My family was hardcore about Christmas. They would tear up cotton balls and leave little trails of fluff in and around the chimney where Santa “snagged his suit.” They would climb onto the roof and hit it with a hammer and jingle bells and stuff for when the reindeer landed. Seriously, just way out there. Anyway, one year, they found out that my sister and I had planned to catch Santa, so they did the typical staging, but this time they made sure that they made enough noise to fully wake us up. We sneak downstairs to find Santa putting presents under the tree, and we both gasp. He turns around, startled and does the classic Santa laugh as he commends us on catching him. He then proceeds to tell this elaborate story about how my parents had caught him when they were kids and how it must run in the family. About halfway through the story, my parents storm out of their bedroom, my father holding one of his rifles and scream at Santa to turn around and put his hands up. My sister and I start yelling and crying about how it’s really Santa and my mother and father cautiously approach him then start tearing up when they “recognize him.” Anyway, they talked Santa into letting us get pictures with him in the living room, then rush us to bed so he can finish his deliveries.
Santa was my uncle, who had come into town a day early and rented a $500 Santa suit just so we could successfully “catch” Santa. I believed in Santa until I was 11 or 12…because I had the picture to prove it.
When I was 8, my dad told my brother and me that we couldn’t tell the difference between salt and sugar based on looks alone. He then filled up two spoons and told us to pick. I was much older before I realized they had both been salt.
When my brother was about 6 my dad pulled him aside, with two eggs, he took my brother and told him he was going to smash it on his head. My brother freaks, dad chases him around the house, gnabs him, smashes the egg on his head. There is no mess, it doesn’t even really come apart just cracks. My dad shows him its just a gag; it’s been boiled.
He hands my brother the other egg, and says, “Go get mom.” 30 seconds later my mother is covered in raw egg yelling at my father, my brother is confused and in tears. Problem?
When I was growing up we had a concrete Donald duck statue in our backyard. My dad knew that the neighborhood kids, my brothers and I all thought this things was pretty creepy. It was pretty far back in the yard, and one day he moved in about a foot closer to the house. Every so often he would move it another foot or so, making me really paranoid, and thinking I was seeing things. Sometimes he would move it really close to the house, and when we would run to tell someone, he would move it back to where it was. My dad thought it was hilarious. Eventually we were all convinced it was possessed, so we smashed it and each kid took a piece to bury in their own yard all over the neighborhood. Good times.
Not my Dad, but a friend of my grandpa. Asked me at 12 or so if I wanted to try some vodka. I was like, “Hell yeah!” So he gave me a shot. I took it. Swallowed and told him it was horrible. He said, “That’s because it’s vinegar. you shouldn’t be drinking at your age, dumbass.”
My dad convinced us that pepper was spicy enough to melt butter. After trying it he would then prompt us to feel the heat coming from the pepper. This of course led to him smashing our hand down into the butter and laughing. I think I was like 10 when he did it to me.
When I was younger, I always had a really irrational fear of sheep. I never knew where I got it from, but every time I saw one, I wanted to curb stomp it.
Years later, my mom tells me that when I was a baby, I had a stuffed sheep doll. My dad used to hold it and play with it with me, and he would say, “Nice sheep, nice sheep” and do licking motions with it on my little innocent baby face. Then, out of nowhere, he would say, “EVIL SHEEP!” and then have the sheep turn savage try to “gore” my throat.
Yeah. Fuck you dad.
When I was about 5 years old, for some ridiculous reason, my dad and I watched Child’s Play together. As expected, I was so terrified by the movie that I couldn’t sleep or be around dolls of any kind for a very long time. My dad knew how afraid I was of Chuckie, so naturally, he went out and bought the Good Guy Chuckie doll for himself.
The first time he scared me with it, he put it at the top of the jacket closet so that, when I opened the closet, the doll fell on my head.
After my mom made him “throw it out,” it started popping up all over the house, especially in my room, always with my dad close by: “Problem?”
Getting to my grandparents’ house as a kid involved driving past a series of oil refineries. My dad would tell the kids that if we breathed while the van was near the refineries, the smoke from the plant would give us cavities. When we asked why he and mom didn’t have to hold their breath, he would say it was because by the time you become an adult you develop an immunity to the cavity causing agents in the refinery smoke.
I remember holding my breath on my way to Grandma’s as late as age 13.
My dad used to take packets of ketchup from fast food places and make a small tear at the top of the packet, then place a packet under each nub of the toilet seat so when the next person sat down they got squirted in the back of the legs. He then waited outside the door and took a quick photo of the pissed off person opening the door when they were done cleaning up. He’d mix it up, not do it for weeks, then do it several times a day. It got to the point you just lifted the seat to look everytime you had to go. But then he’d get us at neighbors and friends houses.
He has a photo album in his study of HUNDREDS of pictures of us kids and family in various states of distress at bathroom doors flipping him off. There’s a complete stranger in there too from a time he tried to get me at a McDonalds and booby trapped a stall, but I went to another one instead. Some poor sucker got nailed and Dad took a picture anyway and ran. I mean literally ran. We all LOLed hard from our table to see him bolt.
When I was little, I guess my mom forgot to flush the toilet once and it was all red in there, from, you know, that time of the month.
I went in there (about age 5) and started freaking out about blood in the toilet. My dad came in and was like, “Oh, no biggie, that happens when your mom eats tomatoes,” and I was like AWESOME!
I checked the toilet for YEARS after that, to see her magical red tomatoes in the toilet, but it never happened again.
When I was about 6 years old I must have been pretty stupid. While in the passenger seat of my dad’s car I asked him what the ‘Eject’ button (for audio tapes) did. He convinced me that it was the eject button for my seat. The entire ride home he kept slowly moving his hand towards the button until I’d freak out and slap his hand away. Getting tired of this I figure, “Screw it,” and push it to see what happens. I turn my head with a severe look of disapproval at my dad’s game. He just started laughing with the biggest grin on his face. I love my dad.
I was learning to make paper airplanes, and flying them across the living room. My dad said, “I bet my airplane will fly farther than yours,” and grabbed a piece of paper to make one.
I threw mine as high and as hard as I could, and then turned to see my dad’s attempt. He grinned, crumpled up his paper into a ball, and threw it.
He was right, though. It did go farther.
When I was around 12 I thought it would be funny to startle my Dad when he was coming in the house after work. I hid in the sewing room downstairs, and waited for him to come in though the garage door. The room was pretty dark, my dad opens the door takes a few steps in, that is when I spring out from my hiding place wearing a goblin mask. He jumps up in the air lets out a man bellow of fear and, without a pause, starts grasping at his chest and pulling at his shirt and tie.
He falls to the floor gasping for air and grabbing at his chest. I immediately go to his side, freaking out, and screaming “Dad! Dad! I am sorry, oh god, I am sorry, are you okay???” Before my eyes, my dad expires.. I am crying, then he opens his eyes sits up and starts laughing at me before asking, “What’s for dinner?” I thought I had caused my dad to have a heart attack.
On car trips, if it was raining, my dad would stop the rain for exactly 1 second. We’d always ask him to do it again! But he said, “Later.”
DO YOU KNOW HOW LONG IT TOOK ME TO REALIZE THAT HE WAS DRIVING UNDER A BRIDGE?!?!
True under-bridge trolling.
When I was around 4 or 5 years old I discovered the joys of pineapples. After all, they are delicious. I got to eat pineapples out of the can, but had only ever seen pictures of a real pineapple.
Being a kid, at some point I asked where the cans came from and how they were made. My dad, without missing a beat, told me they came from inside the pineapples. I of course did not believe him, and asked again, and he assured me that they did in fact come out of the pineapple. I got frustrated and dropped it.
About a week later my dad comes home from work, and to my absolute joy has a pineapple with him. He reminds me of our conversation about the pineapple and the cans, and puts the pineapple on the counter in the kitchen.
He then proceeds to cut into it…..And there is a fucking pineapple can in the middle of the pineapple. I mean it fit perfectly in there, like a seed would. My little 4 or 5 year old brain was shocked. So for about a week that’s what I believed. They finally let me in on the gag, and I was a little annoyed.
About three years ago I brought it up with my dad, and he told me how he cut open the pineapple, and spent about an hour cutting and re-approximating the pineapple slices so the can would fit in, and then glued the pineapple back together.
As a kid 3-4 years old, my dad would grab his keys and say, “Nick, Wanna go for a ride?” and like a puppy, I would run to my shoes and get to the car for an exciting time. He would then pull the car in the garage turn to me and say, “We’re here!”
I was watching a porno in my dad’s apartment when he was at work one time (long time ago). After I was “done” I hid the porno underneath one of his crappy sofa chairs (you know the kind that look the same as sofa but they fit only one person, you couldn’t see it) Anyway, my dad comes home and I’m outside playing with my brother. I guess my dad found the tape somehow. He calls me in and says something like, “You know, I don’t think I like where that chair is at, can you help me move it.” So for the next 10 minutes we are moving the chair 2 steps this way, 2 steps that way and I’m shitting bricks. “No, how about here… No, let’s try here…” We just keep moving back and forth. At the end the chair’s just pulled out far enough for the tape to be between my legs. “Yeah I guess here is fine.” He never said a word about the tape. At the time I was freaking out, now I think it’s hilarious.
When I was in elementary school, all the cool kids wore the Air Jordan shoes so naturally I really wanted them. Every time we went into a shoe store I would ask and naturally, he didn’t want to spend like $50 on a pair of shoes for a 10-year-old. He told me about this legendary basketball player named Frank Fila, who was supposedly better than Michael Jordan back in the day. I wasn’t sure at first but he’d get the people working at the stores to play along. I ended up walking out of the store with a $30 pair of Fila shoes and the best part is, I told my friends about Frank Fila, and they all believed me.
When my younger brother was little, he used to play with the empty plastic creamer cups they’d give you at diners for coffee, my dad liked his light and sweet so he had quite a few he’d give to my brother. He’d just sit there and squeeze them and he’d be entertained till his food came. Then one time we were at Denny’s and my dad gave him a full one, probably to see what he’d do with it. He picked it up, put it right in front of his face and squeezed it just like he usually did, but this time the creamer went directly over his entire face, he looked like a ghost. Cream is pretty heavy so it just kind of sat there, the entire restaurant was silently staring at him as he began to shriek and cry. It was spectacular.
Also when I was little I had a big thing for cars, muscle cars, ferraris, corvettes, whatever. My dad had a Firebird Trans Am which he’d take me out in on special occasions, since it was too small for everyone in the family to fit in. When we’d pull into our gravel driveway, he’d always do a little burnout and tell me to jump out of the car to touch the patch to see if it was hot. It never was :(
This is more of him trolling himself, but it was still really funny. For some reason he had this really powerful suction cup, I can’t remember what it was for, I think it was for holding something on his car or the fridge or whatever. Anyway, he was curious about how powerful it was, so he stuck it on his forehead. It was so stuck on there it was worse than glue. He started pulling at it (which was the worst mistake he made) and after a few hours of walking around the house trying to find things to use to pry it off, he got it. It left behind a throbbing red circle right in the middle of his forehead which lasted for weeks. We went to church with it like that.
For my 13th birthday we all decided to watch horror movies, then later camp out in my back yard. My dad thought it would be hilarious to terrorize us at 3am by shaking our tents then chasing my poor horrified friends around with a fake knife. No one ever slept over my house again.
My Dad convinced me that he could open the windows in our station wagon with magic. He would point at my window, and very discreetly push the power window button with his other hand. I could only stare at the window with complete shock for I was seeing MAGIC.
He pulled the same thing with a rechargeable electric shaver: he would take the power cord and “plug it” in his belly button, and the thing would keep working. MAGIC. BELLY. BUTTON.
I spent a good long while trying to convince my friends that my Dad had powers. Alas, bullshit was his only power.
I got paint on me when I was really young. Dad said i was turning green…. i didnt think he was kidding for hours. I freaked the hell out.
He used to turn on the remote control trucks under our beds before we went to sleep. Then he would use the remote. Freaked me out every single time.
He convinced my brother that there was a sleeve monster. My brother wouldnt wear a shirt for days until dad said he could be defeated by beating him up with a plastic bag. It was funny but…
I’m in a sushi restaurant for my first time. My dad goes, “Hey Sam, look! They have green ice cream here!” (It was wasabi.)
My dad and I would have wrestling matches when I was younger. The true goal was to give the other person a wedgie. My dad was pretty strong and I’d usually end up losing.
One time, we were wrestling for a few minutes when he said he had to go to the bathroom. He came back a minute or so later and wasn’t putting up much of a struggle. I reached down the back of his pants and frantically grabbed for his underwear, thrilled that I was going to finally get him.
The reason he went to the bathroom was to remove his underpants. I was enthusiastically groping his bare naked ass for 15 seconds before he burst out laughing as I realized what had happened.
Bjorking: my dad convinced, make that informed, a group 11 yr old boys that boys in fact had a menstrual period that came once every two years during which blood would be evacuated through the head of the penis. This phenomenon is known as Bjorking and is now widely known and feared by all of my nephews.
My dad always found it funny to put rubber bands around the handle of the dish sprayer and point it right where I would stand (he was anti-dishwasher, said ‘he already had one’ and would point at me). He would then sit down at the table and yell at me to do the dishes, and proceed to laugh when it sprayed the shit out of me.
When I was younger, my dad used to go sit on the front porch at night and call me outside. After I got there he would point out into the yard and ask if I heard something. While my attention was turned to looking out into the darkness he would run inside and lock me out, leaving me by myself scared of whatever he heard desperately trying to open the door.
My dad handed me the camera, and I took a picture of him standing next to our Christmas tree (maybe a week before Christmas). When the Polaroid came out, he was SURROUNDED by PRESENTS in the picture. They were covering the floor!
I looked all over for these “invisible” presents, but found none.
Years later, when I asked about it, he said he had taken the picture days beforehand (with all the presents set up), and just switched the two while I was waiting for my picture to develop.
Used to get baked as fuck when I was 16.
Dad started getting suspicious.
Laying on the couch watching watching tv high as fuck.
Dad walks in, stops, stands and stares at tv.
I look over at him.
He stands there for a good 5min, completely silent, staring at the tv.
Suddenly, he slowly turns his head to me and says “All the pieces are falling into place.”
Continues to stare silently at me as he walks BACKWARDS out of the room/
Jesus christ I’m too high for this shit right now.
So I just walk in from a hard day of play in the yard, I must have been about 10 years old. I open the freezer looking for a Popsicle and see an oasis. A Gatorade bottle which appears to have freezing cold water in it. I grab it open it and start chugging. With that giant gatorade mouth opening I could get it down in a few seconds.
I hear laughter and then it hit me. This was no gatorade. THIS IS VODKA. I rush to the sink and proceed to vomit up everything I had ever eaten.
My dad can barely keep himself from falling. When he finally composes himself he says, “Well at least I know you won’t be stealing my alcohol.”
Asshole dad, the jokes on you I’m a drunk now.
After I got a Gatorade he would wait for me to take a drink and then punch the gas.
I was on a hair trigger every morning my sophomore year of high school. Report time for marching band was 6:50AM and after a several weeks, I had gotten my wake-up routine down to less than 15 minutes. I’d get up at 6:35, zombie walk to the bathroom, eat a power bar, grab my pack, and go.
Dad usually left for work around 6:30, so he would usually drop in and bid me a “good morning” through my bedroom door. Occasionally, he would run late, in which case he’d be his helpful self by saying, “Good morning, you’re gonna be late.”
One morning in October, Dad comes in and he yells “It’s 7:05! You’re late! Get UP, get UP!” Fear and panic set in; I look at my clock (A big, unequivocal digital one) and it IS 7:05. I hyperdrive through my morning routine, run out the door (it’s fucking cold), break speed limits getting to school… and pull into an empty parking lot. It’s Saturday. And there’s no school on Saturdays.
He had made me french toast by the time I got home. Happy ending.
My dad did this to me once when I was 15. He ran into my room screaming “What are you doing? It’s 7 o’clock! You better get to school!” I flew out of bed and got dressed and flew out of the house and sprinted to the bus stop. I got there at about 7:10 and seeing no one at the bus stop, I figured I had missed the bus. Since I lived only about 2 miles walking from the high school, I decided to run to school. I get there, no cars in the parking lot. It was then I realized that it was Saturday. I got home about 8am, completely sweaty and exhausted to my father, sister and stepmother laughing their asses off.
Another time when I was 5 or 6, we were flying down to Florida to visit family and I wanted to sit in the window seat. My father allowed me to. As soon as we take off, he proceeds to tell me a story about how a kid about my age was sitting in the window seat and as the plane banked to make a turn, the little boy was sucked through the window. I freaked out every time the plane turned. He did it to my 6 year old nephew this past April.
Another thing my father ALWAYS used to do was pull up to a convenient store and give me money to run in and grab him an iced tea and get something for myself. While I was getting the drinks, he would pull out of the space and find another one farther away. I would come outside and cry thinking he left me there.
My dad is very tan and half-Japanese, which in Texas was enough for ignorant white people to mistake him as being Hispanic. When I was about 5 or 6 we were getting our pool installed and my dad (wearing some ratty clothes) walked out to inspect the work. The contractor in charge mistook him for an employee and ordered him to get back to tiling. My dad immediately ran into the pool and started tiling. After about 20 minutes he walked back into the house to grab a diet coke. The pool guy freaked out about him going into the house, and my dad finally revealed the truth. He just laughed as the guy feverishly tried to apologize.
“Ever play “52 card pick-up?”