"I'm putting out this new book called PRANK THE MONKEY," I said, taking a sip of beer. "It's a book of large-scale pranks and media hoaxes. All the PR people tell me it would be great to do a big publicity stunt to promote the book. And I'm going to do the biggest." I paused for dramatic effect, and looked the two M.I.T. students in the eyes. "I'm going to hack the Super Bowl." The next reaction was the money moment. Some people were shocked. Some laughed. Occasionally someone would vomit.
I was talking with the students in a bar near the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, an institution known for its long tradition of clever pranks. Over the years, these two students had served as my consultants for a number of prank ideas. I relied on them for their technical knowledge, and because they were smarter than me. One student was visibly upset. "This is ridiculous," he scoffed. "There is no way to pull that off."
"What are my odds of success?" I asked.
"With Michael Jackson, you only had to con one person. You got lucky. But now you're trying to con 2,350 people simultaneously. Your odds of success are less than..." He did some quick math in his head. "Less than three percent."
"I think you're missing the point," I said. "It's not an all-or-nothing stunt. Even if only 1,000 people fall for it, we still have a readable message. There are many partial successes that are still successes." I folded my arms, smarter than the M.I.T. kids for a change.
"But you've got the highest level of national security," he said, getting even angrier. "It's a fool's errand."
"You know what I love about you M.I.T. guys?" I responded. "You use phrases like 'fool's errand.'"
"What's the message?" asked the other student, breaking his silence.
I told him. He chuckled. Everyone chuckled when they heard the message. That was a good sign.
"Listen: I think it could work," he finally agreed. "I'd be willing to help."
"Great," I said, smiling. "Because I need a cheap, low-power illuminated device that will deliver maximum brightness." I took another swig of beer. "2,350 of them, in fact."
China, it seemed, was going to play a large role in the Super Stunt. American manufacturers were not cheap or fast enough to turn out the amount of customized electronics we were going to need to spell out our secret message. Plus, I loved the idea of China secretly pranking the biggest day in American sports.
Over the next few weeks, we tried out dozens of light-up gizmos, from keychain flashlights to electroluminescent panels. We finally found a battery-operated device called the "Laser Light Coaster," which is meant to light up your drink from the bottom of the glass in high-tech bars, I guess. My Chinese supplier, OK FUN TIMES ELECTRONICS COMPANY, was able to customize the coasters with a necklace cord and the Prince logo (which, it turns out, has never been trademarked -- perhaps because you can't trademark a name, particularly a stupid name).
The lights were very bright; the package came with a warning not to look into the light, as it could cause permanent vision damage. We took our sample lights out to Harvard Stadium (home of a similar prank), and tested them for brightness. Even from 100 yards away, they were blinding.
Next I had to order 7,000 AAA batteries (made in China), plastic bags (China), boxes (China also), and brochures (San Francisco, near Chinatown). I was particularly proud of the brochures, designed by ZUG's own Al Natanagara, which I thought really sold the prank:
So the "Party Packs" were coming together, but our team was not. The first several people I approached turned me down, citing fears of arrest, or being shot on sight. "This is the Super Bowl, man," said one previous collaborator. "The stakes are really high. The highest."
"I know," I said. "That's why we have to do it."
"I don't want to end up in some prison cell in Miami on Super Bowl Sunday."
"Don't worry about that," I said. "They have a TV on, so you can watch the game."
"Dude, I think I'm going to have to sit this one out."
I was surprised. I had never been turned down for a prank before. But I persevered, and was eventually able to assemble a top-notch crew who would become known as the Super Six.
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Moses Blumenstiel, who played Fake Michael Jackson, is my long-time collaborator who will do anything, as evidenced by his signing up for this impossible mission. |
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Rob Cockerham, creator of the very funny cockeyed.com, was laughing from the moment I pitched the prank to him. Rob is a master prankster who's also a master propmaster. This came in handy when we needed to create these fake badges, which he made in an hour by photographing a soda can in our hotel room. |
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Mike Hoban, (a.k.a. "Big Mike"), who also helped out with the Michael Jackson prank, was the player with the most skin in the game, and not just because his skin is saggy since he's the oldest. He put in many long hours helping install four million batteries, stuff packets, ship boxes, and dozens of other menial tasks. |
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Mike Berlin (a.k.a. "Little Mike") was a new team member, a referral. In "Reservoir Dogs," it was Mr. Orange who "wasn't 100%," and that was Mike going in: a wildcard. Fortunately, he wasn't an undercover cop, and he proved exceedingly capable, not only shooting photos and videos, but playing key roles in the prank itself. |
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Finally, Stacy Johnson was our woman on the outside. She served as home base, and would be the person to bail us out of jail if everything blew up. Also, she ironed our shirts. |
It was a motley crew who, ironically, did not enjoy Motley Crue. Most folks do not realize how much work goes into our pranks: they are thankless and demanding. These guys really busted ass, working long, hard hours without food or sex (except for Rob and Stacy), risking their clean arrest records (except for Mike), and indeed their very lives, to spell out one secret message.
I thought we'd need a lawyer, but it turned out we needed two, at an enormous price that pushed my $20,000 budget up to $30,000. But I felt that having Miami-based lawyers was an important, if expensive, safety net.
"It's an interesting case," said my trademark and copyright attorney, who would otherwise be spending his time doing mind-numbing trademark and copyright work. "But you do realize the worst-case scenario. They could see this prank as a terrorist act, and it could become a Homeland Security incident."
"You know what I love about you lawyers?" I responded. "You're always coming up with worst-case scenarios."
"I'm serious. You could shut down the Super Bowl with this stunt. They might have to evacuate the stadium."
I thought it was extremely unlikely anyone would ever mistake a bunch of cheap light-up devices for a bomb. "What are our odds of success?" I asked him.
He thought for a moment. "If the stunt fails, I think it'll fail early on, when you're trying to get into the stadium. If you can make it past that, I think your odds of success are pretty good. You might actually be able to pull this off."
I had gone from "less than 3%" to "pretty good." Either the plan was getting better, or the M.I.T. students were smarter than my lawyer.
