As you can see, I am keeping it classy this Halloween. This year’s costume is fictional Chippendale’s dancer Beef Swellington, a.k.a. Magic Ike. I wear silly costumes every year partially because I love to make people laugh, but mostly because I spent many a childhood Halloween in cheap drug store costumes. These costumes consisted of little more than a thin plastic mask with two eye holes, two tiny breathing holes near the nostrils and a slit near the mouth, accompanied by a plastic smock printed to look like your favorite super hero’s costume. I affectionately remember them as “Suffocation Specials.” As a result, I take great pains to be creative this time of year. For example, check out the detail in my Tom Selleck, Ravishing Rick Rude-like ’stache:
When I was in 8th grade my Mom went all-out and splurged on a cool Halloween costume for me for once. She bought me this skull mask that partially stuck to your skin like prosthetic make-up. I looked sinister, which was exactly what I wanted at that age on All Hallow’s Eve. My makeup looked like it was styled by the Devil himself. I also wore an all-black outfit with a cape and a black leather whip they surprisingly had for sale in the same toy store where the skull makeup was. Nowadays, that getup would make me look like some kind of fetish freak in somebody’s cult. Back then however, it was cutting edge.
I rounded up my friends that evening and went trick or treating, scaring little children by accident since the skull makeup looked so real. Once we’d made it through the neighborhood and once I’d grown tired of people’s parents touching my face makeup and subsequently advising me to go to Church and get my life together, my friends and I started on our way back to our block. We were greeted by the stench of rotten eggs and the sounds of older teenagers from the football team laughing and talking in the distance. All at once, they descended upon us, and we began to panic.
I saw some of the adolescent horde reaching into their bags, and one of them was almost within arm’s reach of me. We were all about to get hit with rotten eggs, so I felt like I had to do something. It was now or never. As the closest one moved forward, I pulled out my trusty toy store whip and went Indiana Jones on his ass. I caught him pretty good across his arms and legs a few times before he could get away from me. As soon as he ran, I ran in the opposite direction and the rest of my group scattered.
I don’t know if any of my friends got hit by eggs, but I made it home safely. The best part of the story was that I saw the guy whom I’d whipped the very next day at the 7-11, but he did not recognize me thanks to my skull makeup. I looked at the welt on his forearm and felt a sense of pride, for I had rescued my friends from the horde of evil upperclassmen and lived to tell the tale!