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Jest and Rejest
With my heart on fire and my mind cold as ice, I walked into the Prestor Perfect Pranks office building. I would need to keep all my wits about me. The revolving door didn’t let me in until the third time I walked around.
The carpet around the reception desk was imprinted with a convoluted maze; those who ignored it and walked a straight line would step on various whoopee cushions under the carpet. I took numerous shortcuts, avoiding odd lumps under my feet, and got to the desk without embarrassment.
The receptionist was a slender man who handed me a visitor book and pen. I used my own pen instead; I could spot a shock-pen from a mile away. He gave me an insouciant once-over.
“I’m here to see Mr. Prestor,” I said as I signed the register. “Johannes Prestor. We have an appointment.”
The receptionist smiled and indicated the elevator. I took another careful path to dodge the fart mines, and made sure to stand well to the side when I pressed the up button, avoiding a sudden stream of seltzer. I got a side-eye from the receptionist as I straightened my tie and strode into the elevator.
As I rode up, the floor number display flickered, then started counting back down instead of counting up. I ignored this, as well as the sudden blackout with the sound of an elephant stampede. They were limited in pranks they could actually pull on people in elevators; Prestor Pranks were supposed to be safe.
I reached the top floor and strode down the hallway to Prestor’s office. When I carefully turned the doorknob using a handkerchief, the hinge side of the door unlatched instead. “Come in, come in!” came a voice from inside.
I dodged quickly through the door as a bucket over the transom tipped and tried to cover me with confetti. I dusted some glitter from my shoulder, and then I was face to face with Johannes Prestor, who reached to shake my hand. “How do you do?” he said, then winced as I extended my gloved hand and squeezed his palm hard, crushing the joy-buzzer he had concealed there.
He soon recovered his good spirits and roared with laughter. “Capital!” he cried. “Do sit down and tell me the purpose of your visit. Here to place an order? We cater to the kings and queens of comedy!”
“I think I will stand, thank you,” I said with a humorless smile. “I just need you to explain one thing, Mr. Prestor.” I tossed a condom wrapper on the desk.
Prestor tried to temporize. “I’m afraid you’re not my type…”
My smile got grimmer. “I found this on my wife’s nightstand, Mr. Prestor. This is a special kind of condom, a variant on the Chinese Finger Trap. It isn’t even on the market yet. But your logo’s on it, and word is that this product is under development in your research labs. So… care to explain how it got there?”
Prestor didn’t try to bluff. “I suppose you deserve to know the truth,” he sighed. “She is one remarkable woman, and of course I wanted to show her our most recent project. It’s my pride and joy, see?” He tossed a tiny photo onto his desk, forcing me to approach to look.
I stepped forward, but also jumped to the side, ignoring the gag photo and also dodging the trap door that sprung open where I would have stood. Prestor snarled at me as I drew my gun and took aim at his chest.
A flag popped out that said BANG!
We locked eyes and started to chuckle together. Then the flag shot from my gun like a dart and buried itself in his heart.
He wheezed in shock and stumbled back. “You won’t… get away with this… you signed the register…”
“Invisible ink, Prestor. Jest in peace.”
As he gurgled his last breath, I ran down the emergency stairs to the foyer. The receptionist chased after me, but I threw down some fake vomit and he slipped, his butt landing right on a whoopie cushion as he fell to the floor. With that razzberry, I took my leave.
I strode down the street, ducked into an alley, removed my fake glasses with attached plastic nose and mustache and threw them in the trash as the sirens wailed in the distance.
Infidelity was no joke, but at least I was done with Prestor and all of his funny business.
The carpet around the reception desk was imprinted with a convoluted maze; those who ignored it and walked a straight line would step on various whoopee cushions under the carpet. I took numerous shortcuts, avoiding odd lumps under my feet, and got to the desk without embarrassment.
The receptionist was a slender man who handed me a visitor book and pen. I used my own pen instead; I could spot a shock-pen from a mile away. He gave me an insouciant once-over.
“I’m here to see Mr. Prestor,” I said as I signed the register. “Johannes Prestor. We have an appointment.”
The receptionist smiled and indicated the elevator. I took another careful path to dodge the fart mines, and made sure to stand well to the side when I pressed the up button, avoiding a sudden stream of seltzer. I got a side-eye from the receptionist as I straightened my tie and strode into the elevator.
As I rode up, the floor number display flickered, then started counting back down instead of counting up. I ignored this, as well as the sudden blackout with the sound of an elephant stampede. They were limited in pranks they could actually pull on people in elevators; Prestor Pranks were supposed to be safe.
I reached the top floor and strode down the hallway to Prestor’s office. When I carefully turned the doorknob using a handkerchief, the hinge side of the door unlatched instead. “Come in, come in!” came a voice from inside.
I dodged quickly through the door as a bucket over the transom tipped and tried to cover me with confetti. I dusted some glitter from my shoulder, and then I was face to face with Johannes Prestor, who reached to shake my hand. “How do you do?” he said, then winced as I extended my gloved hand and squeezed his palm hard, crushing the joy-buzzer he had concealed there.
He soon recovered his good spirits and roared with laughter. “Capital!” he cried. “Do sit down and tell me the purpose of your visit. Here to place an order? We cater to the kings and queens of comedy!”
“I think I will stand, thank you,” I said with a humorless smile. “I just need you to explain one thing, Mr. Prestor.” I tossed a condom wrapper on the desk.
Prestor tried to temporize. “I’m afraid you’re not my type…”
My smile got grimmer. “I found this on my wife’s nightstand, Mr. Prestor. This is a special kind of condom, a variant on the Chinese Finger Trap. It isn’t even on the market yet. But your logo’s on it, and word is that this product is under development in your research labs. So… care to explain how it got there?”
Prestor didn’t try to bluff. “I suppose you deserve to know the truth,” he sighed. “She is one remarkable woman, and of course I wanted to show her our most recent project. It’s my pride and joy, see?” He tossed a tiny photo onto his desk, forcing me to approach to look.
I stepped forward, but also jumped to the side, ignoring the gag photo and also dodging the trap door that sprung open where I would have stood. Prestor snarled at me as I drew my gun and took aim at his chest.
A flag popped out that said BANG!
We locked eyes and started to chuckle together. Then the flag shot from my gun like a dart and buried itself in his heart.
He wheezed in shock and stumbled back. “You won’t… get away with this… you signed the register…”
“Invisible ink, Prestor. Jest in peace.”
As he gurgled his last breath, I ran down the emergency stairs to the foyer. The receptionist chased after me, but I threw down some fake vomit and he slipped, his butt landing right on a whoopie cushion as he fell to the floor. With that razzberry, I took my leave.
I strode down the street, ducked into an alley, removed my fake glasses with attached plastic nose and mustache and threw them in the trash as the sirens wailed in the distance.
Infidelity was no joke, but at least I was done with Prestor and all of his funny business.
