Mojotronica
Expect Irony.
What is the best one you've heard about, witnessed, experienced or pulled off?
The best one I've witnessed happened years ago...
I was working on a factory seafood processing ship in Alaska. We were pretty much out of touch with the real world for the four months of our term of service. We heard the big news, of course, but the nuances of our shared cultural dialogue slipped by us. It was like having no TV, no phone and no internet and never leaving your apartment building for four months.
Life on the ship had a timeless quality. Every day seemed about the same as the last, and the future held the promise of more of the same. We lost track of holidays -- Valentine's Day, President's Day, Memorial Day, even Birthdays -- and April Fool's Day.
At least most of us forgot about it.
The ship's laundry man, Buzz, had been getting increasingly, noticeably stir crazy over the past couple of weeks. At times he was argumentative and moody. At times he was giddy, almost desperately, unnervingly jovial. The man was stuck doing laundry for twelve hours a day, seven days a week, for weeks and months on end.
But he really crossed a line the day he got completely tanked on a bottle of homemade hooch, brewed up in a dark corner of the ship using most of our precious canned fruit reserves. He drunkenly staggered onto the factory assembly line without rain gear and started messily dispatching crabs on the butchering axes. He was by turns euphoric and menacing. It was amusing and disconcerting.
The ship's cook, Roger, who was nominally his boss, stormed in and angrily pulled Buzz off of the factory floor. Drinking was not officially tolerated aboard the ship, although the crew had been quietly drinking hooch for weeks at that point. His display was grounds for dismissal. Dismissal meant a costly (rather than contractually paid) flight home.
Buzz was belligerent -- he said some pretty awful things to Roger. He appeared to be on the edge of throwing a punch. Buzz was not helping his case. It seemed only the intervention of the other factory workers, pulling him away, locking him in the laundry closet where he slept prevented the situation from escalating.
The next day Buzz had to apologize to the entire crew at breaky and then again at dinner. He seemed sorry -- sorry to be forced to apologize. Sorry to have gotten punished. But there was bad blood between him and Roger now. Over the next couple of weeks, the tension grew.
In between shifts we watched as they mostly avoided each other, but sometimes had words. Terse, angry, sometimes blatantly backhandedly insulting. Buzz liked to blast Led Zeppelin while he did chores. This was not tolerated during meal hours.
To make matters worse Roger couldn't stand Zeppelin. He liked "wimpy" soft rock... James Taylor... Journey... Cat Stevens.
Everything finally came to a head one night when, during dinner. Our tour was winding down -- we had been up north for three months now, and one of our mates, Mike, was putting the finishing touches on his home video journal of the experience. We were taking turns speaking into Mike's camera -- which was set up on a tripod in the mess hall -- as the crew straggled in to eat.
Suddenly Led Zeppelin's "Rock and Roll" started blaring from the adjacent laundry room.
"That's it!" exclaimed Roger, and stormed out of the galley.
We could not see the laundry room from our vantage point. We heard angry voices from the hall. Then a shift in tone... Roger was screaming. He was moving back toward the galley. Moving quickly. But something was off about the rhythm of his footsteps.
Roger collapsed in the doorway of the galley. Blood covered his chef's smock. We saw that it trailed down the hall behind him. His eyes were wild with terror. He was frantic but his words gurgled out of his mouth -- as if he could no longer speak clearly. A bubble of blood expanding on his lips and popped as he weakly spat out the phrase "He's gone nuts," again and again...
Buzz appeared in the doorway, hulking above Roger's dying form. He was holding a 14-inch butcher's knife, covered in (presumably Roger's) blood. His arms were bleeding from numerous apparently self-inflicted wounds. His eyes were vacant -- hollow. It looked like Buzz was long gone. Was he ever THERE?
Dan, a factory processor who had worked in a psyche ward, was the first to react. He grabbed Buzz's arm and pulled it behind it into a painful contortion. The knife dropped. Consciousness -- indeed concern -- snapped back into Buzz's expression.
He said, "Hey buddy -- April Fools! April Fools! Ouch, Dan -- pleasedon'tbreakmyarm!"
Turns out the stabbing, the hostility, tension even the cameraman had been an act. They had been setting us up for weeks. All the blood was fake. Roger was fine, Buzz was not psycho and Dan didn't break Buzz's arm taking the knife away from him. And they got it all on tape, thanks to Mike.
It was definitely the most elaborate and best executed practical joke I've ever witnessed.
Please share your stories in this thread.
The best one I've witnessed happened years ago...
I was working on a factory seafood processing ship in Alaska. We were pretty much out of touch with the real world for the four months of our term of service. We heard the big news, of course, but the nuances of our shared cultural dialogue slipped by us. It was like having no TV, no phone and no internet and never leaving your apartment building for four months.
Life on the ship had a timeless quality. Every day seemed about the same as the last, and the future held the promise of more of the same. We lost track of holidays -- Valentine's Day, President's Day, Memorial Day, even Birthdays -- and April Fool's Day.
At least most of us forgot about it.
The ship's laundry man, Buzz, had been getting increasingly, noticeably stir crazy over the past couple of weeks. At times he was argumentative and moody. At times he was giddy, almost desperately, unnervingly jovial. The man was stuck doing laundry for twelve hours a day, seven days a week, for weeks and months on end.
But he really crossed a line the day he got completely tanked on a bottle of homemade hooch, brewed up in a dark corner of the ship using most of our precious canned fruit reserves. He drunkenly staggered onto the factory assembly line without rain gear and started messily dispatching crabs on the butchering axes. He was by turns euphoric and menacing. It was amusing and disconcerting.
The ship's cook, Roger, who was nominally his boss, stormed in and angrily pulled Buzz off of the factory floor. Drinking was not officially tolerated aboard the ship, although the crew had been quietly drinking hooch for weeks at that point. His display was grounds for dismissal. Dismissal meant a costly (rather than contractually paid) flight home.
Buzz was belligerent -- he said some pretty awful things to Roger. He appeared to be on the edge of throwing a punch. Buzz was not helping his case. It seemed only the intervention of the other factory workers, pulling him away, locking him in the laundry closet where he slept prevented the situation from escalating.
The next day Buzz had to apologize to the entire crew at breaky and then again at dinner. He seemed sorry -- sorry to be forced to apologize. Sorry to have gotten punished. But there was bad blood between him and Roger now. Over the next couple of weeks, the tension grew.
In between shifts we watched as they mostly avoided each other, but sometimes had words. Terse, angry, sometimes blatantly backhandedly insulting. Buzz liked to blast Led Zeppelin while he did chores. This was not tolerated during meal hours.
To make matters worse Roger couldn't stand Zeppelin. He liked "wimpy" soft rock... James Taylor... Journey... Cat Stevens.
Everything finally came to a head one night when, during dinner. Our tour was winding down -- we had been up north for three months now, and one of our mates, Mike, was putting the finishing touches on his home video journal of the experience. We were taking turns speaking into Mike's camera -- which was set up on a tripod in the mess hall -- as the crew straggled in to eat.
Suddenly Led Zeppelin's "Rock and Roll" started blaring from the adjacent laundry room.
"That's it!" exclaimed Roger, and stormed out of the galley.
We could not see the laundry room from our vantage point. We heard angry voices from the hall. Then a shift in tone... Roger was screaming. He was moving back toward the galley. Moving quickly. But something was off about the rhythm of his footsteps.
Roger collapsed in the doorway of the galley. Blood covered his chef's smock. We saw that it trailed down the hall behind him. His eyes were wild with terror. He was frantic but his words gurgled out of his mouth -- as if he could no longer speak clearly. A bubble of blood expanding on his lips and popped as he weakly spat out the phrase "He's gone nuts," again and again...
Buzz appeared in the doorway, hulking above Roger's dying form. He was holding a 14-inch butcher's knife, covered in (presumably Roger's) blood. His arms were bleeding from numerous apparently self-inflicted wounds. His eyes were vacant -- hollow. It looked like Buzz was long gone. Was he ever THERE?
Dan, a factory processor who had worked in a psyche ward, was the first to react. He grabbed Buzz's arm and pulled it behind it into a painful contortion. The knife dropped. Consciousness -- indeed concern -- snapped back into Buzz's expression.
He said, "Hey buddy -- April Fools! April Fools! Ouch, Dan -- pleasedon'tbreakmyarm!"
Turns out the stabbing, the hostility, tension even the cameraman had been an act. They had been setting us up for weeks. All the blood was fake. Roger was fine, Buzz was not psycho and Dan didn't break Buzz's arm taking the knife away from him. And they got it all on tape, thanks to Mike.
It was definitely the most elaborate and best executed practical joke I've ever witnessed.
Please share your stories in this thread.
