Impractical Jokes by Charlie Pickering Read Free Book Online Page A

a known Elvis buff with a known kitsch film buff, sitting directly opposite a man whose American cousin would ship the latest collectible Sun Session recordings of the King to my dad. The only unknown quantity in the room were the parents of my best friend from school but in all honesty, they just seemed happy to be out.
    The main course was served to considerable applause. Each person had an individual trout, baked in paper. The diners celebrated how perfectly tender the fish was without being overcooked. Rest assured I had eaten some disappointing trout that week. Silence was called for, a toast was made and this dinner party was well on track to deliver as the best one yet.
    And then, halfway through main course, all the lights went out.
    A brief silence followed, but it was soon broken by the occasional tinkle of cutlery on plate or the surreptitious slosh of misdirected wine missing mouths. The dinner party was making a valiant attempt to carry on, confidently expecting power to resume at any moment.
    â€˜What’s the matter, Ron? Didn’t pay the electricity bill?’
    Polite chuckles were stopped in their tracks by the almighty thud of a shoulder being applied at full force to the dining room door.
    Richard and Ian burst into the dining room, stockings over their heads, water pistols in their hands, bellowing threats at the diners.
    â€˜Nobody move! This is a stick-up!’
    There were five couples seated around the dinner table. Before the assailants even got to the word ‘stick-up’ all the men had hit the floor, leaving the women to take the fire. All except for my father, who, my mother is adamant, used her as a human shield.
    â€˜Just do as we say, and nobody gets hurt!’
    There is anecdotal evidence to suggest that some guests soiled themselves without a shot being fired. What is for certain, is that panic struck the group with gusto, and people weren’t going to calm down any time soon.
    â€˜Oh, god. Please don’t hurt us.’
    â€˜Please, take me. Just don’t hurt my wife.’
    â€˜Who robs a dinner party?’
    â€˜Who cares, Peter? Just do as they say.’
    â€˜Does anyone else smell urine?’
    Ian, one of only two people in the room who knew the machine guns were fake and that the gunmen were close personal friends of the hosts, found the whole situation very amusing. He began to laugh. The harder he tried to hold it in, the harder he laughed. Before long he was out of control and the mood of the room shifted one step closer to despair.
    â€˜What’s going on?’
    â€˜Are we going to die?’
    â€˜Please, just tell us what you want!’
    â€˜Come to think of it, I can smell urine.’
    By now Ian was doing his best impression of a drain but Richard remained silent. He may have been planning his next move. Or perhaps more likely he realised that a machine gun wielding, stocking-faced robber that begins laughing hysterically immediately transitions in the eyes of the hostages from threatening to maniacal. Either way, he decided someone had to break the tension.
    â€˜All right, everyone be quiet!’
    Unsurprisingly, this did little to calm anyone. If anything it made things worse. They now had to huddle in silence and just listen to the laughter.
    It was around then Richard started to sense that the plan was going awry. What was meant to be a simple retaliation for a harmless joke had rapidly become a full-blown hostage situation. By this point in the prank, people were meant to be laughing. As it was, the only person laughing was a lunatic with a gun, apparently wearing a disguise so that any unlikely survivors couldn’t identify him. It had become a bona fide trauma and anyone with even the most entry-level legal training could tell you that the whole situation became pretty much illegal the moment Richard and Ian said ‘this is a stick-up’.
    Richard decided it was time to give his joke some kind of punch line and