only did for the mouse, so he’ll have to do that for the keyboard too now.  Yeah, that should do it.

 At this point, I was thoroughly enjoying the intermittent madness I was creating.  I alternated between the mouse and caps lock, took occasional days off, and made him think several times that the problems had miraculously solved themselves.  At the end of March, I knew I’d be taking two weeks away from the office for the birth of our kick-ass twins, so I took the Phantom Keystroker out of the USB port in the back of his computer.  My mom asked me, “Won’t he be suspicious when he doesn’t have any problems with his computer until right when you come back to the office?”  I said I’d ease him back in gradually to avoid suspicion, and that’s exactly what I did.

5/19: The caps lock was on for a while, but I hadn’t heard anything.  So when he was complaining about his computer being slow, I said, “And it’s doing weird things, right?”  “Yeah, the caps lock keeps coming on and it’s really annoying.”  “That’s weird,” I said.  Then I changed it back to the mouse when he went to the bathroom.  I think it might be time for both of those soon.

That’s my last entry in that log, which you may notice was 6 months ago.  I kept up my shenanigans, but he was just resigned to the fact that it “acted up” every fifteen minutes or so.  Around October, Rob asked me what my eventual endgame was with this prank.  “That’s a good question,” I said.  “I guess I’ll eventually tell him, but I’ll need to really drive him crazy first for a better payoff.  I just need to find the right time to do it.” 

Well friends, I found that time.  Scott announced that he and some family and friends were going on vacation for two weeks an extended Thanksgiving holiday.  “This is it,” I thought, because what better than to do the big reveal before he has two weeks away from me to let his anger dissipate?  When last Friday came, the game was fucking on.  I started big, with both the caps lock coming on and the mouse cursor moving at the same time every ten seconds or so.  Here are the things I heard:

9:58 God damn it!

10:07 God DAMN IT!

10:08 My computer’s fucking freaking out.  The caps lock goes off every five seconds and the cursor’s going everywhere.

10:09 GOD DAMN IT!

10:22 I had to reboot my computer because it was FREAKING OUT.

10:23 It’s just fucking weird.  It used to happen a couple of times a day, and now it does it every 30 seconds.  I just can’t TAKE it anymore.

10:24 There it is again, the fucking caps lock.  I didn’t touch it.  (Rob suggested he really blow into the keyboard.  Hard.)

10:24 It’s…still…doing it.

10:28 (loud blowing sounds)

10:30 MY FUCKING CAPS LOCK WON’T TURN OFF!  EVERY 10 SECONDS.  UN-FUCKING-BELIEVABLE.

10:32 See?  Both at the same time.  They didn’t always happen at the same time.  My first step when I get back is to buy a new keyboard and mouse and hope it’s nothing to do with my computer.

10:33 I can’t get through one fucking sentence without the caps lock turning on.  (“Maybe you should type faster,” I suggested.)

10:37 (He went to the bathroom and I took the caps lock off but turned the random typing on.  I also extended the time between “events” a little.)

This is where it really got fun.  He called me and Rob in there and just threw his hands up in the air.  The random typing only worked when in a program that allows you to type, but since he was in his picture folder, it kept beeping at him.  He got new batteries and took the old ones out of his keyboard.  “See that?” he asked, and pointed to the words “Caps Lock On” on his monitor.  “Did you push that button?” I asked innocently.  “THERE ARE NO BATTERIES IN IT!” he exclaimed.  “Then that’s really weird,” I added helpfully.  He left to go to the bathroom again, and I knew he’d be leaving the office shortly and not returning, so it was go time.  I made all three options go off every five seconds and waited for him to come back and for the finale rack of the firecrackers to go off.

“Ok, now it’s really fucked,” I heard from my office.  I went in there and asked what it was doing.  He didn’t need to answer, because the incessant beeping, the almost perpetually-moving cursor, and the notification of the caps lock turning on would’ve been apparent to anyone who walked in there.  I could tell that he was seconds away from turning off his computer and forgetting all about it when Rob and I tried a few last ditch efforts to up the crazy.  “Write me an email about this so I can remember to try to fix it while you’re gone,” Rob said. 

The idea was a good one, since once Scott opened a new email, his computer automatically typed out some garbage sentence.  “What’s that?” we asked.  Before he could answer, the computer typed something else: “I remember the time you spilled water on me.”  “Holy shit,” I said, “I think someone’s hacking into your computer.”  “I think it’s just a virus,” Rob said.  I was in the middle of suggesting he email Rob so it could be scanned for viruses when Scott said he was just going to spend $50 and buy new software himself.  I didn’t want that (because I have a heart somewhere), so I quickly thought of how to end this charade.  “Have you checked all of the connections in the back?” I asked.  Without waiting for an answer, I got down on my hands and knees and reached over to the back of his computer.  “Hey, what’s this?” I asked.  “What’s what?” Scott replied, and I handed him a little black thing that had lived there so peacefully for 10+ months.  He put on his glasses and started to study the object when I said, “Ya know, it kinda looks like this.”  I pulled the Phantom Keystroker box out of my pocket and handed it to him.  One second passed.  Two seconds.  Then the glasses came off and I was met with a look of incredulity the likes of which had never been seen.  He probably called me a fucker or something similar, but it was hard to hear over the explosion of laughter.  Over the course of the next few minutes, I laughed, I taunted, I read the Keystroker’s features off the box, and I may have said the phrase “since January” two or three times.  He stayed pretty quiet, just staring me down and shaking his head in disbelief.  Every once in a while he’d let a smile slip out, probably recounting all of the times I innocently offered advice on how to fix his messed up computer.

I’m not gonna lie, it was wildly entertaining to drive Scott crazy.  Our boss commended me on a job well done.  Scott’s girlfriend texted me to say that she was proud of how well I got him a second time.  I’m sure he’ll forget all about this at some point during his vacation, but he’ll remember every second of my ruse once he gets back into the office and sits down at his computer.  He will get me back this time, and I fully deserve it.  My guard is up though, and I won’t allow a long con to get me like it got him (twice).  At the first sign of something suspicious, I’ll ask myself, “Could Scott be behind this?”  Knowing that he’s not one for subtlety, I think it’s more likely that I’ll go out to my car one day and either find it missing or there but filled with marshmallows.  I’ll keep you all posted.  Happy Thanksgiving.

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A new personal record

As I write this, it is the evening of November 16th, and I have not yet heard a single Christmas carol. Not one! A few years ago, I heard one on the last day of August and nearly shat myself. But this year, my figurative pants are clean.

On one hand, I think it’s pretty impressive because I know they’re out there being heard by millions of people a day. On the other hand though, I think I have a pretty clear carol-free plan intact (albeit unintentionally). Check it out: in the mornings, I listen to my iPod or sports talk radio. I spend my day largely inside an office that doesn’t pipe in any music, and when I drive home, it’s more of my music and/or sports talk. If I were to go to a mall for lunch or stroll about outside plazas, I’d be opening myself up to the over-the-top carol blasting. The only semi-regular part of my life that leaves me susceptible to these tunes is when I go to the market. I just did that a couple of days ago, and somehow they weren’t playing any song involving snow, reindeer, or jollyhood.

I’m sure my streak will end soon, especially since I’m not purposely avoiding places in which I may hear seasonal music. Even if that day is tomorrow though, I consider fewer than 45 days of Christmas carols a win. Bah humbug?

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A one-sided story

“I thought of something strange today,” I said to my lovely wife last night. That should be enough for her to run and hide, but instead she sat and waited for the continuation. I doubt she expected to hear this: “The right side of my face doesn’t get seen nearly as often as my left.”
She was naturally interested in hearing more about this (as I hope you are), so I continued. “Think about it. When we’re sitting at the kitchen table, you’re to my left. Same with our usual seats on the couch. Same with where we are in bed. And at work, my desk is up against the right wall so if people come up to me, it’s to my left. About the only time my right side really gets any face-time (tee hee) is when I’m driving with you in the car.” “That’s very interesting,” she said, and I’m pretty sure she meant it.
People often talk about their “good sides” (at least in movies and on tv), and if I have one, I sure hope it’s my left. Otherwise I’m doing my overall attractiveness a big disservice.

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Idle observations

L.A. is full of douchebags, and that’s never more evident than on my drives home from work. One one side of me, I’ll see an older guy in his Porsche with a cigar in his mouth listening loudly to Spanish guitar music, and on the other I’ll see a guy in his 20s in a modified sports coupe with mufflers that intentionally make it as loud as a jet engine.  I usually try to ignore them, since that’s probably the last thing they’d want anyone to do. 

My drive home yesterday started off pretty normal. First I saw a new lime green Corvette that was as ridiculous as it sounds.  A few minutes later, while sitting in traffic in the fast lane of the 101, a guy in a convertible pulled up to my right.  “Is he wearing…a captain’s hat?” I thought.  On closer inspection (which was easy since I was going about 0 mph), I saw that he was indeed rocking a captain’s hat.  “Wow,” I thought or maybe even said aloud, “That’s a douchey move.”  A second later, I looked to my left at the stopped traffic going the other way.  Next to me was a guy in his 30s who caught my eye because he had two perfect lines of eye black under his eyes.  It only took me a second to realize that he was probably wearing a costume for the last work day before Halloween.  “Oh, is that what Captain McDoucheypants is doing too?” I wondered.  I looked back to his vessel to see if there was a matching jacket or not, and the results were inconclusive.  I’m gonna guess that he was also in costume instead of personifying the “damn I’m good” feeling that a lot of people seem to have in this town, though I could very easily be wrong.  That probably tells non-L.A. dwellers all they need to know about this town: I couldn’t tell if someone was a typical arrogant prick or in costume.  Hey, at least we have the Lakers.

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Change

When my friend “David” turned 12 or 13, he made the kind of odd choice to have his party at a restaurant called Cafe 50s. I say it’s kind of odd because I’m pretty sure the restaurant’s target demographic is people who actually lived in the 50s and know what they’re trying to replicate there. In any case, we got burgers, shakes, and fries, and spent a bunch of time asking his parents for change so we could play songs on the mini jukeboxes or try to grab some crappy toy with a mechanical crane. If I’m not mistaken, there was also a very anachronistic Ms. Pacman game there, but I could be making that up since it seems so illogical to me now.

After an hour or so of playing around while the adults ate at a separate table, a few of us went into the bathroom. “What’s that?” someone said, pointing to a plain gray box on the wall by the door. It had a slot for coins at the top, a small sign indicating that whatever it was cost fifty cents, and a slot at the bottom. Upon closer inspection, I saw a couple of faded letters with big spaces between them where their fallen letter comrades had once lived. There was a C, enough room for two missing letters, a D, then a few more open spots. I stared at it for a minute while the others speculated before I said authoritatively, “It said ‘Condoms.'” The room got quiet and they turned to me, to the box again, and back to me. “Are you sure?” “No, but what else could it be?”  They stared back at the box with wide eyes, trying to figure out if my mad word skills were accurate.  (Duh.)  Finally David spoke: “We’re gonna need more change.”

We agreed that in order to secure the needed half dollar, our money-seeking tactics had to be identical to how we previously asked so as to not arouse suspicion.  David got the first quarter from his dad pretty easily, and we hung out by the jukebox and pretended to push buttons for songs we knew we’d never hear.  A few minutes later, another friend asked his parents for a quarter.  And like that – we were in business.  We reconvened in the bathroom and David slowly put the quarters in the machine before turning the handle.  For a second it didn’t look like it was going to work, but then something appeared in the slot at the bottom.  David snatched it from the machine and held it out in his open hand; it was indeed the square wrapper of a prophylactic.  We took turns poking at the raised ring within the wrapper for a minute before realizing that there was nothing else to do.  I remember thinking that it wasn’t very exciting after all and that I’d prefer to hear Del Shannon’s “Hats Off to Larry” another time or two on the jukebox instead.

A couple of days later, David called me at home and got right to the point: “My parents found out about the condom.”  “How?” I asked, and I’ll never ever forget his reply: “I wore it to school.”  In his infinite wisdom, he put it on in the morning – I didn’t ask if he was in a state of arousal or not – and then told some people in a misguided attempt at bragging.  Someone told a teacher, and though he’d already thrown it away in the bathroom, he admitted it when confronted and spilled the whole story to his parents.  I asked why he would ever think of “wearing” it to school, and he said he was just curious.  I can understand that to some extent, and it’s not like he was anywhere near using it with another person, but…no, that’s just weird.

Later that night, I heard my mom on the phone and could tell that it was David’s mom telling her what happened.  A little later, she came into my room and confirmed as much.  “And you were the one who figured out what the machine was for?” she asked.  I told her I did, and explained about there only being two letters.  Though she tried to hide it, I could tell that she was pretty proud of my word puzzle skills.  Then it was her turn to say something that I’ll never forget: “How did you even know that word?  In my day, we just called them ‘rubbers.'”  Good to know, Mom.

That whole story came flooding back to me when I drove past Cafe 50s recently, and it had been years since I’d thought of that series of events.  In hindsight, I think David’s parents should have been glad that he was practicing safe schooling instead of going to junior high without protection.  One thing’s for certain: “Hats Off to Larry” still sounds great after all these years and makes me nostalgic for a time decades before I was born.

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A simple question

Is it just me, or does the inside of a toilet tank look just like a Rube Goldberg machine that I could’ve built for a 5th grade project?

(I already have my running “That’s Bullshit” list of posts; maybe I should do the same with “A Simple Question.”  We’ll see I guess.)

That’s bullshit: ATM edition

I’ve complained quite a bit in the past about people saying “ATM Machine” and “PIN Number,” but those are the faults of the people and not the machines themselves. This one’s all about the machine though. I go to the ATM right by my office more times than I’d like to admit, and recently it’s really begun to piss me off. You see, I’m an expert now. For example, my finger is ready and in place to push the “Yes” even before it asks me if I want a receipt. I’m that fucking good.

Does it bother me that no one in line has ever stopped me and said, “Wow, that was really fast – you’re awesome”? Not one bit; people tend not to talk around ATMs (though they’re obviously thinking that). What bothers me is the very last step of the process. My index finger on my left hand is ready to push “Take Card” instead of “Another Transaction” while my right hand waits by the slot to quickly snatch the card when it comes out. The screen comes up and my left hand springs into action, hitting the screen with a speed and accuracy usually reserved for snipers. The very moment that even half of my ATM card appears, my right hand snatches it out of the slot. So what’s my problem? It beeps. The fucking thing beeps at me like I’m going to forget my credit card. I honestly don’t think I could be any faster and yet it gets out two beeps – one before the card even appears, and one after I’ve already removed it. I understand wanting to remind people to take their cards with them, but I obviously don’t need that reminder (let alone two of them). If a card is sitting there for half a second, sure, go for it. But beeping at Speedy McCash before and after I masterfully take care of business? That’s bullshit.

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Badder grammar

I sometimes ask myself ridiculous questions.  This morning, I tried to nail myself down on this important topic:
What bothers me more, when people say, “Alls I need…” or “So I says….”?  It’s a tough call really, because if someone said either of those in a face-to-face conversation with me, I’m not sure my body would be able to stifle the little automatic cringe.
I have more of a history with one of the incorrect phrases.  In the greatest movie of all time, “Real Genius,” there’s a character named Lazlo Hollyfeld.  We’re told he’s super-duper smart, and we find out at the end that he’s the smartest person in the world (by one woman’s estimations at least).  Oh yeah, and he lives in a closet, but that’s not really relevant here.  Anyway, in a pivotal scene at a bar, the main characters are celebrating their successful completion of a five megawatt laser.  Lazlo asks what societal use it will have, and then he drops this bombshell on them: (paraphrasing but damn close I’m sure) “Alls you need is a big spinning mirror and you could vaporize a human target from space.”  Our heroes’ jaws drop realizing in horror the weapon they’ve created, which sets off the rest of the plot.  Even as a kid watching that scene, I couldn’t help but think that the word “alls” coming out of Lazlo’s mouth was a mistake.  It made him sound unintelligent, when they’d spent a good part of the movie trying hard to show us the exact opposite.  Someone should’ve caught that, right?

My main history with “So I says” has to do with a woman at job I had years ago.  She was fond of telling stories about the stupid people she spoke to on the phone throughout the day.  “He says, ‘I need to talk to the Dean right now,’ and so I says, ‘That’s impossible because he’s in Wisconsin.'”  I always sat there thinking, “What are you, a 30s gangster or something?”

So I’m torn.  I hear “Alls I need” more often that “So I says,” which makes it bug me more, but it reminds me of a movie I love, which is definitely a plus.  What do you all think?  I’ll have to give this more thought before picking a “winner.”  That’s right, I ask myself the tough questions.

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Workin’ 9-5

It’s no secret that I do computer repair for a living.  We frequently fix computer viruses.  Every once in a while clients come back claiming that we didn’t fix their computer virus completely the first time.  Usually the client is reinfecting themselves by continuing whatever behavior got them infected in the first place, but they’re usually indignant and blame us.  One such client called today, over a month after originally bringing it in, saying they haven’t even turned on their computer in a month, and when they finally did, it was overrun with pop-ups and unuseable.  Like for some reason we would ignore that behavior and just send it back to them.

He claimed we were scamming people out of money, charging to fix things, but not really fixing them and then charging them again when they brought it back.  Of course when he brought in the computer, he hadn’t cleared his internet history, so we saw that he had been using it daily for the last month.  That in itself is not so noteworthy, it actually happens a lot that clients will lie when they’re too embarrassed to admit their behavior.  What made this one stick out to me was such Craigslist gems in his history as “car bj,” “women seeking men,” and my personal favorite “seeking 6 to 9 cocks to stroke and suck at one time.”

Now, even if they were very small cocks, I contend that 9 is outright ludicrous.  Establishing that stroking is just something you do with your hands, then maybe you could do 2 average sized cocks in each hand, but that’s still 5 for your mouth.  Let’s agree that stroking is different than rubbing.  I think stroking means fingers have to curl around, right?  Even if they were small cocks, I don’t think you could do 3 per hand.  You’d have to form a pyramid of 3, could you do that with cocks attached to hips?  The max on sucking would have to be 4, right?  And they’d have to be long to converge in close enough oral proximity.

Anyway, I like that she/he gives a range, and that 6 is his/her absolute minimum.  If only 5 cocks are showing up, that’s not worth it, because where’s the challenge in that?

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