I Think Pranks Are Funny

On Friday Trixie and I were talking about radio stations as we sped to Ikea (where I finally bought furniture for the balcony! Umm... can somebody come over and help me put it together?). I told her that the choice of good radio stations is much better in New York than here and in Florida. That made me realize that I could be listening to Z100 even while living in San Francisco. Pretty cool, huh?

In general, I hate radio talk shows. If I want to hear people talk, I'll ask my friends questions. To me, radios are for music. Period. Okay, and pranks. I love when they do pranks. Have for years.

Many moons ago, back when I lived in New York (and by 'in New York' I mean 'still lived with my parents') I had a hard time with the whole "banking" thing. I think it was fear-based, and I'd get very flustered every time I had to do anything bank-related. Something about those tellers, with fake flowers in their lapels apparently intimidated me. The little deposit slip confused me, and I could never get the right number in the correct box (I can now, but I have to write from right to left to do it; fucking learning disabilities).

One night in the kitchen my dad confessed that he'd considered calling the radio station to have them do a prank on me - they'd call pretending they were my bank, I'd screwed up and now owed them money. He told me that he ultimately thought I might cry, and that's why he didn't do it. The funny thing was, I probably would have told them I'd need to call them back, hung up, and called my dad crying. In case you're worrying about that check I recently gave you, I haven't bounced a check in over eight years.

All this is a roundabout way of showing you the Pink Prank Project that I stumbled across this morning. Funny shit. This morning Golden Boy e-mailed me, asking if I can walk the dog for him. I have a key to his apartment. Hmmm...