Dammit Dammit Dammit!
Yesterday, I got hit THREE TIMES.
First, I was in a store shopping for patio furniture and someone frantically came in all a-twitter, raving that Manny Ramirez, left fielder for the Red Sox and one of my faves, had been traded to Chicago. I freaked, ran out to the car and promptly turned on a sports radio station, panicking madly.
Second, I got home and my doorbell rang. I opened the door to find a box on my front steps with a sign on it that said "Please Take Care of This Puppy".
And third, fucking Pajiba posted a piece on The Defining Movie Of Our Generation. That movie? Sister Act.
Aw, screw you, April Fool's Day.
Obviously, Manny was not traded, though I didn't realize it until I got home and scoured ESPN. Thank God, none of the friends I'd called after hearing about it were around to make me realize what an idiot I was.
I fortunately realized that Pajiba was kidding before I blasted off a tirade in their comments section. Although some did not, with hilarious results.
And as for the box? I opened it to find Phillip, the 7-year old kid from up the street, crouched inside, giggling hysterically. His two brothers, Andrew and Francis, promptly came tearing out from the side of the house, and fell to the ground laughing. And you wonder why I don't have kids. I don't need 'em, the kids up the street are enough for now.
Seriously, no one has tried an April Fool's joke on me in probably 10 years. Then I get three in ONE DAY? And fall for all three of them. Ah, well. Though I must confess, I'm now wondering if the anonymous religious comment below is a joke too. Though to be frank, it's a little too sincere, and a little too poorly written, to be quite so clever.
So to Dustin Rowles, Random Dude at the Furniture Store, and Philip, Andrew and Francis - Well played, good sirs. Well played.
And please, feel free to go fuck yourselves. Except for the kids.