When I launched this blog, I introduced myself as a member of Batwipe and the Dead Fish, a 1970's-era high-school garage band of little or no reputation. You've already met me; I was the drummer. Dale played bass, Bob played rhythm guitar and sang, and Mike played lead guitar and sang. We were just four guys who liked music and enjoyed each others' company. We were best friends who would forgive each other of almost anything. One night Bob and I put that bond to the test in a prank on Mike that involved stealth, outright lies, a mad dash across town, hundreds of styrofoam packing peanuts, and shaving cream.

The whole thing began one late summer night when the four of us went downtown just to goof around and see what we could get into. We had my car, a 1962 Plymouth Valiant four-door. No babe-magnet she, but "Junkyard Jenny" got me through high school. I parked the car on a main street and we wandered around until we found a large box of styrofoam peanuts on a loading dock at the Greyhound bus station. It was open, there was nothing else in the box, and it was Right There, so we assumed that it was left for trash and took it. We carried the box back to the car and then made a tragic discovery: There was no way it would fit in the trunk! So, being the irresponsible teenagers we were, we dumped the peanuts in the trunk and tossed the box. A few peanuts drifted with the breeze, skittering along the curb until they disappeared. We disappeared too, back to Mike's house, where the peanuts made their way into our practice room. For reasons that will remain a band secret, we called them "little eebs."

Several months passed. Mike moved into a smaller room at his parents' house, the band started practicing in the basement, and the little eebs got swept up and thrown away. That is, except for a small quantity, about enough to fill a shoebox, that somehow got left in my car. They went unnoticed for a long time until one night when Bob, his brother Brian and I decided we'd "get" Mike with them. Why we wanted to get Mike in the first place is a mystery. Probably for the same reason jocks snap each other with wet towels. Nonetheless, the game was afoot. We drove to Mike's house and I walked to the door, the box of peanuts under my arm.

I knocked on the door. Mike's mom answered.

"Hi, Sharon." I said. "I borrowed some books from Mike and I'm returning them."

"Oh, I'll take them," Sharon said. "He's at his girlfriend's."

"I'll take care of them," I said. "It's no trouble."

I stepped inside and went to Mike's room. I stuffed eebs everywhere. In his bed. In his pillow. In his desk. In his underwear drawer. I let my evil inclinations run as far as my imagination could take them. Even after I'd done my worst, I still had a few handsful left.

Back at the car, Bob and Bri waited for a report. "I got him good," I boasted. "He's gonna freak out."

"Got any left?" Bob asked. I said I had a few. "We ought to get his car next."

"That's IT!" Bob said loudly. "He'll get in his car and there'll be eebs all over the place and then he'll go home..." Bob cackled so hard he couldn't finish the sentence.

We drove through downtown to the South Side neighborhood where Diann lived with her parents. The sun had just gone down as we arrived. Just as we expected, Mike's green Volkswagen was parked out front. Bob parked his Vega on the other side of the street, a few houses down. We got out of the car and crept along on the driver's side of the cars parked behind Mike's. As we approached the Bug, Diann's front door opened and Mike stepped out onto the porch!

"Get down!" Brian hissed. We ducked in between two parked cars and watched as Diann kissed Mike goodnight. We huddled there next to the curb until we heard the Volkswagen start up and drive away.

"Aw, man! That was close!" I gasped.

"I thought we were goners!" Brian said.

"Come on, you guys," Bob egged us on. "We still can do it, we just have to beat Mike home."

We piled back in Bob's car and took off hell-bent for Mike's house. We roared onto the street next to Mike's, parked the car and cut through backyards, coming to rest next to his garage just as Mike pulled in the driveway. We watched as he walked up to the back door and didn't move until we were sure he got inside. When the coast was clear, I ran into the garage and commenced Round Two. I stuffed eebs in the ashtray, down the vents, and made sure to shove a big handful up over the driver's visor, because that's where Mike stashed his keys.

The moment I finished, there came a scream from somewhere near Mike's bedroom window. We got him! We had hit our target like a towel snap to the butt crack! But in our excitement, we never dreamed that Mike would get so mad, or figure out who did it so quickly. I tossed the empty box behind the garage and dived for the shadows where Bob and Bri crouched, just as a thoroughly-enraged Mike stormed out the back door. He raced into the garage. We heard the car door open and then there was a sound not usually heard in Grand Rapids, like a lion wounded in battle on the Serengeti. We didn't wait for more...Bob, Bri and I snuck back around to where he'd parked the car and we made for home, cracking up all the way to my street.

As we rounded the corner, I saw Mike exacting his revenge on my car! We arrived in front of my house just as he emptied a can of shaving cream across the windshield. I hopped out of Bob's car, trying to fake Mike into thinking that we weren't even involved in whatever had him so upset. But he knew us too well. Dale might have thought up such a scheme, but he wasn't evilly motivated enough. No, it had all the markings of a Bob-and-Ter stunt, all right.

Shaving-creaming my car appeased Mike's bloodlust. The score was settled. We even laughed about it later on the bus that took us back to the high school from downtown. Mike told me that there was a single eeb, right in the middle of his bed, that tipped him off. The gag seems even better that way, with just a subtle little clue that, yes Mike, you've been gotten. A box of eebs over the door would have been way too much; even though I didn't plan it, the single peanut was perfect, like a calling card.