Anatomy of a bad prank

My buddy Pie, a mountaineering instructor I met this spring, arrives at my farewell party and hands me a bottle of Vodka. Before I have a chance to set my gift at the makeshift bar in the kitchen, he beckons me outside to take a look at something. His mischievous grin (an all too familiar look for Pie) has me curious. I run, bottle-in-hand, after Pie and find him standing proudly beside a white late-80’s Buick… that is completely shrink-wrapped in an entire roll of Costco-sized Saran-wrap. I’m gawking speechless, as Pie giggles, “It’s Jimbo’s car!” Jimbo would be another mountaineering buddy of mine who arrived an hour or so earlier.

Later that evening I say my farewells to Pie, Jimbo and a couple others as they head out the door. In my inebriated state, I’d completely forgotten about Jimbo’s car. Not a minute later, my friends Angry-Steve and the Folk-Master-Dell come roaring back into the party. Breathless with laughter they can barely talk through their cackling…

As I heard it… moments earlier, as they’re walking out the front door, Pie innocently asks, “Jimbo, what’s up with your car?”

Jimbo shoots Pie a quizzical look and replies, “Nothing, what the hell are you talking about?”

Pie motions toward his car-cocoon masterpiece and produces his best shit-eating grin.

Jimbo, his quizzical expression now transforming into a contorted look of bottled up laughter, cries out, “That’s great, but my car’s parked two blocks up the street!”