Don’t Prank Me, Bro

April Fools can eat my butt.

Look, buddy, I know what you’re thinking. Today’s the big day. You’ve got some killer pranks lined up. You’re gonna roast everyone in the office to new heights of April Foolery. You’re pumped. You’re psyched. You’re fucking jacked up! Pranks, baby! But listen.

Don’t prank me, bro.

It’s not that I can’t take a joke. Haha, I’m telling you pal, I can take a jokeI love jokes. I invented jokes, for Christ’s sake. Went back in time and did Who’s On First with the goddamn Neanderthals.

But a prank isn’t a joke. A prank is rarely funny, except for the dillhole hyena who planned the whole, stupid affair.

Image via Samuellau/VSCO

You know when April Fools day was tight? When you were in kindergarten. Getting your mind warped is a wild ride at that age, and you forget things quickly, too, so it’s all pretty fun and gone in a flash. When you’re that age, a butterfly blows your mind or the concept of, I don’t know, wind is ridiculous fantasy craft to you. What I’m saying, brother, is that’s a low bar for impressing someone.

Also, pranks are usually just…mean lies?

I love to tell a lie like a regular Lucifer. I love to be mean just as much, but when it comes to pranking someone into thinking they won the lottery or some other lame, dooping bullshit, it’s just…sad.

“Ha! You thought the thing! You put your trust in me and believed something, and I totally fucked you!”

Great. What a fun thing to do to your friends or family or coworkers or…

Enemies. There we go. Feel free to prank your enemies. Prank ’em left and right.

But me, bro? Nah, you ain’t gonna get me. Nobody pranks this guy. If you try, I’ll pull the ultimate prank back on you—by leaving a bag of meth and an unregistered handgun in your car and calling the fucking cops. I’m not here to play, month of April!

In conclusion: smoke a joint and chill the fuck out, and if you’re a dumb brand, stop pulling PR stunts. We get it we get it we get it shiiiiiiiiiiit.

Thanks to Kindland for the repost.

Alan Hanson Author
California son Alan Hanson is a writer living in Los Angeles.
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