Vice Week
Everyone else moved on, but Im still all about *67.
Over New Years, I went to Atlantis with a couple of my closest friends.
Rather, a favorite pastime of mine: prank phone calling.
(Sorry, Dennys.
Your pancake puppies will always be famous!)
The room hummed with stifled laughter, each of us jumping in to keep the bit alive.
I dont know much about religion or if theres any true order to the universe.
Give me the f*cking number, I snapped at him.
Once Brody relented, I took a deep breath, dropped into character, and dialed.
She was so much more than the girl who didnt go to Paris.
When we found Tim Gunns number, I claimed to be a young designer with a catastrophic wardrobe malfunction.
(To his credit, he was really helpful.)
The reality TV stars almost always fell for the bit, but we didnt stop there.
Sometimes, wed randomly select a name and number, embracing the unknown.
(Mine, an eight-month on-and-off-again relationship that was newly off again.
Hers, a 34-year marriage that had crumbled in a matter of days.)
Our conversation lasted long enough for guilt to set in, prompting me to confess.
The goal of a prank call isnt necessarily to provoke, anger, or troll.
The best prank calls foster a brief connection with someone youd otherwise never meet.
Todays version of anonymity, mostly experienced online, feels colder and harsher.
Could I ensure that I wouldnt break and ruin the bit?
Now that acting is my actual hustle, youd think Id have retired *67 for good but nope.
And honestly, I wish the rest of the world would lighten up, too.
At the end of any number you dial is a person, much like you or me.
Actually, just feel free to prank call me as much as youd like.
