Little prankster

I got a chemistry set for Christmas one year. The best experiment I learned was making smelling salts.

The victim; my brother. While he was asleep, I slithered by his bed, concoction in hand and waited for just the right moment to unleash the stink. I had to contain my laughter while I waved it under his nose. Luckily, he fell asleep just as fast as he woke up so I continued to torment him. It didn't take long until the chemistry set was spent of its supplies, so I searched for alternative prankster opportunities. Enter Cavalcade of Comedy.

 

It was called the Cavalcade of Comedy. The perfect place for a little prankster kid to find a little ploy toy or two. Walking in there was everything from clown noses, to magic, to plastic model car kits and my favorite, prank goodies.

 

My father was a great man. A hard-working man. But everyone does it. Sometimes it just happens. Air must go somewhere. My Dad always said as the air escaped his boxers "you have to get rid of the poison" My father being proud of his French heritage would finish his fart with an accentuer. In plain English, the accentuated sound of a balloon losing air.

 

We kids, the boys only, would challenge him to a farting duel. My sisters would not partake in our silly games, so I had to resort to making them laugh to force them to compete. I don't want to brag but I have made my sister's fart and yes, wet themselves on occasion. It is still great fun to watch them run to the bathroom sputtering and trickling at the same time. Back to the airs of youth.

 

I recall many nights in a small trailer somewhere in Northern Ontario. Our rumbling would cause mosquitos to find the screen holes the came through and flea for their lives. A better bug repellant has never been made. The sounds of whistling could be heard from the not okay corral. Five paces away my nephew would start. He would raise up his cheek and really leaned into it. I was a good effort. I decided a two cheek pull up would be much better. I tried to out fart him. Suddenly even my dad sheets knew what was about to happen. They lifted just before the accentuer. No extra effort needed. It sounded like he was undoing twenty-foot-long zipper. There was no match. 

 

One day, just before he sat at the helm of the dinning room table, I planted a little air bag under a fluffy cushion. I was glad my mother had a flair to accessorize. He sat down and the accentuer was on him, or rather under him. It was my dad's first experience with the whoopee cushion. It wouldn't be his last. 

 

I figured fool me once, maybe I should try it again. I placed a little surprise for the next person to enter the bathroom. It could have been anyone, but it was Dad. I could hear a lot of mumbling but all I could make out was a barrage of what da.  Frig being his go to cuss word, might have followed the What da's. On the floor next to the toilet was puke. Why would anyone leave puke on the floor? Rude. He opened the door to look for the culprit. He found nobody. I was hiding around the corner. This is the kind of man my father was, he bent down with a wad of toilet paper to clean the mess up. It wasn't his mess, but he was going to take care of it. He found out that you can't soak up rubber. Rubber slides. He smiled and said one word. "Dennis" I got him again.

 

I felt bad that I was picking on my dad, so I decided to get my mother too. My Mother bought a dog. She bought it against my dad’s wishes. Picking up dog shit and watching the dog continuously scratch was against his wishes too. Training a dog is no easy task. Sometimes they leave behind a little surprise or two. One little surprise was planted on a step that went upstairs to the second floor. Mom your dog shit again I said. Pick it up she said. Not my dog I said. Why was I being so mean to my mother? It was the only way to set the prank up. The look I got when she climbed the stairs was kind of like the look I got when she picked up the rubber do do. Oh, the simple joys of youth. It's sad to think that that store is gone but luckily for my family the laughs continue. I wonder if they still make whoopee cushions.