April Fools’ pranks are a fine art, and slapstick has no place in the sophisticated prankster’s planning. It may be funny to put salt in the sugar, or short-sheet your roommate’s bed (note to my roommates: this is not funny), but it’s easy. Anyone can do that. A really good prank takes the audience into consideration: it has to be just believable enough to horrify, but not so appalling that it hurts.
Unconvincing pranks aren’t funny:
- “I’m moving to the moon!”
- “I’ve decided to join the Church of Scientology.”
- “I was shot at by snipers in Bosnia.”
Convincing but upsetting pranks aren’t funny:
- “I cheated on you.”
- “My mother was killed by a drunk driver last night.”
- “I am Client 10.”
It becomes increasingly hard to pull pranks on someone who knows you really well — the only things that would be convincing are too cruel. The best target is someone you’re close to but haven’t seen recently. A few days is long enough, as long as it’s believable that you haven’t yet had an opportunity to share your shocking news. There are few things more satisfying than the look on someone’s face when they realize you’re not actually moving to Mongolia to become a yak herder, or whatever it is you’ve claimed.
Just try not to give people real news on April Fools’ — the summer internship I’m doing for MoveOn.org? Not a joke.
You know, I *actually* had a girl in JE believing that I spent my vacations in Mongolia poaching llamas for the entirety of freshman year.
Silly — doesn’t she know it’s yaks in Mongolia?
(True story: I told my high school guidance counselor that I wanted to become a yak herder, so I didn’t need to apply to colleges. She threatened to call the school shrink.)
Are you kidding? To be a yak herder, you need post-graduate work.
One of the teachers at my high school has recently returned from spending a year teaching in Mongolia. In preparation for this, he actually erected a yurt in the courtyard behind our school and taught there for a semester. I’m not kidding.
I know nothing about yaks, but I actually have been to Mongolia, which I suspect is what few of you can say, so in case any of you want to pursue these impostures further, I can coach you in local color to make you more convincing.
For one thing, the felt tent the nomads live in is called a “ger” (hard “g”). The word “yurt” is Russian, and today’s Mongolians are trying to get a away from the Russian influence of the past.
One of my high school friends had spent a couple of days with actual yak herders in Mongolia and offered to hook me up. Ah, networking.
People should read this.