People who use “alot” rather than “a lot” will be banished to a small island where they will be forced to listen to the collective works of Captain and Tennile until they can demonstrate that they know that “a lot” is not, has never been, and never will be one motherfucking word.

Comic Sans will be banned to the alot island for being the stupidest looking fucking font, ever.

The commercial that begins “I have genital herpes….and I don’t!!” will be burned for all of the times it’s made me choke on my breakfast cereal because I then had to spend the rest of the day thinking about diseased genitals. STD’s aren’t something we should be ashamed of. Commercials that make me think of weeping sores are.

People who write blogs like Mommy Wants Vodka shall be exiled to star in erectile dysfunction commercials.

Any commercial that tells me to “have a happy period” should be forced to donate all profits to women’s shelters around the world. No one has a “happy period.” Even all those times I was like, “WOO HOO! GOT MAH PERIOD! I’M NOT KNOCKED UP!” It lasted for .04 seconds until I was all, “oh…my period. Ew.”

The word “Hubby” will be banished from the English Language for being too cutesy and making me nauseous.

All email programs will come with a Passive-Aggressive filter, and any that have a passive-aggressive tone will be immediately sent to cyber trash.

The Braggy Facebook Status Offenders shall be banished to MySpace.

The DMV will stop requiring a goat, three pails of milk and a kidney to renew your driver’s license.

All government employees will have to be polite and courteous or they will have their sassy mullets shaved as punishment.

Naptime shall be mandatory for every single person, every day of the week.

Pants will be optional.

Narcotics shall be manufactured to be non-addictive.

Anyone who regularly uses corporate speak with buzz-words shall be banished with the “alot” people to the very same island.

Mayonnaise* and thousand island dressing shall be napalmed off the planet for being an abomination.

Random ZOMBIE ATTACK! Drills shall be practiced.

The entertainment industry will stop making vampire-related movies and television shows. The trend is kinda played out, people.

Email programs will come with a “translate” feature allowing you to translate your email into:

• Zombie

• Pirate

• LOL! Cats

• Porn Speak

• Old Englishe

• Hipster

• Hippie

• Cheech and Chong

Richard Simmons shall be the national mascot.

Gladiators will make a fierce comeback.

Apple will make all of its products affordable to everyone.

All internet reference sites will have to be reputable with credible sources used as references for any statements said as facts.

People will stop arguing about breast v bottle feeding because they will finally realize that it’s really fucking boring.

APA format will be blown off the scholastic map. Or an actual reference guide will be invented.

*You Lovers of Mayo win. I won’t ban it.

——————

Your turn, Pranksters. What will you mandate when YOU rule the world?

Even after I publicly claimed that “I was unable to say no to most pranks,” no one in NYC actually dared me to do anything. That’s bullshit.

So while I was at this big fancy party thrown by Schick, I came up with a hybrid prank that I was dying to do.

Pranking, you see, runs in my family. My older brother, Uncle Aunt Becky, is a Master Prankster (I know, some of you are shocked that I share my near-perfect genetics with someone else. Let me reassure you that the moment that I was born, my mother decided to get spayed. She knew she’d looked in the face of perfection and could do no better. Actually, she looked at me and said, “Now THAT is a face only a mother will love! “

Yeah, that’s why I’m like this).

He was the sort that had a propane tank and Bunsen burner in his high school locker to make coffee and was well known both by the STC PD and his dean for getting into mischief.

So when I realized that the place that this party was being thrown was in the same fancy complex as Masa, one of the most expensive and exclusive restaurants in the world, I decided that what I wanted more than anything was to enact my Master Prank. It’s a hybrid on the Ferris Bueller Prank, but, well, better.

The Con:

Get a normal person to fake a celebrity to get a table in a fancy, exclusive restaurant on a busy night without a reservation.

The Players:

The Celebrity: A woman, dressed as eccentrically as possible, possibly her hair wet and disheveled (on a dry day), large sunglasses covering her face and acting like a total weirdo. Occasionally wander around lobby eating flowers, talking to paintings, and screaming incoherently into off cell phone. Also has a weirdly familiar three word name.

Security: A dude. Not necessarily a LARGE man, but someone who can act formidable. Sunglasses with wire rims a must. Full black suit. Facial hair for anyone younger than 30.

This is Hockey Man Dad, who is Angie’s husband.

The Handler/Assistant: Smartly dressed woman in one of those weird women’s suits with the skirts. Coordinated gold jewelry a must. Sensible heels and a well executed up-do. Choices were:

Angie Pangie

Heather

Both were also candidates for Celebrity Role as well.

Extras: Stock lobby with people who “know” the celebrity who can ask for autographs and gasp and say, “OHMYGOD, IT’S BECKY SHERRICK HARKS.”

The Prank

Show up to an exclusive restaurant without a reservation, “celebrity” acting like a total freak (which, in my case, isn’t hard to pull off) and demand a table. When the host/ess claims that there are no tables available, pull the “DON’T YOU KNOW WHO THIS IS?”

Clearly, they will not, because, well, the “celebrity” is a nobody.

Security will stand around, looking menacing while the Handler tries to convince the hostess that “Becky Sherrick Harks” really is not someone that this restaurant can afford the “bad publicity” to turn away. The three-name name is always a good one to pull out because it makes you sound like you are probably more important than you are.

Hope like hell no one has read your stupid blog or bothers to Google you to FIND your blog.

The “celebrity” should wander around the lobby acting like a total fool, eating the flowers, talking to inanimate objects and scaring the other patrons while security attempts to wrangle her.

Have lobby extras ask for autographs and pose for pictures with “celebrity” while handler talks with host/ess about getting the table. Have her go up management chain to secure table for “client.”

Make sure some of the extras gasp loudly and make a scene about “celebrity” and how awesome “celebrity” is.

Keep at the hostess for twenty or so minutes to see if you can actually manage a table out of them. If it does not work, leave in a threatening huff, promising that their restaurant will be on the next day’s paper. And on Twitter. Etc.

The Reason I Wasn’t Able To Pull It Off:

First, I was dressed normally that day, and was too tired to go back to the hotel to put on something zany and weird. Had I had even an ounce more energy, I would have gone back and found myself half of a fat suit to wear or something. And then gotten drenched. Getting wet is always a good cover.

Then, there was this, my security detail (who ALSO wasn’t dressed properly):

That’s me, attempting to look like I’m taking a picture with some REAL celebrity that was at the party I was attending. I’m from Chicago, and people from Chicago aren’t overly impressed by celebrity, unless it’s Britney Spears and OMFG, I LOVE BRITNEY SPEARS.

But, my SECURITY detail, he was all FanBoy on the dude. So, I wasn’t able to wrangle him away.

We were down two essential players.

Plus, Heather was throwing the party and Angie was as tired as I was, so it just seemed like our hearts weren’t going to be into pranking.

Next year, though, I’m going to do something with THIS:

—————-

P.S. Are you impressed by celebrity? What celebrities have you met? Will you do this prank with me?

Did you ever see that movie where those yuppies sold all of their crap and RV-d it across America? THAT’S AWESOME and I TOTALLY want to do that. Except I wouldn’t bring my children because while they’re kinda cute and lovable, I really don’t want to deal with them complaining about stopping at seedy truck stops while I search for a lighter that looks like a gun.

(side note: I adore truck stops)(one time, I had a fantasy where I was going to BECOME a trucker until I realized it’s kind of a dangerous profession for a woman)

Anyway, I like to pretend that one day, I’ll be able to do just that: roam the country and hang out with my Pranksters. Perhaps I’ll even get drunk, make an ass of myself (which I do sober, too) and vomit on your carpeting! I know, don’t all line up to invite me over at once, hear?

For now, I have to settle for NYC at the end of the week, where I’ll hopefully meet at least SOME of my Band of Merry Pranksters.

Now I will attempt to answer a question I get a lot (also questions I get a lot: “why are you so annoying?” (answer: I was born that way) “why does anyone put up with you?” (I pay them highly) and “how do I get more blog traffic?” (mayonnaise!)):

Are you really like this?

And the answer is…yes. Mostly.

1) I really do want to meet you. I offered to exchange phone numbers a couple of weeks ago, and I meant it. My offer still stands, although I will pester you to then send me a picture of you flipping me the bird. I’m attempting to populate my address book with these gems.

So email me. I mean it.

2) If you happen to see me and I have a weird look on my face, I am probably very confused. I take high doses of a medication whose side effect is “cognitive impairment,” which is a fancy-pants way of saying, “this shit will make your ass stupid (er).” So, it’s likely I’m making a bad face because I am confused by something, not because I hate you.

3) Please come and say hello to me no matter what I am doing. Because chances are, even if I am in the middle of writing a thesis about why sausage is sorely underrepresented in today’s billboards (WHY GOD!?!), I’d much rather you said hello. And maybe came along to join in with whatever mischief I am managing.

C) With a few notable (read: my panel) exceptions, I have very little planned for the trip, which leaves the trip WIDE OPEN for all kinds of Pranking and Mayhem-Creating. I expect your help in this. Yes, YOU.

7) You should come to my panel, if you’re going to the conference.

It’s on Friday from 1:15-2:30 and I’m speaking with the Mouthy Housewives about stuff-n-things. Luckily, it’s on Friday, so we should all be fairly lucid. Mostly.

You will know me because I am the only swarthy dark-haired one.

5b) I’m perhaps a little nicer in real life, but that’s maybe subject to debate. I guess it depends on what your definition of “nice” is. But I’m not going to be all snarky on your ass if I don’t know you. I do have SOME manners. And by “some” I mean that I’m mostly housebroken.

9) I can’t say no to most dares. But I’ll make you reciprocate with a dare of your own. BE WARNED.

K) I may hump you while I eat a hot dog. It’s probable, actually. Sorry.

10) I have a gigantic inflatable #1 finger. It’s pretty much awesome and I plan to use it whenever possible.

87) I want to remake the Beastie Boys “Sabotage” video while we’re in NYC. With Ninjas. Because, obviously.

aa) I may spend all of my time trying to track down my 2nd television husband, Anthony Bourdain. I may not.

08) Once I get an idea in my head about doing something off the wall, I can’t stop myself from doing it. If you’re with me and I’m in the middle of it, yes, I probably mean it. It’s better to either get out or buckle up.

42) Pictures = awesome. But we may have to find hilarious poses first. Because you don’t want to look back and be all, “wow, another stupid picture.” You want a hilarious picture of us flinging donuts at other (unassuming) bloggers. Then you want a picture of us being chased by aforementioned bloggers. CLEARLY.

11) There really is very little I won’t do.

——————–

So, Pranksters, are You, In Real Life, how you appear on your blog?