The Patriot

I don't want a drink named after me, too much pressure there. Instead, a comrade named Todd and I came up with proper titling for a Jack and Coke.

It's not a Jack & Coke, it's The Patriot.

Like any good capitalist, we have conditions. The Patriot is only the Patriot when there's more Jack than Coke.

If it's equal parts Jack and Coke, it's 'the Communist.'

If it's more Coke than Jack, it's 'the Traitor.'

That is all.

Hallo Hundt!

It was a summer afternoon in Hamburg, Germany. A gorgeous brunette was walking her German Shepherd along  Alstor Lake.  I had just learned hundt meant dog in German, so I couldn’t hold back from saying “Hallo Hundt!” The woman, once bouncing along the lake walk, was now staring me down as she power walked past.

Then, my friend who was fluent in German broke it to me by saying “Grim. You idiot. You just said 'hello bitch.'” 

Apocalypse Cakes

I stumbled across this little gem from Shannon O'Malley. Awhile back, this copywriter phenom decided to start crafting cakes in the tune of armageddon. Rock on Shannon. When the fallen angel's given the key to open the abyss, I hope Shannon caters the event.

To get a taste of the end, check out these pastries of hopelessness.

The radar flashed 215

Between Milwaukee and Chicago is a ninety minute stretch of boredom.  A lone officer spends the early hours of a fall wednesday parked next to the highway. His radar gun haphazardly scans the road.

When 3am came around, his radar gave off a digital squeal and flashed "215 mph." Nothing was there, and everything went back to dull. Random fluke. What else could it be? He forgot about it and returned to a boredom induced coma.

One week later. Same time, same radar, same problem.  He swaps the radar and writes it off as a new fangled failure.

Two weeks later. Same time, new radar, same problem.  It's beyond him.  No-one else is having this problem.

Three weeks later.  Same time, two squad cars, new idea.  Something must be setting this radar off.  Since no cars come by between 2:45 am and 3:15 am, let's spread tire spikes across the highway and see what happens.

3 am comes and goes. Nothing happens. 3:04 am, 3:05 am, nothing. But at 3:06 am, two explosions rip across dullsville and sparks fly on the highway like a Rammstein encore in Berlin. The officers stumble out and run onto the road to find a Lamborghini Diablo with shredded tires perpendicularly spread across the road.

The windows were blacked out, all lights, blinkers, license plates, and anything else reflective had been stripped or painted black.  Inside the car were two men wearing night vision goggles, black body spandex hooded suits, and .50 caliber hand guns.

And inside the trunk, they found sixty pounds of cocaine stashed between the trunk lining and car frame.

Seth Green Killed It

I don't normally think of Robot Chicken as a knock out show.  It has it's moments, for example... I can't keep a straight face when I see this clip. 


Come on. It's funny. It's not trying to be hilarious, it just is.  And here's why I'm saying Seth Green Killed It, look at how he's promoting the action figure in time for the holidays...
*Start this video at 6:45*

Pranks are like Art Direction

Subtlety is the key.

I've tried many pranks and succeeded with a few.  Every success hinged on a subtle detail being changed to manipulate something over time.

For example, changing an answering machine greeting.  You don't pick up on it until someone says something.  Perfect set up.  So, when I was in Wheaton College, a Christian Liberal Arts college; I lived in an all-male dorm for my freshman year.  With so many sexually repressed students, shock value was easy to come by.  How does this play into an answering machine message?

Here's the set-up. After a day in college, I realized my cordless phone (this term already feels archaic, wow) worked as a portable speakerphone.  So, I could call gay sex lines and project their pre-recorded messages into the general public.  This was fun for about two minutes tops.  Then, I realized it was easy to change everyone's answering machine within the working radius of my cordless phone.  Put the pieces together ... and, voila: a new favorite freshman prank.

Did I run around and change everyone's answering machine into a gay sex line?  No.

I picked a victim.  His name was Brian.  He was tall and once gangly but filled out by the start of college.  His voice was a cross between Ernie from Sesamee Street and Gomer Pyle from the Andy Griffith Show.  He was a premature dad as in his humor was at the dad joke level, but his maturity wasn't.  Bad, awkward combo. 

I'd give examples but the only one which comes to mind is him joking that his favorite part about sleeping on the lower bunk of a bunk bed was having the underside of the top bunk serve as an ejaculatory target.  Was he joking? I don't know ... all of us were afraid to swipe a black light and find out the truth.. let alone if his range was as great as he graphically depicted.

The prank. How did it happen and why Brian?  I targeted him once I discovered what my portable phone could do.  I think we can all agree he was overdue for a prank by this point.  So, he got one. Two months into the school year, Brian left for two days which gave me ample time to do a recording session and figure out how to make the speaker sound as natural as possible.  After a series of attempts, I had a perfect recording. Seriously, with the natural distortion of a landline phone, it sounded like you were calling a flamboyantly gay college kid who was hustling his landline as a sex chat for extra cash.

Once Brian returned from his trip, life went on.  He, big surprise, didn't get many phone calls let alone voicemails.  But, he was competing for a highly sought after internship at a church affiliated summer camp.  Part of this application process was a phone interview.  This phone interview happened to fall within the same week that his grandmother made her annual call to check in and see how her favorite grandson was doing.  Two voicemails, the only voicemails he got all semester... both in the same week.

This was a dramatic detail, yes.  But, the beauty of it was it made Brian realize his phone line had been a sex chat line for the past month and lab partners or theology study buddies who called him were confused and appalled for reasons unbeknownst to him... until he got his two voicemails.  Yes, a pastor looking to hire him to be a head counselor of kids at a christian summer camp heard the message.  And yes, his grandmother called and presumably heard what she thought was her grandson hosting a sex chat.

The reaction was memorable.  On a Tuesday evening, anger in the awkward form of one-hundred and seventy eight pounds splotched about a six foot two-inch frame paraded into my dorm room holding a phone console high in the air.  "What the fuck Grim."

He had to explain his gay chat line that he allegedly had nothing to do with to both his employer for the summer who he checked in with everyday for the entire summer as a measure of accountability.  And, he had to convince his grandmother he wasn't hosting a gay sex chat.

Luckily, he cracked up about it because the recording was ridiculous enough.  To this day, it's the only time I've heard him drop an F bomb.

Subtle changes make for the best pranks. Remember that.

How to win a Halloween Costume Competition

1. Recruit your grandma or grandpa (helps if they've been smoking hard for the past four decades).

2. Bribe them with Golden Girl DVD Box Set, Three Stooges, or a pack of smokes.

3. Have them wear leather pants, English flags for shirts, and wigs.

4. You have Mick Jagger, Keith Richards, and whatever the prize is for best costume.

5.  Don't exclude yourself, you can be their manager. Wear a suit.