Whatever happened to itching powder? We had some real laughs with that stuff. We didn’t put it in shoes. We put it in a fellow’s drawers.
You don’t see the good old pranks these days. Acid in a shoe? How about the hot foot? I’d tell a guy a joke while my buddy snuck up behind him and slipped a couple of kitchen matches between the sole and last of his shoe and lit another match with his thumbnail and touched off the matches in the shoe. I’d try to time my punch line with the moment the flames reached the shoe and set the guy to hopping. What a hoot.
We never lit shoelaces. That would be stupid.
Acid has a place in the world of pranks, but not in some guy’s loafer. We would put a little hydrochloric or sulfuric acid, I don’t recall which, in an atomizer and sneak into the girl’s locker room and spray squirts of it over the front of a blouse in two spots. Later in the day, the cloth would crumble away and the girl’s two bra cups would poke out. You could split your sides laughing at that.
Where have all the pranks gone? It’s sad. You used to could walk into a classroom and there would be old spitwads stuck to the walls all over. How can kids go through their youth without shooting spitballs at each other. It don’t make sense.
Our classroom was next to a field with sheep in it. The flies through the open windows were awful. We’d spend hours during boring grammar and economics and arithmetic lessons, killing flies with rubber bands. That’s not a prank, but it’s something I miss just as much.
We had so much energy when we got to school. There was nothing better than running around like maniacs pulling down a guy’s pants and underpants to his ankles in front of some girls. We did that with one wimpy kid and by the end of the day he had made three dates.
You know what’s crazy? Not only is it impossible to find an exploding cigar, you’re lucky these days to smoke a regular one.
I’m going to burn a bag of dog poop on my neighbor’s porch tonight, just for old time’s sake.