Halloweiner

A couple days ago when Lisa, Alli, and I went to go watch Saw II, we saw a preview for the new Johnny Knoxville movie where his character pretends to be a mentally retarded person in order to compete in and win the Special Olympics. Exceedingly appalling as the movie’s premise was, the entire audience still roared with laughter as Johnny Knoxville slurred his speech or fell down a million times in the short trailer. When the preview was over, the entire room buzzed with amusement and anticipation.

Turning to Lisa, I said, “That’s a great idea. Instead of being Spider-man, I should be a mentally retarded person for the Halloween party tonight.”

My Spider-man outfit was purchased about a couple weeks ago and I was so proud of it that I wore the suit all day and night for several days. I would wear it under my clothes to every class. People would notice parts of my costume peeking out of my button down shirts and look at me funny, and I would respond by pretending I was shooting spiderwebs out of my wrists at them and making the sound effect “thwip!” with my mouth.

They looked away EVERY time I did that.

And in my living room every day after class, I would play Missy Elliott’s Lose Control (featuring Ciara and Fatman Scoop) on my computer and breakdance to it in my costume.

Indeed I loved my costume with every ounce of my being, but the problem was it wasn’t edgy or silly enough. Because, at every costume party, there will always be a huge crowd surrounding the guy who decided to dress up as the Pope. For every person daring enough to go as George Bush, there will be a pair of clever Hispanic twins dressed up as a couple of hairy testicles. And I just can’t have that. I can’t be second place.

I needed to have the most outrageous costume.

Sticking my tongue out the side of my mouth and thumping my chest with my hand like I had cerebral palsy, I said, “What do you think? Think I can pull it off? I watched Life Goes On as a kid allll the time.”

Lisa shook her head at me, not laughing at all, and she said, “Pete, that’s horrible. Don’t do that.”

I looked over at Alli and asked her what she thought of my idea and Alli said, “Yeah, just be careful not to get your ass kicked tonight. There’s bound to be a couple sensitive football players at the party with retarded little brothers.”

So that’s why I went with Plan B: stuffing socks in my underwear to enhance the bulge I had in my Spidey suit. It still didn’t beat out the Pope, but drawing a couple stares from impressed women and awe-struck men never hurts.