Jimmy Bardolucci Says He's Going to Eat Your Spleen For Breakfast, Motherfucker

The Outcome of the Surprise
People seemed curious about what happened with our little surprise party. It started with our manager requesting we meet at Jeb's house to go out on a field call at 8 AM. I showed up extra early (7:45 AM) to make sure everything was in order for everything to work. I knocked on the door, and Jeb answered the door.

"This seems to be a bad start to our little joke, Jeb," I said. "Any reason you're still in your pajam-jams?" He said he was getting ready. "Dude, you just woke up out of bed. Did you at least do your part of the bogus case-file?"

The key to the success of the surprise was a bogus case file. I did my part; we just needed his.

"Uh...no," he said.

Damn. "Okay, get dressed and I'll try and stall Eduardo. In the meantime, I'll finish the case-file."

I called Eduardo on the phone. It was now 7:55 AM. I said, "Hey, we've decided to meet here--I mean at Jeb's house--at 8:15 or so. Can you handle that?"

"Where are you?" Eduardo asked.

"I'm still at home. I haven't left yet."

"Dude, I'm outside Jeb's house. I parked behind your car."

"Oh...Jeb's embarassed he's still in his pajami-jams and wanted me to call you to come later. We'll be out in a few minutes."

So I got busy finishing the bogus case-file. My skills at forging documents is almost unparalleled. My attention to detail is pretty amazing. Our fake case history looked completely authentic (enough to concern my manager later on). While I worked on the case-file, Jeb dressed.

But I said, "WAIT! He can't see you dressed! We need more time, and everyone wants us at the restaurant at 8:45. It's too early. Take off your shirt and tie, and go tell him you're running late."

Jeb ripped off his dress-shirt and tie, untucked his undershirt, and in his socked feet ran out to the driveway. He yelled out, "I'm running late, bro! I'll just be a few minutes!" and then ran back inside. An authentic performance better than most Hollywood actors. He redressed and I continued my work putting the case-file together.

Time passed, though, and I knew we couldn't just leave Eduardo waiting. He's impatient, and I knew he'd return to the office. I asked, "Jeb! You got trash you need to take out?"

"No," he said. "I'm not taking out the trash. My wife made me last night."

"You need some trash to take out! And go apologize to Eduardo that you're running late!" He did, and Eduardo continued waiting.

Then more time passed, and it was still too early to leave. And I yelled out, "Do something! Stall him some more! I've still got shit to do on the case file!"

So Jeb ran out and took a big bag of dog food from the garage into the house, and apologized to Eduardo. "Just a couple more minutes," he promised.

Finally, our case file was ready, Jeb was dressed, and it was time to leave for the restaurant. "How do we do this, though?" I asked. I am a horrible, transparent actor. I bullshit, but not because I'm good at it. "He'll see right through me. There's no reason for me to have stayed in the house the whole time." And we were already thinking our joke had fallen apart because:
1) Eduardo is smart
2) Jeb and I, combined, are stupid
3) We'd left Eduardo waiting far longer than would be considered polite or appropriate in most situations.
4) I'm incredibly impatient with others, and myself would have already left about 30 minutes before.

But then, I just marched out into the driveway with an extremely pissed look on my face and marched right up to Eduardo--sullen, stoic. "All fucking morning he takes. He should have been ready 45 minutes ago. Jesus Christ!" and I went and opened up my car. "I'm starting my car. Get in." Demanding, rude, pissed--basically, an attitude that said, "Don't ask, asshole."

Jeb came running out of his house dragging his briefcase behind him. He stopped halfway down his driveway and yelled, "I need my camera!" and turned around and ran back inside. Great. Why do we need a camera? Let's just TELL him it's a Goddamn surprise party. But instead, before Eduardo could ask why we even needed a camera, I started yelling at Jeb.

"God DAMN it, Jeb! We've been sitting here for 45 minutes. It's time to GO!" and I got in the car and started it angrily. Eduardo silently slipped into the back seat.

As I drove through the neighborhood, I loudly asked Jeb, "Why did it take you so long?"

"The dog was freaking out and I had to calm it down."

"You have a wife. That's what she's there for. She should have taken care of the dog," I said. Oh, how much of a bitch can I possibly be?

"My wife was taking care of the kids. She was busy with them, so I had to take care of the dog."

"Whatever," I said with this child-like, petulant wave of my hand.

We started driving east on the 210, and told Eduardo that the payer we were going to see was extremely dangerous and probably had mob connections. The payer? Jimmy Bardolucci doing business as Jimmy Marcino Storage in Claremont. My case file told him that the previous officer sent to deal with him was repeatedly harassed and intimidated by Jimmy Bardolucci. An excerpt from the bogus case history states, "Mr. Bardolucci threatened the officer with bodily harm and told him he knew where he lived. Mr. Bardolucci sent the officer pictures of the officer at grocery store." Mr. Bardolucci reported $15,000 of income on his taxes last year, yet somehow owned five pieces of property in Southern California, a Hummer H1, a Ferrari F355, a 1988 Mercedes 560SL, and a 2005 Bentley Continental GT. Freaky deaky stuff.

Eduardo started asking why we were being sent out to this. I mean, seems dangerous right? Jeb bullshitted about how it was a requirement that we go out before criminal enforcement officers are able to assist. "But these pictures from the grocery store? That's kind of...freaky. I don't know what I'd do." He went through, and talked about the cars. What's the deal with these cars? How can he own all this property and only report $15,000 per year? "This sounds kind of dangerous...right, guys?"

I claimed I wasn't scared at all. Eduardo gave this strange look, like of all people I should be the most scared.

We used the excuse that I needed coffee to stop at the restaurant where everyone from the office waited for him. We walked in and everyone yelled out, "Surprise!" Eduardo stood there, and looked behind him. He started backing away towards the door, but we had to tell him it was for him. "Uh, dude...this is for you." He looked at us, and then seemed to get it. And the case, of course, was fake. It seemed to go over well. He refused to talk to everyone for awhile, but he warmed up after a stiff drink.

Ironic, though. I'd told him to check out my blog several times. I told him, "Had you checked my blog the day before, you would have known the entire plan." He was dumbfounded.

Moral? Read my fuckin' blog if you want to know what's what.

Assisting the Victim
The victim of this surprise, Eduardo, is planning on leaving with his fiance on Sunday for their honeymoon. He did his best to keep all the details secret. They're going to Spain, and during the surprise party he admitted he's afraid she may have found out.

I gave him two possible ideas of how to throw her off:
1) Blythe Method: They pack for their vacation, and rather than heading to LAX (west), they head east. As they drive, he announces, "Our honeymoon is in Blythe!" And then he turns around. This one is less funny than the Biggest Ball of Wax Method. Now I don't know much about Blythe, but would you want to spend your honeymoon there?
2) Biggest Ball of Wax Method: They are leaving for the honeymoon in the evening on Sunday. In the morning, he needs to leave out a list of flight confirmation numbers from Orbitz.com (all fake). Next to that, he'll have a map and a small pile of tourist pamphlets. The flights will all be to towns such as Kissimmee St. Cloud, Florida; Boise, Idaho; Flint, Michigan; Dubuque, Iowa. It'll be a tour of shit-ass towns across the United States. And the map will have a line drawn from LA, to Kissimmee St. Cloud, to Boisse, to Flint, etc. so that it appears to be a Honeymoon Trip Across America. Which, in comparison to a honeymoon you thought you were getting in Spain, would be the Shittiest Honeymoon Ever--perhaps even 'anullment worthy. I call it the Biggest Ball of Wax Method, because I told him to get pamphlets of wierd tourist attractions--like the Biggest Ball of Wax, and the World's Longest Piece of Dental Floss, and shit like that. Genius.