Pranksters, I heart you so much that my cold black heart has grown nearly thirty times it’s normal size. I hope it stays that way. I woke up to like 900 Facebook thingies and a bunch of tweets and YOU GUYS, *wipes tears* I’M NOT WORTHY.

Now I have to confess that my birthday is cursed because I ended up back on Vicodin and Prednisone (it’s a very boring story, actually) which makes me TOTALLY all ‘THIS IS MOTHERFUCKING BAT COUNTRY’ so I’m pretty sure I’ll be beating people with a banana all weekend.

Good damn thing The Internet is closed over the weekend. Heh.

Thankfully I have a guest post today so you’re avoiding me being all, “I HATE MOTHERFUCKING GENERIC TOILET PAPER, PRANKSTERS! IT’S BULLSHIT!”

P.S. I will be humping email today for all of you who I owe emails to, because I am on strict, “rest your sorry ass” orders.


You can find me Allison blogging about absolute nothing over at Me and Mine, WHICH, by the way, is under construction. She’ll be moving on over to a new site, with a new look, at the end of the month! Oh! And you can also follow her nonsense on twitter ~ @allisonzapata.

* * *

Greetings, Pranksters! My name is Allison and I am scared shitless.

Hi Allison!

Hey guys.

Hi Allison!

Okay, stop it. Seriously. Hi.

So, when Aunt Becky so awesomely asked me to be a guest blogger this was pretty much what went down.

A. I screamed like a little bitch.

B. I fainted

C. I puked.

After cleaning myself off, it happened.

The thoughts came flooding in.

Because the self-doubt?

I haz it, folks!

Why the hell would she ask ME to guest post?

Oh shit! She must think I am an actual writer or something.

OMG, they’re all gonna laugh at me!

I desperately tried to focus and figure out what the hell I should write.

And finally, it came to me! I would write about this mortifying little thing that happened to me in high school.  Something I have been a little hesitant to share on my own blog, since I have a few teenage nieces and nephews that follow it.

It was perfect!  I could share it with all you pranksters without looking like Aunt Ho to the fam.

I sat down at my computer, with a vat of wine, and began to type away.

And this is what came out.

* * *

When I was 16 17 years old, I snuck my boyfriend into my house while my mom was sleeping.

I drunkenly marched him right passed my mom’s room and into my own.

After explaining to him that we needed to hide on the floor on the other side of the bed in case my mom walked in, we proceeded to make awkward teen love. You know the kind? With all the weird noises (see: stirring mac n’ cheese sound. eww. sorry. barf.), the not knowing what to do with “it”, the “Oh no, I am so not ready for THAT. Well, okay, go ahead. Because if you leave me?  I. will. die.”

After we were finished 30 seconds later, Juan Doe (I grew up on the border) asked me where he should put his used condom (HOORAY FOR SAFE CHILD SEX!)  and I was all, “Just put it in that half empty coke can next to my bed.”

Because really, WHAT COULD GO WRONG?

Besides everything.

* * *

So, after getting to this point in my story, I got stuck.

“I mean, really Allison, this so isn’t that funny. And so not worthy of the Prankters. Gah! You are such a loooooser”,  said one of the voices in my head.

I slammed my MacBook shut and turned on the TV, telling myself I shouldn’t force it. That it would come to me.

After apologizing profusely to my MacBook, for being so rough with it (and not the good kind of rough), I french-kissed it a bit and caressed it in all the right places. Satisfied that we were all good, I gently closed it and turned my attention back to the television and The Bachelorette.

Oh Ali Fedotowsky!

As per usual, my ADD mind began to wander.

What if I were on a reality show?

I could SO be the next Bachelorette. I mean, if I wasn’t all married and shit.

I can see it now.

Oh hey, Roberto! They have a great day planned for us. First, we are going to ride in a helicopter and then we get to be in a Broadway show. And, well, while all this sounds really cool in theory, I hate helicopters and flying in general and moving and all that stuff. And I really hate dancing and singing in front of live audiences, especially since I can’t dance nor sing and also because I hate being around humans that don’t live in my computer or in my television.  And seriously, I pretty much hate leaving my house at all. Getting dressed in normal clothes, brushing my hair, my teeth, all of it!  Just UGH! It’s all such a drag my little Robertito. So, I was thinking, how’s about you and I just stay right here in our pajamas lounge wear and eat some of these here funny brownies I paid some guy for baked and drink some wine and watch stupid shit on TV? Hold me.

Annnnnd scene.

Snapping back into reality, the panic of not letting you Pranksters down came flooding back. Like a bitch.

I sat and looked at the crap I had just written.

I. Was. Stuck.


Annnnnyhoo, I thought about asking Aunt Becky if I could take her up on this awesome offer another time. After my mojo returns.

After junk punching and water boarding myself for having such a stupid thought, I reached for my laptop and tried to focus.

And this is what came out.

* * *

I kicked Juan Doe out of my house after all the teenage awkward sex-like stuff went on.  Slowly locking the door behind him, I crept back to my room and dove into bed. I laid still for some time, making sure my mom hadn’t heard us or the sound of his big ass sub-wolfer when he drove away. Confident that I was in the clear, I breathed a deep sigh of relief and passed the fuck out drifted off into sweet, sweet slumber.

I woke up around noon the next day (ahhhh, the life of a teenager) to my mom washing dishes in the kitchen. Feeling like a monkey shit in my mouth while I was sleeping, and so thirsty I could not speak, I walked to the fridge to grab a Coke.

I plopped myself down on a stool and began chatting with my mom as she washed dishes. Her back turned towards me.

She was in such a good mood, so I was confident she had no clue about the skankiness that had just gone down in my room the night before.

And then? It happened.

She explained to me there was this new thing called recycling that would totally help the planet. And I was all, “Sounds awesome mom, anything for Mother Earth, you know! Go rainforest!”

We continued to chat….

And she continued to empty out the Coke cans she had collected, from ALL OVER THE HOUSE, into the sink to prepare them for, how you say? Recycling.

The second I realized what was happening, I ran over to her. I got to her just as she grabbed the remaining Coke can and began emptying it into the sink.

IN SLOW MOTION, the condom came rushing out with the flat, syrupy coke.


Right in the sink. Both of us staring at it. Slack-jawed.

My super amazing mother looked at me and said, “I’m not sure I like what Juan Doe does with his Coke cans.”

I ran to my room and locked the door. Terrified.

The next day she drove me to the vagina doctor and I was put on the pill.

* * *

Then? I was stuck. Again. I couldn’t think of a single funny one-liner to wrap it up, all nice and purdy. No witty way to end the story.

Nothing. Nada. Zip.

I was back to stupid square one.

What in the hell am I gonna right about?

And guess what? I never thought of anything. I have had like three effin weeks to try and impress you lovelies and I totally blew it. Hard.

I suppose the only thing left for me to do is beg for forgiveness from all you guys and from the magnificent Aunt Becky.

You’re a kiss ass, GAH!

Anyway, I promise if you all give me another chance, one day when my mojo returns, I’ll do better.

And also? Thank you SO MUCH for not throwing tomatoes at my face.

Carry on Pranksters. Carry on.

Huge hugs and major gratitude,




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