On my last job, I worked with a woman who we'll call "Jim" for the sake of anonymity. Jim has huge boobs. The kind of boobs you only see in porn videos. Each one is as big as your head, and neither of them contain silicone. Looking back on the events now, I'm sure that played some sort of role in my actions.

Jim was the kind of woman you never saw in a bad mood. She always smiled and was genuine when she asked those small talk questions like, "How are you this morning?" She wasn't just using it as a greeting. She actually wanted to know how you were. In the three years I worked for that company, I never saw her angry. Until April of 2006.

Two days before this incident happened, we had a violent storm in the Midwest that knocked out power for a large portion of the town in which I worked. One of the places that lost electricity was the elementary school that Jim's son attended. This happened in the middle of the night, and the next day the power was not restored, so they cancelled school. Unfortunately, the only place this was announced was the local radio station. Since Jim does not have a radio in her house, she didn't hear the announcement and took her son to school as usual. When she arrived to find that it was closed, she figured out what happened and took him back home to her husband and continued on to work. No big deal there.

The next morning, I saw a side of Jim that I never expected. Her boobs bounced and flopped angrily around as she slammed her purse on her desk, mumbling curses and under-the-breath rants. Her eyebrows tilted down in a fierce frown that was so unnatural on her usually cheerful face that it pulled my eyes upward for a few seconds, away from her gigantic, heaving chest. I asked what was wrong.

That morning, just to be on the safe side, she called the radio station to see if the school was still closed, and the guy who answered the phone was unbelievably rude. One might even say he was a huge fucking dick. The conversation was something like this (his end, loaded with a sarcastic, bitter tone):

Her: I was just calling to see if [we'll call it Whopflopple Elementary] was closed?

Him: We've been announcing that ALL MORNING!

Her: I'm sorry, I have no radio in my house, so I can't hear the announcements.

Him: Yeah, it's amazing how many people don't have radios.

Her: So is it open or closed?

Him: I said we've been announcing that all morning. My suggestion to you is to go buy a damn radio.

He then hung up on her.

This pissed me off. Partly because he mistreated her breasts so badly, but mostly because I fucking hate people who have a public service job and can't even pretend to be civil for a ten second phone call. I later found out that this asshole (who answers all calls and doubles as a news DJ) is like that to everyone. I don't know who's dick he's sucking to keep his job, but he must do it well because he's still employed with them to this day.

I consoled Jim's enormous jugs and told them to just blow him off; he'd get what's coming to him eventually. I then went to my office and pulled up the pwot forums, relaying what happened and setting up my request. I wanted to pull a prank on the radio station, and I'd need the help of our fan base.

The joke was simple. I wanted about ten or so people to call that radio station and ask if Whopflopple Elementary School was closed. That's it. I told the readers, "You don't have to be a dick about it. Don't try to be funny. Don't try to pull a Jerky Boys. Just call and ask if that school is open and then politely hang up when you have your answer." The joke to me wasn't in pestering the guy. It was the fact that a large portion of our reading audience is from outside of the United States. The thought of a dozen or so people calling this small town and asking with their obviously-foreign accents about a school they know nothing about made me smile. That's what was supposed to happen.

What actually happened was that people told friends about it. Those friends told other friends about it. And before we knew it, the radio station was being absolutely bombarded with calls. They were coming from Australia, London, Thailand, South Africa, Ireland, Scotland, Germany, Canada, about half of the states... The guy at the station just thought it was one guy calling over and over, changing his accent each time.

One reader sent me a recording of his call which went something like:

Radio: Good morning. [Radio station name].

Pwoter: Hello. I was just wondering if Whopflopple Elementary was closed?

Radio: Christ. Where are you calling from?

Pwoter: Scotland.

Radio: And you're that worried about a school in the middle of Illinois, huh?

Pwoter: No, I don't care one way or another. I was just curious as to whether it was closed or not.

Radio: *click*

Another reader called in and convinced the guy that he was an employee of Verizon.

Radio: Good morning. [Radio station name].

Pwoter: Good morning. My name is Randal, and I'm with Verizon wireless service. We received a complaint about an unusually large influx of calls to your number this morning, and we're currently running traces on them. Are you still experiencing the same problem?

Radio: Yeah, we've had some kids calling in this morning, pranking the station.

Pwoter: Ah, I see. Unfortunately it happens. Well, we're tracing those calls now, and we should have an idea where they're coming from in just a few minutes.

Radio: Thank you. I've been dealing with this stupidity all morning.

For the next few minutes, the fake Verizon worker made small talk with the asshole radio guy, while he worked his fake tracing magic. After a good five minutes of conversation...

Pwoter: Ok, it looks like we're getting returns on the traces. We're not allowed to give you the numbers, but we'll be reporting these to your local police department.

Radio: Great. Thanks for the help.

Pwoter: Can I ask you a question though, out of curiosity?

Radio: Sure.

Pwoter: Is Whopflopple Elementary closed?

Radio: *click*

Then, the women began to call. Now, he thought that it was at least two people pranking, so he phoned the sheriff's department, and they put some sort of interceptor on the line. All calls that asked about that school automatically got transferred to the police, and the cops started calling numbers back.

Eventually, they got through to one of our readers in Texas, and they began pressuring her for my name. She got ahold of me online and told me what was going on, saying, "I have the sheriff on the phone right now, and he's asking for your name. What do I do?" I told her to give it to him. I didn't want anyone getting in trouble, and they were threatening legal action on anyone involved.

Now, before we go any further, I know some of you are thinking, "They can't do that! What could they possibly get you for? You're just asking if the school is closed!" Well, that's what I thought at first. I'll explain why it isn't that simple later on.

So anyway, I told my Texas friend's breasts, "Just give him my name, and tell him I'll be over to the police station in just a few minutes. I work half a block from the sheriff's office anyway."

It's important to know that during this whole fiasco, which at this point had been going on for an hour or two, I was keeping the front office of my workplace updated on the happenings. I was also keeping the pwot forums updated as well and trying to keep a mental record of how many calls were made. I estimated that at this point, approximately twenty or so calls had been placed. Twice the number I had originally expected. I was wrong on that, as you'll see in a few minutes.

So after I was told about the police, I immediately went on the pwot forum and deleted the original threads that were asking for the readers to call. I then posted a new thread, asking them to stop. I let them know that the joke was over and that it had now gotten out of hand. I of course didn't want it to stop, but I knew that once I got to the police station, I'd have to show them how it all started, and I wanted a record of me telling them to cease all calls.

I then went into the front office of work and said, "I'm clocking out and heading over to the cop shop. If I'm not back in thirty minutes, it probably means I'm in jail." We all laughed about it, and I left. This next part still makes me laugh.

Part 2: Arrested