The Dark Side

Sandy asks, “…tell us about your DARK SIDE.”

I suppose that whatever dark side of myself that I choose to reveal to you, dear readers, is going to be mild in comparison to the dank, stinking secrets I intend to carry to my grave. With that in mind, here goes.

We used to drive around town in a pick up truck, late at night, drinking beer and picking up the real estate signs in people’s yards. We would do this until we had the bed filled with them and then we would go to the rich neighborhood and put an entire street up for sale.

I sometimes take things out of other people’s shopping baskets at the grocery store and sometimes I put things in them when they’re not looking.

I put toads in a guy’s car every day for an entire summer, once.

I once grew tired of hearing about a co-worker’s fantastic garden so I placed a want ad in the paper for produce pickers. He came in that Monday with an even more fantastic tale of having been overrun with migrant workers all weekend.

When my son was three, I told him the homeless man sitting under the bridge was a troll.

We used to put custom bumper stickers on people’s cars. All you need is a roll of 2 inch masking tape and a Sharpie pen. “Honk if you’re gay too” is a favorite.

I stole a watermelon out of someone’s garden before.

When we were kids we would call the pay phone at the mall and pretend we thought it was our mom that answered and say, “I’m sick, come get me.” in a most weak and convincing manner. Then we’d give whoever answered a phone number and name from the phone book to call because we’d just “used my last dime to make this call.”