He Who Pranks First Pranks Best

Copyright © 2018 - This is an original work by Michael Fitzgerald and is protected under copyright by U.S. copyright law. It is only submitted at Literotica.Com. Any submission to another site has not been authorized by the Author and is an infringement of copyright. Such other site is requested to remove this story. All persons depicted in this work are fictional and at least 18 years of age.

Axiom: No one enjoys being the butt of a practical joke. I just posted New Years Evolution: Joke Over, which considers how the butt of the joke might deal with the person who set him up. This story asks what if the target had time What if there is room to maneuver? I got the idea from reading comments to Joke Over, so thanks to all. I like happy endings. Depending on your point of view, this story ends happily.

*

I love my wife, Debbie's, family to death. They are salt of the earth. When the tree limb fell and crushed the roof of our addition, Bobby and Joe Jr. were there the next morning with their trucks. They knew the insurance adjuster. They did the repair and it was better than what the builder gave us. Joe, Sr. owns a machine shop and his wife, Gina, keeps the books. Together they raised nine kids on not much money and lots of love. Everybody turned out okay. They're all married, have kids of their own and Sunday dinner is at Momma's house.

I've been part of the clan for more 10 years and I'm the odd man out. Six of the Romano kids work for Joe, Sr. Bobby and Joe, Jr. run their own general contracting company. Patty is a secretary. Maria is a stay at home mom. Me, I'm a data scientist, who works on GPS guidance systems. So, there's a gap.

The clan sticks to network news and run-of the-mill, night-time semi-comedies and police procedurals, and their reruns. News comes from Fox or one of the other mainstream channels. Cable means ESPN, the major league season packages and Ancient Aliens (Joe, Jr. is obsessed with UFOs and he's got a group of them going). The internet is for shopping, Facebook and porn. There's nothing wrong with any of that. It's just that is predictable.

I watch the science shows, can't stand the yammering political dweebs and catch the occasional on-demand movie. Mostly, I read books, some of them in hard copy. Don't write me off as a hopeless nerd but I'm hip-deep in a book about the mathematical construction of the universe. Yeah, it's not for everyone and I don't bring stuff like that up to look smart. It's just that there's this gap.

The Holidays are what they are, the emotional gathering point of the year. Birthdays and wedding anniversaries are important too. But the clan lives for April Fools Day. The plotting starts before Christmas. Who's this year's target? What's the joke? There are some ground rules. No one can tip the butt of the joke off. The joke can't be a repeat of anything done in the last five years. The joke can't physically hurt anyone. And the hardest rule of all, the butt of the joke can't take revenge.

I hate practical jokes. I don't see the point in hurting someone I'm supposed to care for. Debbie, caring for me, knowing how I felt about hurtful jokes and not being stupid, kept me out of the line of fire. This year was different. During Christmas dinner at her mom's, Debbie got scarce for a while. I figured the AFD (yep, that's their "code word") planning was kicking off. The thing is, Debbie kept glancing at me during dinner like something was up. Later, she had nothing to say. In prior years, she dropped hints; now, nada. From all these subtle clues, I deduced that my Sphere of Invincibility had popped, I was on my own and the Romano bull's eye was on my back.

There is no rule or reason to fight fair in a practical prank war. I played dumb and hacked Debbie's email, texts and phone. In a week, I expanded from her to everybody. I had broken the Japanese naval code, no sneak attack this time. Remember that I told you they're predictable. If it's on network news or the internet, it's true, or certainly the best idea. Third-son Jack reads Literotica all the time. He's not above sending out a link when he reads something that gets him going. At least, he leaves his parents of the distribution list; anyway, it's safe to say our tastes diverge.

Joe, Jr. came across Agena's story "The Joke." That got forwarded and almost instantly became the game plan. Of course, I got to read it too. Debbie would be the bait. I'd walk into the house, get captured, get hung up in the basement (using better cuffs) and they'd trick me into thinking she was having an affair with brother-in-law Mike. After I went crazy, everyone would pop out and yell "April Fool." I'd get turned loose and, remember the rule, I'd get no revenge. no hitting anyone, no divorcing my wife. Of course, there would be video. (Another rule: no one posts the video.)

They didn't know that I knew, and I did things to make sure they didn't suspect I was on guard. A week before Valentine's dinner, I suggested to Mom that her children do the DNA swab thing. I would pay the first-year fees for the genealogy site/ We could make figuring out our ancestry a family project. She loved it and everybody gave up a sample. Busy as they were the planning my butt-dom, the ancestry thing was soon forgotten.

One afternoon in early March, Debbie called to say that Bobby and Joe, Jr. were coming over for dinner, with their wives, because there was a leak in the basement. They were going to look. The girls kept me in the kitchen, busy with them. The guys were in the basement for maybe an hour. They came back up smiling. Bobby looked me in the eye and told me everything was "fixed." I had no doubt about that. Clueless me, I made no attempt to see what they did, what kind of chain would drop down and capture my wrists. Reading Debbie's emails, she told everyone she was sure I had no clue. They were going to catch me cold.

Coming up to April 1, I had several late meetings with the graphics design and video presentation teams on a time-sensitive, high pressure deliverable due at the end of the month. Once I explained the project, they were incredibly supportive. The contents were mostly data that I supplied. The text was less a problem. The big issue had been clarity of results displayed on the summary page. In addition to hard copy, there would be a short video explaining the major points. We had it nailed before March 31 and I could relax that I had done my job. Honestly, the project was the only thing keeping me sane as April Fool's Day loomed closer.

April 1 was a Saturday, and everyone was supposed to be in the house by 10:30 a.m. Debbie had scheduled her car for an oil-change, and I agreed to handle it. No, I didn't go. Instead, I parked on a hill a quarter-mile south of us with a clear view of our house. Her siblings parked off in the neighborhood. Marie picked them up in her van and dropped them off at the house. I started back when Marie was walking across our lawn to the front door.

I pretended not to notice the faces looking at me from side windows, I stopped to "tie" a shoelace to give them time to hide. Joe, Sr. and Gina weren't there yet. Earlier at the dealership, I used Debbie's email to tell them things had all been pushed back by 2 hours. I came in by the kitchen door and found Debbie making coffee. She offered me a cup, but I told her no. "Debbie, I'm not sure how to say this, but I think I may have some really bad news. I'm getting a delivery by express mail in the next hour or so. Do you think you could get your brothers and sisters together here? If it's what I think it might be, they're going to need to know." Her eyes grew wide. "Robert, what are you talking about?" I pushed her off. "Debbie, I can't get into it. Just get everyone together. One hour. Here." I didn't give her a chance to ask any more questions. Like a man on a mission, I walked out and drove off.

When I got back, the pot was boiling nicely. I said my "hello's" as I made my way to the big flat-panel TV in the family room. I ignored the people who wanted to know what's going on. I slipped a memory stick in the connected laptop and fired everything up. Everyone drifted in and found a spot. Debbie was sitting on the coffee table by my side. I handed her the first of nine envelopes and walked around the room, distributing the rest.

"I'm sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but I thought you needed to know. What you have are the results of the DNA test we did on Valentine's Day. The first page has a summary of the results. The pages after that have the data that backs up the results. It's a little hard to follow, so there's a video that explains everything." People were tearing their envelopes open as I hit the remote. The narrator began speaking and everyone forgot the paperwork and watched.

The opening screen showed the logo of a famous genetics company. The screen faded to black and then opened to the title "Romano Family Parentage." The next screen showed nine pairs of vertical columns. Each group was labeled as belonging to a sibling. Under each sibling, there was a column for father and mother. Every group had a big black checkmark for the mother. Every group had a number from 1 to 5 next to father. The columns were made up of tiny blocks of color, cryptic names next to them.

"Considering the results, we analyzed all specimens two additional times to ensure no lab error occurred. We can confirm to within 99.99999% accuracy that the test results are correct.

"The tests confirm that all nine siblings have the same mother. I repeat Siblings Nos. 1 through 9 share a common mother.

"However, Siblings Nos. 1, 2 and 3 were fathered by Male No. 1." There were gasps in the crowd.

"Sibling Np. 4 was fathered by Male No. 2." Mike shook his fist at the screen, muttering "No fucking way!"

"Siblings Nos. 5 and 9 were fathered by Male No. 3." Debbie is the baby of he family and she teared up.

"Sibling No. 6 was fathered by Male No. 4 and Siblings Nos. 7 and 8 were fathered by Male No. 5." The cries of disbelief and outrage were building into a chorus.

Digital and immune to the human distress before him, the narrator went on. "These results give us the following genealogical chart." The screen changed and the new family tree, showing a scrambled fatherhood and the implicit infidelity of their mother, filled the screen. The proof was before their eyes and in their hands. Their parents had failed to appear and there was no reason why. Wasn't that confirmation? There was no one to deny the story. All Debbie, her siblings and their spouses could do was look at each other, stunned. I paused the presentation and interrupted.

"I know this is a lot to absorb and many, if not all of you, are deeply upset. There's one more bit to the report that you need to see. I need to resume the presentation so that you hear the final conclusion."

I clicked a few buttons and the second animation began. The same logo appeared, followed by a circling arrow, the kind that tell you the computer is working on something. While everyone's attention was on the screen, I headed for my truck. Nine squares appeared on the screen. Involuntarily, they all leaned forward. Some held their breath. The No. 7 and 8 blocks to the right filled with zeros. Or was that a capital "O?" Slowly, the remaining blocks filled in. At first, the letters were a barely perceptible gray and very faint, but they quickly turned black. I could hear the howling as I pulled away.

A P R I L F O.O L.

Epilogue: Remember, I told you I read books. Consider this, taken from Sun Tzu's, "The Art of War," and modified to fit.

Pretend to be ill-informed and weak that your enemy may grow arrogant. If your enemy pays little attention, give them no chance to learn your plan. If their forces are united, separate them. Attack them where they unprepared. Appear where and when you are not expected.

By the way, Joe, Sr. and Gina thought my joke was hysterical. I had planned on that; I did not need my wife's mother as an enemy. When they showed up, the report and video were busted, and no one was fooled anymore. I wonder how funny Gina would have thought it all was if I hadn't called to wave Joe, Sr. and her off. Debbie got over it after I made a solemn promise that next year, when AFD comes around, we're our own team.