Truesday: Wednesday Halloween Sheeeeeeet

But this year, your mom’s all “damnit kid, you got no insurance so don’t get your face broked up again!” So you’ll have to wait a couple of years, probably until you quit Thundercloud and get a 'real job' with health benefits before you can go get hit in the eyes with bats for fun. At least wait until you move out of the garage so you don’t have to hear her raggin’ about it again.

Along the same lines, you’ll be wanting to hide your face in order to avoid stimulating some of those same party-goers’ face-punching instincts from last year. Even though the reconstructive surgery was far from a successful reproduction, and your nose barely looks human, something will need to be covering your entire head or you’ll be running the risk of needing to get another set of teeth made.

You’re also strapped for time. Tonight’s when it all goes down. You’ve got no wiggle room here. You must “make do” with what you’ve got. And by that, I am referring to:

A sheet.

Hey, even the homeless have sheets, so don’t act like you’ll have to improvise on this improvisational technique.

Plan 1: WOOK.

Let’s face it, no one hates a well-intentioned Wookie. It’s simply not possible. They’re big and friendly-ish with a sweetly conditioned, feathered look which compliments that quaint Bigfoot-aloofness everyone always raves about. An added bonus is that you can just wail out some really loud nonsense every now and again, attributing it to character. Maybe even take it a step further and brazenly crap in someone’s back yard.

Wait, do Wookies process food the same way we do? Single stomach - single exhaust system? Are there Wookie toilets? Ehhhh- what about the wipe, with all that godawful hair in the area? Why am I asking about Wooks as if they actually exist?

I recommend a brown sheet, because that’s what most of us recognize as the standard Wookie hair tone, so hopefully it would cut down on any potentially damaging confusion (as in: “dude, get me the face-hitting bat from last Halloween, stat. There’s some asshole dressed like a tree stump who’s yelling like a stroke victim and taking a shit on your patio.”) But a friend of mine, admittedly operating under the multi-tonned weight of some strong chemicals, once posited that there are/were indeed blond Wooks out there (he labeled them “albino”, but then refused to commit to their eyes being particularly sensitive to light, so I’m not sure that this particular Earth-mammal phenom is applicable in the world of the Wook). Regardless of fur color, it’s that railroad-track bullet-belt he’s got slung up over his shoulder that makes Chewbacca the patio-crapping icon he is today. It should be the anchor of your design. Your power element.

But you’ll still have to explain to some people the identity of your disguise after hearing “are you supposed to be a Mr. Hanky wrapped in a twist-tie?”. For the eleventy-ith time.

Plan 2: FINGER.

Yeah, yeah, yeah. It could easily be construed as something else less innocuous, especially if you pick a pink sheet.

Or a brown sheet.

Or a slightly purplish-sheet.

Really, you aren’t going to be able to get around a few clowns pointing out how a sheet draped over a person resembles in some fashion, at least in shadow, a man’s… finger.

Maybe a toe.

Regardless, you aren’t trying to win the “most awesome non-phallic costume!” contest anyway. You’re simply trying to get out there, have some fun, and keep a shred of dignified anonymity in a sea of unapologetic penii. Think of all those other guys out there, sporting shithead beards, girls’s jeans, and aviator sunglasses at the bar, wearing no disguise whatsoever. Those guys look like dicks all the time and they appear no worse for bad wear. Don’t snub your chance to pull off the same cultural hoax, but in more blatant form.

As a finger.

Just make sure you draw a FINGER NAIL at the tip (where your face will be) instead of a penis tip. I know you’ll be tempted, because you’ve got another idea where you’ll convince two other friends to wear fuzzy sweaters and curl up next to you like little testicles. But that’s really not very classy. Not at all classy like the Wook-poops-on-patio plan. Mmmkay, dickhead?

Plan 3: BOMB POP.

Oh SNAP! It’s like we’re dirty little suburghetto kids playing with matches in the street again! You hear the Ice Cream Man? Around the corner, you say? Maybe up the block, or perhaps fifteen miles away? Stop trying to set that dead cat on fire and LET’S GO!

Hopping fences, kicking rabid dogs out the way, telling your other friends how you’ll totally pay one of them back once you figure out where your mom’s hiding her money nowadays. You search with your ear to the wind, trying to triangulate that damned Ice Cream Man by tracking his maddeningly repetitive tune, like a sailor drawn to the craggy shores by the mermaids’ siren song… and after climbing up upon a stranger’s home for a better view, The Man is quickly located doing lazy donuts around the bulb of a cul-de-sac a few blocks away. Over where they sell the meth.

Of course.

You get there with your friends, just before The Man starts turning tricks to get where he needs to be. Those stickers, all on the side of the van, peeling away like so many little fading cartoon dreams, they become an all-encompassing work of art which your mind races to fathom. The once-bright colors. The bleached-happy faces. The marketing genius of it all.

But all you can afford, even with your friend’s money, is a patriot-painted dick-lookin’ bomb pop. Damnit! Why does that Ghost Bar with the bubblegum eyeballs have to be two friggin’ bucks?!! Who’s got that kind of cash, man? Do people write checks for this shit or what?

Well now’s your opportunity to sport the Bomb Pop look with pride. Do it for your half-rate childhood. For those dreams that peeled off so many Ice Cream Man Vans. Wear it like you mean it. Like you’re NOT the popsicle of last resort. Like you’re the prize everyone’s actually eyeing. Then ask strangers to suck you, as that should be fun.

Plan 4: THE GHOST OF FUN TIMES WITH LOOSE MORALITY.

BOO! Boo. The stool is more metaphoric than anything, really.

Be safe and such this Halloween, y’all.