Nacho Steve


We’ve all got that friend, the practical joker. You however don’t have that friend if you ARE him. This is me. My life as a practical joker life is a playground. Yes, Theresa’s Oreo DOES look like it could embrace a small beetle in between its deliciously crisp wafers without her noticing. I bet those jelly donuts would travel at least 600 feet if we use this industrial strength water balloon launcher. Prank after prank after prank.

Now there are those that don’t necessarily enjoy the hijinks. I’m pretty sure this group is more closely related to robots or microwaves than actual Homo sapiens. And then we come to the rest of the population.  This large majority loves a good practical joke but only to a point. Once a certain threshold is crossed we see two behaviors. One: An explosion of indignation that could power the average American’s house for a calendar year. Two: An attempt at one upping said practical joker so thoroughly that he or she will never consider them as a target again.

This is where we meet Steve. I should give you some background on Steve. I was roommates with Steve in college. He’s a pretty straight laced guy. He likes short walks from his drive way to his supercomputer chair and really big paychecks for doing work on the internet that I’ve long stopped trying to understand. He’s got a goatee that is at least 5 years old and a penchant for chocolate milkshakes that sometimes scares the casual passerby. Mainly, Steve is a man of habit. This makes him an easy target, a hilarious target.

It all started with a missing eyebrow. Shaved in his sleep and left for him to gently inhale over the course of the night. He sucked those bad boys down. He’s a mouth breather. Not only that but he had a massive internet project due the next day that he hadn’t started on. I knew he would wake up and immediately sit down at his computer. I waited 4 hours for the sound of victory. On his third bathroom break he finally looked in the mirror and shrieked like a 12 year old girl at Justin Beiber’s album signing session in a suburban Barnes and Noble. I put chocolate Exlax in his daily chocolate milkshake for a week. He lost 5 pounds. But the one that broke him was when I bought a rooster and placed in the far corner of his room as he was sleeping. It took him thirty minutes and a fishing net to get that early morning squawker out of his apartment.

 Steve wasn’t playing games anymore. The years of finding me doubled over on the floor in laughter after something strange and often uncomfortable had happened to him finally accumulated to an unbearable point. He was out for blood.  

I invited him and his wife Charlene along with some other friends over to watch our college whip up on it’s rival school in football. The game was late afternoon so I told them my wife and I would prepare nachos.

Steve saw his opportunity for retribution. A day before the shindig when my wife and I were away at work, Steve struck. He knew where we stashed our spare key and made his way into the house and up to the attic with a 10 gallon container and some fire sprinklers. You see Steve is somewhat of a Renaissance man and knows how to do almost anything including plumbing. To make a long story short, Steve rigged a sprinkler system INSIDE our living room. He had a timer set so that as we sat down for the game the sprinklers would go off and 10 gallons of water would be released on our living room. And if he timed it right he would be in the kitchen getting a beer far away from the deluge. With no regard for our belongings, our guests, or our feelings Steve weaved his web of destruction. He was LITERALLY going to make it rain. If I had known I would have been proud.

The day came and there stood Steve smiling like a lunatic with Charlene on my doorstep. Oblivious, I welcomed them in and instantly started talking football with Steve. Kickoff was close and we were both excited (albeit for different reasons). And then Steve noticed two things: the brand spanking new television and the nachos. The television was a beauty I had bought it precisely for this game. It shone in the light, shiny and sleek. And then he saw the nachos. You have to understand these weren’t your average run of the mill nachos. Think four full sized baking sheets COVERED in nachos of varying types. We’re talking the barbeque chicken nachos covered in jalapenos and chicken slathered in barbeque sauce. Seafood nachos with shrimp and crab meat piled high. Veggie nachos with more vegetables than the entire cast of Veggie Tales and salsa heaped on top. Classic nachos finished out the group. If Steve loves anything he loves nachos. His love for chocolate milkshakes pales in comparison to his undying affection for nachos.

Steve seized up like a fainting goat in a haunted house. He turned as white as a sheet and made a noise that sounded like his windpipe had closed to the size of Abraham Lincoln’s nostril on the penny. Following that strange high pitched wheeze he quickly excused himself to the bathroom. But he didn’t go to the bathroom. He went to the attic. To get to the actual ceiling of our living room he had to step off of the attic floor out about 10 feet. He did this slowly balancing on a support that ran the length of the ceiling. Between each support there is two to three feet of space. You do not want to step on this space. It’s not meant to support weight. So here’s Steve racing against time and his awful sense of balance.

Downstairs is an excited group of people imbibing their favorite beverages anxiously awaiting kickoff and for the nachos to cool off. Upstairs Steve is sweating through his jeans and cursing his inner ear as he shuffles down the wooden support like an Oompa Loompa in leg shackles.

He’s traverses the entire distance successfully. He catches his breath and his windpipe still sounds like the faint air fart of a dog but he made it. He has two minutes until the timer goes off but he’s not going to risk it. He reaches to turn it off.

Simultaneously, I’m talking to one of my buddies downstairs. I’m looking out of the corner of my eye for Steve but he’s nowhere to be found. All of a sudden a ripping, tearing sound fills the room and a woman screams. The room is chaos. Everything is a blur. A leg hangs out of the ceiling swinging wildly. Charlene gawks. More ripping and it’s like my ceiling is giving birth to a full grown man. Charlene shoots forward. I realize that it’s not only a full grown man but a full grown Steve. More ripping and Steve is falling. Charlene is too late. Steve crashes not to the floor but to the nacho table. He body slams the quadrangle of nachos and snaps the table in two effectively knocking himself out cold. When Steve wakes up Charlene is standing over him and three people have called 911. He’s covered in salsa, cheese, and sour cream and it’s all I can do not to laugh. And then he starts to laugh and I lose it. I’m on the floor like all those times back in college.

THAT is the story of Nacho Steve and how he pulled the greatest practical joke ever…accidentally.

(photo courtesy of lldipapp/

About Will Handley

I've memorized all the lyrics to at least one full Christina Aguilera song, R&B music is amazing, and if you talk bad about superhero movies I won't do anything but I will be mad at you. Also I invented chocolate milk.

About Will Handley

I've memorized all the lyrics to at least one full Christina Aguilera song, R&B music is amazing, and if you talk bad about superhero movies I won't do anything but I will be mad at you. Also I invented chocolate milk.