The 20 Most Hilarious Pranks in History

In 1698, invitations were reportedly sent out for an annual lion-washing ceremony at the Tower of London—which sounds official enough to warrant putting on your best shoes. The joke is that there was no such ceremony, and everyone who showed up had to leave their dignity at the door, with no lions to wash. 

In 1810, Theodore Hook reportedly sent out a flood of letters summoning shopkeepers, deliverymen, and dignitaries to a London address, turning the street into a slow-moving traffic jam of bewildered professionals. What makes this prank particularly cruel and funny is the fact that invitations carefully prepared over several days culminated in a morning when the entire city seemed to gather at the same door.

In 1835, a New York newspaper published a series of articles claiming that life had been discovered on the Moon, complete with fabricated details and an air of borrowed scientific authority. The hoax worked because it resembled the kind of exciting discovery people wanted to believe in, and the newspaper later admitted that the whole thing had been fabricated.

In 1869, workers digging a well in upstate New York “discovered” a three-meter-tall petrified man, and the public treated it as a miracle that came with an admission fee. The story became increasingly absurd as copycats and showmen multiplied, including a rival version promoted by P. T. Barnum, because nothing beats integrity like a dispute over who owns the real fake giant.

In 1917, two cousins from Yorkshire produced photographs that appeared to show fairies, using cutouts and a poker face, and this prank became a cultural obsession. The most absurd thing is how long this obsession lasted, with believers and skeptics debating the issue for decades before the women admitted, years later, that it had been nothing more than a prank from the start. 

In 1910, a group led by Horace de Vere Cole convinced the Royal Navy to organize a ceremonial visit by the HMS Dreadnought to a fake delegation from the Abyssinian royal family. This prank was elaborate and theatrical, but it was also marred by the racist costumes of the time, which contrasts with the very modern idea of embarrassing a powerful institution simply by acting with confidence.

On April 1, 1984, a post appeared on Usenet claiming that the Soviet Union had joined the network via a fictional site called Kremvax. The prank worked very well because it played directly on Cold War assumptions and because the early Internet communities were serious enough to get excited about it before realizing it was a joke. 

In 1957, the BBC aired a serious news report showing spaghetti being harvested from trees in Switzerland, presented as a regular news story. Viewers called in to ask how to grow their own spaghetti—which is both hilarious and strangely understandable when a trusted broadcaster calmly reports on pasta farming. 

In 1962, Sweden’s only television network aired a report claiming that viewers could turn their black-and-white TVs into color ones by stretching a nylon stocking over the screen. The mental image is perfect: in living rooms across the country, people rummage through their drawers, then squint to see the result, as if the problem were due to their own technique. 

In 1980, the BBC’s international service announced that Big Ben was going to be fitted with a digital display, and listeners reacted as if someone had threatened a member of their family. The prank worked because it struck a nerve—that particular outrage reserved for the “modernization” of something that no one had asked to be modernized. 

In 1977, The Guardian published a lavish travel article about a fictional archipelago called San Serriffe, with details designed to appear real at first glance. Readers called the newspaper to ask for more information—the ideal outcome for any prank that required so many editors to keep a straight face at the same time. 

In 1995, marketing experts announced that Polo lollipops would no longer have a hole in them due to an alleged European regulation—exactly the kind of bureaucratic absurdity that people might believe to be true. The joke worked because it was precise, annoying, and plausibly official—the three ingredients that make a fake rule believable. 

In 1996, Taco Bell ran newspaper ads claiming it had purchased the Liberty Bell to help reduce the national debt and had renamed it accordingly. The prank was so convincing that thousands of people reportedly called Taco Bell and the National Park Service—a reminder that corporate absurdity is never far from reality. 

In 1998, Burger King aired a commercial for a “left-handed Whopper,” supposedly designed for left-handed customers, as if rotating the condiments were a public service. The funniest part is imagining the employees dealing with requests from people who were genuinely ready to order one—because the world is infinitely kind to absurdities. 

In 1985, Sports Illustrated published George Plimpton’s story about a mysterious, promising Mets pitcher capable of throwing a fastball at 270 km/h, accompanied by a carefully crafted narrative. It was written with such conviction that many readers fell for it—which is what happens when a hoax taps into the public’s desire for a miracle. 

In 2004, pranksters posing as a group of Harvard fans handed out signs for a coordinated cheer, and when the Harvard fans held them up, the message turned out to be a self-deprecating joke. It’s funny because it’s simple, it’s public, and it turns the school spirit choreography into a trap that only makes sense once the mischief has been done. 

In 1987, Caltech students altered the Hollywood sign to read “Caltech”—an act that is both petty and strangely wholesome, like graffiti created by people who also keep lab notebooks. The charm lies in the effort involved: hauling equipment up a hill in the dark, all for the academic pleasure of making a historic landmark spell out the name of your school. 

In 1994, MIT students placed what looked like a campus police car on top of the Great Dome, complete with all the details needed to make the illusion believable. This prank has become legendary because it required engineering skills, discretion, and a level of dedication that likely kept those students from sleeping all week long. 

On January 1, 1976, the Hollywood sign was altered to read “Hollyweed” as part of a publicity stunt tied to changing marijuana laws and a certain California sense of timing. The message is childish in the best sense of the word, the execution is bold, and the fact that it was revived in subsequent years shows just how much a good, silly joke can stick in people’s minds. 

In 1991, Soviet television aired a hoax interview in which Sergey Kuryokhin, posing as a serious researcher, “proved” that Vladimir Lenin had turned into a mushroom through a series of fallacious arguments. This prank had an impact because it so effectively mimicked the tone of authority that some viewers would have taken it seriously—which is both funny and a little disconcerting.