Beware. Barak Blackburn is Pure Evil. Capital P. Capital E.

Not a tyrannical, jackboot-wearing, puppy-kicking sort of evil. Not in a scurvy-mouthed, hook-for-a-hand, parrot-on-his-shoulder, Captain Ahab way. Not even the ever-popular, spinning-head, projectile-vomiting version of evil.

No, that would be too obvious. It would make it too simple for passers-by to point at him and say to their young, impressionable children, "See that man, honey? He's a baaaad man. If he offers you candy, just say, 'No.'" His evil is more insidious, hiding behind his all-American looks and boyish charm.

Barak is a prankster.

How do I know this, you ask? Why am I sending this warning to the rest of humanity? One reason: I have been the target of too many of his personal amusements over the nine years I've known him. To recount them all would be too painful for my psyche to bear, but I will highlight three instances that still cause me to wake up sweaty and tangled in my sheets, screaming, "The horror! The horror!" Read on, dear friends, and thank the powers-that-be for these cautionary tales.

EPISODE 1: THE MAN OF STEEL

Approximately three years ago, before Barak and I came to the Mecca that is Tripod, we both worked as glorified operators at a huge health-insurance company. (It was not a fun job, but that's another issue entirely.)

At the same time, the cult television series Lois & Clark: The New Adventures of Superman was sagging in the ratings and on the verge of being cancelled. In support of the show, a large number of fans pooled together their hard-earned dough to buy a full-page advertisement in USA Today, petitioning the network to renew the series for another season. Nearly 1,000 names were printed in miniscule 10-point font beneath their ultimately fruitless plea.

Seemingly unrelated, right? Wrong. This is where Barak enters the picture.

A few days after the ad ran, I returned to my cubicle after my usual corporate-cafeteria lunch when I discovered, taped to my monitor, a sheet of paper. It was a photocopy of the Lois & Clark petition. One of the names was circled with an added notation, "Looks like someone has a secret obsession!"

Take a wild guess whose name it was.

At that moment, I heard laughing behind me. One of my coworkers was reading an identical sheet of paper. I looked around the office in desperation, already knowing what I would discover: Hundreds of copies taped to the walls, doors, and windows. Mr. Blackburn had painstakingly found the exact font and size used in the petition and planted my name amidst the others.

Years later, I still shudder at the mention of Kryptonite.

EPISODE 2: BLEEDING GREEN AND WHITE

Fast-forward two and a half years to my first week at the Pod. It was my fourth day here and I was still fumbling around at my new position in Taxonomy. Every Thursday at 2:00 p.m., the entire company gets together for a quick meeting to go over current business, introduce new employees, and address anything else that comes up.

Upon my introduction, I babbled a few things about myself and where I was from. When I was done, Tripod cofounder Bo Peabody, eyeing the hat I was wearing, noted, "I see you're a Jets fan." I nodded and looked around, well aware that New York Jets fans weren't very popular in New England. Since I didn't see anyone foaming at the mouth, I figured I was safe.

I should have known better.

As we walked back to our desks, Barak sidled up next to me and whispered, "Dude, you shouldn't have worn that hat. Bo HATES the Jets!" I immediately knew something was up, but I figured he was only trying to antagonize me. I ignored him and sauntered back to my department. When I sat down at my desk, I was informed that Bo wanted to speak with me about my attire. Mike Bronder and Mike Marcella reinforced my worries, telling me of Bo's known hatred for the Jets. I admit it, I was getting concerned.

Fortunately, before Barak could shift the prank into high gear by getting Bo to call me into his office, I looked at the calendar. It was April 1. That clinched it. I should have known the evil one would not let his favorite holiday pass without action on his part.

EPISODE 3: CAR TROUBLE

About a month ago, on my drive home from work, I was disturbed to hear a high-pitched whistling coming from my tailpipe. It was a bizarre warbling that seemed to increase as I accelerated, but tapered off when I hit a steady speed.

When it comes to hearing strange noises emanating from my car, I automatically assume the worst. It comes from experience. Most of my automotive knowledge stems from the vast array of groans, screeches, and death rattles my previous cars have made.

My current car was just two years old; I was the original owner. I couldn't believe I was already going to have to replace the entire exhaust system, a prospect I could ill afford. But in my mind, it was mere days before the tailpipe would be dragging along the pavement, throwing a wake of sparks onto the cars behind me. My options were few.

The next morning, as I commuted to work, my car produced the same annoying whine. Turning the volume of my radio up, I ignored it and kept driving.

I arrived at work and told Mike Bronder, Dave Martel, and Adam Wienert of my car troubles. I decided to bite the bullet and began searching the Yellow Pages for garages in the area. Five minutes later, Barak appeared at my desk with a wad of paper towels in his hand and a huge grin on his face. Handing me the wad, he said, "I hear you've got this whistling noise coming from your car."

I opened the paper towel. Inside was a small metal contraption which, as Barak described with maniacal glee, produces a high-pitched whistle when inserted into an exhaust pipe. "Only cost me a buck," he gloated. That only made it worse. It shouldn't be so easy.

This, my friends, is only a small sample of Barak's particular brand of evil. You might assume that I would have reaped my vengeance upon him by now. Unfortunately, that's not true. I know for a fact that any action on my part would only raise the stakes in the end.

So what can I do? I can pass my wisdom along to you. I can grin and bear it. But most of all, I can take April 1, 2000, as a vacation day.

— Pete