Ashton Kutcher

Ashton Kutcher lives at the end of a hilly Los Angeles cul-de-sac. In the driveway, there's a Land Rover, a vintage Chevy El Camino truck and a Jet Ski. I ring the doorbell at 3 p.m. sharp on a Friday. The door opens to reveal a six-foot-three man with dark skin, dreadlocks and a white wrestling mask covering his face. This is not what I expected.

"Hi. I'm Mr. Wrestling No. 3," he says. "Come on upstairs."

I follow him into a small office, wondering whether I have the right house, looking around for hidden cameras that might be recording this scene for Punk'd. "We had a crazy, crazy party last night," says Mr. Wrestling No. 3. "There were midgets, there were some fat chicks in the pool."

Mr. Wrestling No. 3 takes a seat behind the desk, where he talks about his plans for dominating the WWE. Kutcher has said that the goal of Punk'd is to get the victims to cry or throw a punch; I decide to enjoy the ride. I ask Mr. Wrestling No. 3 what his signature move is.

"The jackknife power bong," he says.

"What are you doing?" Kutcher is standing in the doorway of the office, wearing pinstripe pants and no shirt. Apparently, this was a freelance prank.

A few minutes later, Kutcher has put on a shirt and Mr. Wrestling No. 3 has removed his mask, revealing T.J. Jefferson, Kutcher's roommate and personal assistant. There are no hidden cameras today. Kutcher tells me about a successful prank he pulled the day before in Las Vegas: He punk'd Pink, making her think that she was getting busted because her boyfriend had been running a motorcycle chop shop. "She was losing her shit," says a pleased Kutcher.

Have any of the celebrities put through the Punk'd emotional wringer sought revenge on Kutcher?

He grins."You can't bullshit a bullshitter."