Fake blood and you ... a pranksters guide

This story was told out in Vegas, and I cannot believe I hadn't put it up here yet. Stupid memory loss.

So some random night in Evanston, Paulie, Joe and I (I'm sure there were others there--Mueller?) proceed to tie one on. I think we started with 40s purchased across the street at D&D Ghetto Grocery, followed by caps, gravity bongs, and the 1800 Club. As an aside for those who know, 1800 Club>PURE, despite the presence of Cornelius.


So we kick it in the 1800 Club beer garden for a while, get even more plastered, and eventually head back to my apartment while committing felonious acts of vandalism.

A quick note about the apartment, because it's important later. Joe and I lived on the "garden" level of a 4-story apartment building just off NU campus. It was pretty good size for 2 people, but still fairly ghetto due its lack of windows and the general economic instability of its tenants. My bedroom featured glass double doors into the living room, which I had classily taped up with old newspapers. But we did have two TVs for some reason.

So anyway, we get back and chill to the free cable, and as per usual, Joe passes out on the couch. Not sure how it started, but Paulie and I decide to fuck with him, frankly, because we could. It was one of the most enjoyable things about my senior year -- having someone pass out on the couch every night, and messing with him at our leisure.

So anyway, I have the brilliant idea to bust out the fake blood I have left over from Halloween. I think we put some on his hand and arm. And laughed uproariously. But Joe did not wake, and eventually we passed out ourselves.

The next morning Joe awoke and found himself covered in (what he thought was) blood, so he predictably freaked the fuck out. I got you good you fucker. But this is where it gets even more ridiculous.

The alcoholic super decided this was the morning that he needed to show the apartment to 2 innocent young coeds. Joe tried to persuade him at the door, but old drunk John super was having none of it. Dadgum it, he was going to illegally show this apartment whether it was going to rent or not.

So he brings them in, past the trashed kitchen, into the living room which has 40s, caps, beer cans and probably drug paraphenalia strewn all over in the haphazard manner typical of a mini-bender.

Joe maybe still had blood on him and definitely was rocking a wife-beater covered in bacon grease. Paul was lying on the futon giggling maniacly. I, still asleep in my room, heard the commotion and burst out of the double doors in my boxers. Pretty much everybody is like, WTF is going on, except for Paulie, who is still giggling.

Needless to say no one else came to see our apartment for the rest of the year.

The kicker is the super still insisted on looking at the bedrooms, only to discover Joe's blood covered sheets.