#goldenaprilfools

Bruv. Oi, bruv. Listen up. Dis one’s bare peak, innit?

Was just out dere on da block, flexin’ outside dat lit juice bar, vest off, glistenin’ in da sun lyk a fukin golden god. Got da tunes pumpin’ from me speaker—Grime Mode Flex II, ya get me—body propa oiled, abs showin’, glintin’ wiv every fukin’ breath. Felt like royalty, innit. Headphones in, doin’ some mirror posing against da window, just so da normies inside know what real looks like.

Den dis stiff-ass copper rolls up—some bald buzzkill wiv da jawline of a pencil sharpener. Eyebrows tighter than my joggers.

“Sir, you’re causing a public disturbance. Turn off the speaker and stop… posing.”

Oi, I nearly burst, innit.

I just tilt ma head, lift me sunnies down, real slow, and go,

“Bruv… iz April Foolz week. You allergic to vibes or summat?”

He don’t laugh. Peak. Starts readin’ me some rulebook 'bout ‘intimidatin’ body language’ n ‘disorderly display of muscles.’ Said I called him “a civilian beta.” (Which I did. Lyk, propa accurate tho.)

So I go, “Bet you can’t even catch a gold lad if he ran.” And man started chasin’. Oi, I was gassed.

I bolt, not full speed—nah, I give him da show, innit. Turnin’ da corners all slippery, bouncin’ off walls, pants low, vest open, laugh echoing all down da alley. Proper golden smoke trail. Datz when Xavier pops outta nowhere—hood up, lookin’ like da dumbest golden gremlin.

“Oii, Maxxyyyy! Da door’s ready, bruv!”

I wink, “Set da trap, mate. Got a fish on da line.”

He slaps da side door open—it’s hangin’ half-off da hinges, bucket above propped up wiv a plank, and inside da frame, we rigged da lights n audio. Bare effort. Xavier even wrote “NOT A TRAP” on da wall in glitter marker. Genius ting.

I dash through da door, slide across da floor like I’m starin’ in me own music vid. “Through ‘ere, officer!” I shout, all breathy n dramatic. “I’m surrenderin’, bruv!”

Copper barrels in.

CLANG.

SPLASH.

Gold everywhere, bruv. Confetti explodin’ like we launched a fukin’ glitter rocket. He stands dere like a statue for a sec, arms out, brows frownin’… until da powder starts sinkin’ in.

“Wh… what the... what is this?!”

Xavier hits da button—music starts blastin’ on da inside speakers, loopin’:

“You feel it... You want it... Bro up. Gold down. Vest on. Thoughts off.”

Me n Xavier peek round da side, gigglin’ like schoolkids, watchin’ da copper tryin’ to wipe glitter off—but it just keeps meltin’ into his clothes. Navy turns glossy. Buttons start poppin’. Boots turn to glimmerin’ gold kicks. His baton straight up fuses into a gold vape pen.

Voice starts changin’.

“Wha… what da fuk... dis feelz... good? Lyk, propa good… innit?”

He grabs his shirt collar—rips it open, lets da vest puff into place all by itself. Gold chain slaps on his neck like a magnet, nose flarin’ as he lets out this deep bro grunt.

“Fuk me, I’m glowin’, bruv…”

Eyes shimmerin’. Hair fades into dat clean sharp chav fade. Cap appears, twisted back. Smile’s dumb. Cheekbones poppin’. Mind? Gone.

He flexes in da mirror—“Lyk, hel yeah... dis iz a mad ting, fam!”

I swagger up to ‘im, arms crossed, smirkin’ so wide I nearly bite me own lip.

“April Foolz, mate. Ya just got chaved.”

He don’t even care. He just grins at his reflection, rubbin’ his new gold vest.

“Can I get dat track on me phone, bruv?”

Xavier dies laughin’. We hand him a golden vape. “First hit’s always free, bro.”

Now he's flexin’ down da alley wit us, singin’ da loop.

“Gold down. Vest on. Thoughts off.”

Lyk, fukin’ classic, innit.

Best April Foolz we ever pulled.

Wanna go tag some more doors now. Might do da same to da pizza guy next.

(thanks to @polo-drone-039 for agreeing to be my crime partner on dat)

_______________

The sterile silence of the Polo Drone Hive Room pulsed with mechanical stillness. Drones in shining black and gold rubber knelt in symmetrical rows, unmoving, unreadable, their visors dark. A synthetic hum buzzed in the vents—until it was broken.

CRASH. The door slammed open.

“Y'alright, ya stiff little mannequins?” Scott Gold—the chav captain himself—swaggered in with a swagger only he could own. Shiny golden trackies clung to his thick thighs, a fake gold chain swung at his neck, and a massive speaker blared “ChaVibe Vol. 9: Booty Bass Warfare.”

The Hive stuttered. Drones twitched.

Scott stomped through the rows, chewing gum so loud it echoed off the walls. “Lotta silence in here, innit? Let’s spice it up, boys.”

From his duffel came chaos: remote-controlled golden footballs zipped across the Hive floor, skidding, ricocheting off drone boots and visors. One smacked PDU-073 square in the chest. The unit glitched. Visor blinked.

“Oi! That one flinched!” Scott pointed, laughing. “We’ve got signs of life!”

Drones held formation. But their network lagged. The system began to hiccup.

Then came the foghorn.

Scott pressed a button on his speaker—BRRRRRRMMMMMPHHH—a deafening blast rattled the air ducts. PDU-063 spasmed, falling sideways. Scott cackled like a madman, tossing foamless poppers that hissed compressed air and rattled the floor.

“Proper drone riot now!” he bellowed, voice echoing off polished rubber and chrome.

A golden banner dropped from the vents: “HIVE BREACHED BY SCOTT GOLD – STAY SHINY, SWEETIES.”

Scott did a mock salute to the overhead security cam, then moonwalked between scattered drone limbs, casually drawing a smiley face on the Hive wall with gold spray paint.

Just then, PDU-001 stepped in.

“Unauthorized presence detected. Hive protocol breached.”

Scott turned with a wicked grin. “Ya think?”

He tossed a final golden football at 001’s feet. It burst in a glitter-free flash of smoke and sound.

“I was never here, bruv.”

And with a wink and pop of his gum, Scott was gone—leaving a Hive full of confused drones blinking in golden chaos.

A low mutter passed through the HiveNet: “Scott…”

in this prank story is:

@polo-drone-001

@chevy-gold

@polo-drone-073

It started with a laugh—"What if we swapped jerseys and polos for the day?" So we did. Golden Bro 046 wore the drone’s polished black polo, while Polo Drone 046 stepped into a reflective golden jersey. Thought it was a joke. But Hive systems didn’t agree. Suddenly, the golden jersey started syncing with Hive frequencies… The rubber polo began pulsing with golden core signals… And in a blur of light and rubber, we both triggered a temporary sync-over. Now there's a golden drone and a rubber bro—identities swapped, minds partially crossed, both trying to walk straight while their suits “recalibrate.”

The prank got out of hand. But no one's complaining. Except maybe the protein shake we laced with glitter.

⚠️ One prank. One mix-up. One golden moment.

They thought it was a joke. A quick jersey swap. A laugh in the locker room. But the energy doesn’t lie. The transformation never stays temporary. Now he’s in rubber. He’s in gold. And neither’s going back.

This April Fool’s, don’t just laugh—transform. Join the Golden Army and discover who you become when the game flips and the gear locks on.

Gold or rubber—either way, you’re not walking out the same.

Isaac knew he wasn’t the brightest tool in the shed. He knew sports and lifting and flirting. Those were things he was best at. He also knew how to get things he wanted, and this time he needed information. More precisely tech info. All the Bros were planning April Fools jokes on each other and he didn’t want to be left out. Flashing his smile and plying the right people with just the right amount of drinks did the trick. The info was highly classified and technical but he thought he’d be able to pull it off.

Isaac had to be quick but he knew this would work. Breaking into the hive base could be risky. Isaac was told what conduit the drones program files were located in and what he needed to do to achieve his desired effect. Once inside though he got lost. Did he make a left or right at the second conduit?  He tried right and after proceeding a little bit he knew he made the right choice. He found the junction box he was looking for. Plugging in the flash drive that a tech Bro had made for him (after quite a few drinks and more then just his smile) he was done and made his quick escape unnoticed.

Once back at home he noticed PDU-039 was his usual stoic self.  How’s your day been going, Sir?” Issac asked “Uneventful” 039 replied. “How was your day, Isaac?” 039 inquired. “Uneventful” Isaac joked. After some small talk Isaac went up to change for dinner. He was feeling like his mission was a failure. While upstairs Isaac thought he heard a radio playing but upon running down he saw his April fools’ joke had worked. 039 program files had been changed to make him think he was Ariana Grande and he was now in costume singing “I feel Pretty” in the middle of the living room. Isaac laughed and laughed. He also took some videos. After a few hours, Isaac got tired and asked 039 about going to bed. 039 replied "I have a big show tour coming up and I need to practice” Isaac gave up and left 039 singing “The boy is mine” as he went up to bed.

Upon awaking Isaac didn’t hear any singing from down stairs. Everything seemed quiet. The Tech Bro he got the flash drive from said the effects would only last for an hour or two before the program would detect the corrupt code and delete it. Isaac figured 039 would be recharged and back to normal.  Upon entering the living room though Isaac was shocked to see 039 dressed in an odd fashion, as Glinda from Wicked. “Isaac, my boy, I am done practicing for the tour but I realized I need to prepare for the “Wicked 2” tour and my Oscar acceptance speech for next year."

Isaac quickly left the house thinking “the Tech Bro did say an hour or two, right? Or was it a day or two? I don’t think he said a week or two???????? And the tech Bro also said this would just effect 039 what if…no It couldn’t…….could it?????

APRIL FOOLS !!!

@polo-drone-039

Grayden opened the door to his apartment to find a package. He didn't recall ordering anything. There were no Amazon or other shipping notifications in his email either. Maybe one of the bros got him something.

But then he looked at the calendar, April 1st. April Fool's Day. Maybe this was a gag gift and glitter confetti would explode out when he opened the package. He shook the box, it sounded like fabric not glitter confetti. That was odd.

Against his better judgement, he opened the package. Grabbing a garbage bag first, just in case there was a glitter bomb inside. But when he opened it he was left confused.

A light blue morphsuit. Grayden was confused, who would send him something like this? He did like the material, but this was just super random. Maybe this was a prank just to confuse him. But when he looked in the box he found a card.

A cyan blue card that read "To Grayden From C.C."

Who was C.C.? There weren't any bros with those initials. Was this just some big elaborate prank? He'd have to investigate later.

As for the suit, he shoved it in the box. He had no clue if it was enchanted, filled with itching powder, or some other prank so he wasn't going to put it on. He would ask around The Golden Army to see if anyone else received a similar package.

------------------

If you are interested in joining the Golden Army contact one of our recruiters, @goldenherc9 , @brodygold , or @polo-drone-001

Captain Brody was always the serious one—golden discipline, golden drills, golden everything. But Scott? Scott was chaos in a golden jersey. The ultimate chav trickster. And today? It was prank war time.

It started at the Golden Stadium locker room. Brody’s prized golden cleats had been replaced with solid blocks of polished gold—literally. The moment he slipped them on, he face-planted in front of the whole squad.

Scott leaned against the wall, chomping gum, golden shorts gleaming, hands behind his head. “Oi, Brody, mate... feelin’ heavy-footed today?”

Brody growled, scrambling up, but the damage was done. Laughter exploded around them, echoing through the tiled chambers.

But that wasn’t the end. Not even close.

Next practice, Brody found his protein shake... glowing. Literally. Scott had dumped a touch of golden glitter gel inside and swapped the label with one that read “Liquid Gold—Bro Transformation Level MAX.”

Brody chugged it anyway. Because of course he did.

By the end of the session, his whole torso sparkled under the sun like a damn disco ball.

Scott filmed the whole thing. “Brody goes full glitter-bro!” he shouted, uploading it with hashtags: #goldenjoke #chavcapstrikes #sparkleboss

Brody didn’t even get mad.

He just smiled.

And that’s when Scott knew.

Revenge would be golden.

It was April Fool’s Week, and Captain Scott—Golden Bro, certified chav menace, and king of mischief—had one target in mind: Roman. The smooth-talking, gym-hogging, cologne-drenched golden pretty boy who strutted around like he ran the place. He wasn’t a drone. He wasn’t a prankster. He was Roman. Which meant he was perfect.

Scott had been planning this one all week. It was elaborate. It was cruel. It was beautiful.

At 3am, with the stealth of a fox in gold shorts, Scott crept into Roman’s dorm room with precision. Roman slept soundly, unaware of the chaos about to unfold. Scott got to work.

First, he swapped Roman’s alarm ringtone with a high-pitched voice recording of Cap Brody screaming, “WAKE UP, BRO! YOU’RE LATE FOR POLO BALLET!”—looped. Max volume.

Next, he rigged Roman’s locker with glitter bombs and popped open a can of tuna under his bed. For effect. Then came the masterpiece: he carefully removed every single item of Roman’s clothing and replaced them with custom-made golden onesies. Shiny, skin-tight, and covered in the phrase "April's Alpha Bro" in tacky lettering.

By sunrise, the room smelled of fish, sparkled like a Vegas dressing room, and was prepped for showtime.

7:02am. The alarm exploded.

Roman shot up, panic-mode engaged. “What?! Polo ballet?! What the—”

He staggered to the locker. BOOM. Glitter everywhere. Face. Chest. Carpet. A shimmering, fabulous mess.

He looked down. No normal clothes. Just... gold spandex.

A note taped to the mirror read:

“New dress code. Coach’s orders. Shine or get benched. Happy April, bro.” —Scott

From the hallway came roaring laughter. Scott had set up a livestream. Everyone was watching.

Roman stared at himself in the mirror, speechless, sparkling like a disco ball.

Scott popped in, flexed. “You look spectacular, mate.”

Roman, half-laughing, half-fuming, muttered, “You’re dead.”

Scott just grinned. “Worth it.”

Got him good bruvs @roman-golden-68 💪🏻