Open Thread: What's The Shittiest April Fools' Day 'Prank' You've Ever Suffered Through?

Image via April Fool’s Day, the movie
Image via April Fool’s Day, the movie

On April 1 of 2016, the staffs of Jezebel and Deadspin swapped sites for the day, and the results were immensely satisfying. We learned about a Man Achieving Adequacy, and about another man who uses hand soap to wash his face. We discussed the mutants who stand up to wipe their asses; we heard some opinions on Ryan Gosling and Rudy and Samoyeds and cigars. Fun times!

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Today, you will find no such tomfoolery on this website. Why? Is it because Jezebel’s weekend crew detests fun and laughter? Because our lives are devoid of cheer? Certainly not! The issue lies in April Fools’ Day itself. I absolutely hate it, and I have a pretty good reason for hating it, too.

The year, I believe, was 1999. I was, I believe, in 7th grade, arguably the prime age for April Fools’ shenanigans. I can’t recall the details of the day, only that I woke up, went to school, came home and then my parents told me they were getting divorced.

Was this an April Fools’ day prank, a hilarious gag in which they would shout “APRIL FOOLS’” in unison, then we’d all eat some cake? It was not—trust me, I asked repeatedly. There was no gag. There was no cake. There totally was a divorce, though, precisely as promised. Honestly, it would have been way more messed up if they were joking. Can you imagine?

Again, it’s not that I don’t like humor. I fucking love laughing, god damn it. Give me your puns, your witty takes, your ecstatic Cockatoo rocking out to Elvis’s “Don’t Be Cruel” (seriously, watch the whole thing, it’s magnificent).

But let’s face it: Most people don’t have the comedic acumen to pull off a good prank anyway. So today, let’s celebrate the world’s worst “holiday” in the purest way we know how: By sharing our stories in the comments section, inside where it’s safe.

DISCUSSION

psonicpsunspot
PsonicPsunspot

I’m a teacher.

A few years back, I bought a new car on or around March 28th. The morning of April 1st, one of my students ran into my classroom waving his iPhone.

“Mr. P.! Mr. P.!” he yelled. “Someone smashed your car!” He turned his phone toward me to show me the evidence. There, in the side of my beautiful new whip, was a dent the size of Montana.

“Oh, no!” I yelled, grabbing my keys from my desk. “Thanks for telling me, Ian!” I was about to rip my coat off the back of my chair when he started cracking up.

Ian was doubled over with laughter.

“Why are you laughing?” I asked, pissed and confused. “What’s so…” And then I got it.

“Sorry, Mr. P.,” he said, still laughing, “but there’s this app that can—”

“Save it, dude,” I replied, tossing my keys back on my desk.

Then I failed him.*

(*=Not true.)