I took woodshop in high school not because I like building shit with my hands, in fact I despise it, I took woodshop because I’m stupid, and I couldn’t handle real classes. I got a two in Spanish one year. When I asked the teacher how I got a two she told me she gave me a point for each day I showed up. Most people in woodshop build shelves; build a table. I had no use for any of that bullshit, so I usually sat in the back of the shop huffing from the schools supply of paint. Eventually the teacher told me I had to build something, or he’s going to remove me from the class. I told him I’d start something next week. That I just needed time to think of a project because I have no use for that shelve nonsense. I came back in next week, and told him that I decided to build a life sized coffin. That sounds creepy as fuck, right? That’s why I did it. Once a girl told me broads take an interest in me because I have this mysterious jack ass like quality to me. So imagine that mysterious kid is in the wood shop building a coffin for god knows what, or for god knows why. You’re going to cross to the other side of the street to avoid that cocksucker. That’s why I did it. Because shit like that makes me laugh. I went to the Home Depot purchased lumber, hinges, and brasswork purely to make people uncomfortable because that amuses me. That’s how committed I am to fucking with people. I further alienated myself, made myself the schools Charles Manson, just to make one person laugh.
Awhile back , I noticed there was an empty storefront across the street from the church in town. I need a place to work because I’m not responsible enough to work from home. I just end up jerking off, and watching television. So, I rented this storefront. One day I’m sitting in my store staring out the front window at the church across the street; thinking about the people going in, and going out. Even in a forced work exile I can’t get my shit together enough not to procrastinate. Watching this church I came up with an idea that was too funny not to pass up. The fuck with people, even to spite my own face, beast was awaken. I went to the nearest Kinko’s, and had a sign made up that said a swingers club was opening soon, and hung it in the store’s front window; just to fuck with the church people across the street. Caution to the wind, ignoring all consequences, I did it just to make one person laugh.
The sign is hanging in the front window for a few days, I’m down at my store working, and there’s a knock on the door. Now this store’s an empty store. It’s just a makeshift office. It’s dark. There’s not even an incline that there’s anything there for sale. There’s just a desk, and a lamp. I’ve given no reason for anyone to be calling. I get up to find the source of the knocking, and it’s the local police. It turns out the church people across the street have been calling the cops nonstop telling them to arrest me for attempting to open up a swingers club. Now hanging a sign that’s just black letters on a white background isn’t illegal. There’s no imagery that would be inappropriate to the public, so I’ve done nothing to warrant the cops attention. All the police could do was ask me to take the sign down. Now I’m a mother fucker who if he’s not doing something illegal; he’s thinking about it, so, it’s always a good idea for me to be on the good side of the police just in case I need a favor. So, I took the sign down just to make their life easier, and stop the church people from harassing them with phone calls. The police leave, but I can’t get any work done because all I can think about is what assholes my neighbors are, and how they have no sense of humor. Didn’t Jesus say to love thy neighbor, and they’re trying to persecute me? So, I’m turning it over in my head, getting no work done, and I’m getting pissed off. Now is the time for action to purge my thoughts, and cleanse my mind.
I go home, and I get on one of those websites that advertises prostitutes. Not a classy site. One of those sites that has really low end hookers on it. I contacted the girl who had the ad that made her look like the most meth ridden whore that was on that website, and I hired her for the day. When we met I tell her I didn’t hire her for sex. That I just want to start drinking heavily. After a minor, but lightly dizzying level of drinks I tell her my prank. I tell her that we’re going to go down to my storefront neighborhood, and go door to door introducing ourselves as the new proprietors in town. The new proprietors that are the one who are opening up the swingers club. I shaved my beard into a pedophile looking mustache, and slicked back my hair. She put on the skankiest dress she had, which she apparently was already wearing, and we went to introduce ourselves to the community; to our new neighbors. We told them that we hoped to see them when our club had its grand opening next week. To come to the opening with an open mind, and protection. We even gave them the password to get through the door: yellow popsicle. I don’t think there has been more fun had in my life. Never have I returned home full of more laughter, and satisfaction. Never have a returned home feeling more like Terry Southern’s Magic Christian.