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With your new credit card, you can create all manner of mischief. Like, for instance, staging a public appearance of Michael Jackson in Boston when he was living in Bahrain. Which is exactly what we did, in our greatest media hoax to date. The first step was to make reservations for Mr. Jackson at every expensive hotel in Boston: the Ritz-Carlton, Four Seasons, and Boston's most elegant hotel, the Fairmont Copley Plaza. Posing as Mr. Jackson's assistant, I booked their most expensive suites, grilling hotel managers and security staff about how they would ensure Mr. Jackson's privacy. I asked for platters of cold cuts to be waiting when he arrived. "Plenty of ham," I demanded. "Mr. Jackson requires plenty of ham." This stunt was going to cost me thousands of dollars, except I was planning on canceling all the hotel reservations before Saturday night even arrived. I just needed a plausible story for The Media, who were next on my hit list. Next, I made an anonymous call to the Boston Herald news desk, tipping off the editor that Michael Jackson would be arriving at the Copley Plaza hotel at 6:30 pm on Saturday. Calling from a filthy payphone -- someone had recently dipped the receiver in a carton of chow mein -- I called the hotline for every Boston newspaper and TV station. Then I went home and sent anonymous e-mails to all the Michael Jackson fan sites, who were thrilled to hear that the King of Pop might be making a royal visit to his home country. Satisfied that the buzz was building, I turned my attention to the most challenging task of all: pulling together the players that would be needed to pull off this caper, an Ocean's Eleven-style heist that would require over a dozen accomplices, and would ultimately make headlines across the world. It was, quite simply, our greatest prank to date. WANNA BE STARTIN' SOMETHIN' I chose my longtime collaborator Moses Blumenstiel to play the part of Michael Jackson. He looks nothing like the famous rock star, but he's a very funny improv comedian who I thought could pull it off. I had to also find trained actors for his bodyguard (Al Natanagara), the paparazzi (professional photographer Andrew Miller), the film crew (Mark Higgins and Mike Hoban), and fans (Jim Merullo, Diana Thom, and a group of volunteers from a local improv group, who were hired to work up the crowd). I even went to Kinko's and ran off fake business cards for everyone. When people get suspicious about our pranks, a business card usually reassures them: it's impossible to believe that an ordinary practical joker would take the time to draw up fake business cards. (In truth, Kinko's can turn them around in an hour.) The most difficult task was finding Michael Jackson's "son." His real-life son, Prince, is nine years old. Because a child would be unpredictable in a high-stress environment, I was forced to find the next best alternative: a live midget. IN OUR SMALL WAY I swear, it is impossible to find a midget in this town nowadays. I called talent scouts and modeling agencies, begging someone to locate a midget. Where the hell are all the midget actors when you need them? They can't be that busy. Sure, there's an occasional gig as an Oompah Loompah, maybe they need someone for the R2-D2 costume, but I can't imagine they're out auditioning for the lead in Death of a Salesman. Come on. There are only so many Morning Zoo promos you can do. After twenty or thirty phone calls, I grew so desperate that -- not a joke -- I called the Latina Talent Agency, on the off-chance they had a Mexican midget. I spoke with a lithe young man named Gerson, who assured me, through his thick accent, that they had what I needed. "Yes," he purred, "we have a small man." "How small?" I asked. Using medical charts, I had calculated Prince's approximate height. "He is very small," he assured me. "A very short man." "I need a midget," I explained. "If I just needed a short guy, I'd use myself. Do you know what a midget is?" I hated sounding like a jerk, but I wasn't sure he knew what the word meant. "Yes, yes, a midget," he repeated. "Like Tattoo." "Yes! 'The plane.'" Gerson laughed. "Yes, the plane. Si. You will like this man I have for you," he insisted. "He is 23 years old, but he looks very young." "Great," I said. "What's his name?" "His name is Hugo." TABLOID JUNKIE Everyone arrived at the studio on Saturday afternoon, and we began filming our documentary. I was delighted to see that Hugo was perfect for the part: a small man of perhaps four and a half feet, he looked like a teenager. Hugo had moved to Boston to take up acting, and this was his first gig. Hugo would have a blanket over his head throughout the caper, just like Michael Jackson's real children, so Gerson came along to serve as his "guide." I ran our crew of stunt actors through the plan. At precisely 6:30 pm, Michael Jackson would make his grand entrance through the front doors of the Fairmont Copley Plaza, Boston's flashiest hotel. Amidst the cacophony of the film crew, screaming fans, and paparazzi, Michael and his entourage would make their way into the waiting limousine. They would travel to a nearby fashion mall, where Jackson would proceed to vomit all over the window of a Victoria's Secret. The stunt worked well ... too well, in fact. |
Michael Jackson's Credit Card
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