Impractical Jokes Read Online Free PDF Page B

military gennies on parade was an instant classic that took instinct, discipline and strategy. This was more an ad hoc frolic—a lark, if you will. But despite its clearly improvised nature, the effects of this piece of mischief would be felt for a long time to come.
    My dad got out of the pool, sopping wet, and trudged around to confront Richard. The gallery fell silent, fully expecting some kind of physical retribution. What people really wanted was for Dad to grab Richard, wrestle comedically on dry land for a bit before holding him tight and leaping into the pool in some kind of mutual death plunge. The people, on this occasion, were to be sorely disappointed.
    Dad stood toe-to-toe with Richard, looking him directly in the eye. He slowly lifted a slightly trembling finger, directing it to the spot right between Richard’s eyebrows and spoke with a calm unnerving focus that gave you the feeling something irreplaceable had been broken deep inside him. If you were casting this scene in a movie your first choice would be a young Clint Eastwood. Your second choice would probably be an old Ed Harris, but that’s largely because he’s apparently great to work with and a young Clint Eastwood just isn’t available anymore.
    â€˜Richard,’ Dad intoned, jabbing his finger with each of the following five words, ‘This’ poke, ‘is’ poke, ‘not’ poke, ‘over.’ Poke.
    He then turned around, strode purposefully out of the garden and walked home.
    From that moment on Richard Opie lived in a state of perpetual dread. My father was not a naturally intimidating man, but Richard knew that when it came to implied threats of petty, juvenile, vindictive revenge, Ronald Pickering was a man to be feared.
    In the interests of personal safety Richard refused to attend any summer social functions held in proximity to bodies of water. No pools, no lakes, no rivers, no fjords. In the end, with most people’s houses and public gathering places ruled out, Richard determined that he would only socialise if it involved dinner inside his house or at a restaurant he deemed to be safe. As a consequence, over the following months Richard became progressively more housebound, taking on an enigmatic Howard-Hughes-like reputation.
    After three months of this Richard, usually a sociable kind of chap, was starting to go a little stir-crazy. Sensing a chink in Richard’s defences, Dad booked dinner at what could only be described as a la-di-dah restaurant. A five-star, silver service, string quartet, ice sculptures aplenty, jacket and tie compulsory, la-di-dah restaurant. Dad figured that the better the restaurant, the more Richard would let his guard down, assuming Dad would never pull a stunt in a place like that. Richard was a sitting duck.
    The afternoon before the dinner, Dad went to the restaurant, tipped the waiter and had him hide a small sports bag under their table. Dad had a plan fiendishly clever in its simplicity and, to be honest, the only thing that made him nervous was that the waiter hadn’t asked any questions. In fact the guy seemed genuinely comfortable stashing a mysterious package in his restaurant for a twenty-dollar handshake and no questions asked. This was clearly a pre 9/11 stunt. Dad had visions of Michael Corleone’s dinner with Sollozzo and McCluskey and was more confident than ever that he had indeed picked the ideal place to settle family business.
    Despite some early edginess on Richard’s part, by half-way through the meal things were going well. By all reports the entrées had been spectacular and as the mains hit the table Richard really began to relax. When the nearest fancy-pants waiter was called upon to open another bottle of plonk the mood became positively jolly. Dad, however, remained fairly taciturn, appearing to focus primarily on his meal. Richard, glad just to be out of the house, more than made up for Dad’s sober demeanour. With the