Thursday, October 30, 2008

Pink Floyd 'Echoes: The Best Of Pink Floyd'

I’ve never really been into Halloween. I’ve always loved horror movies and monsters, but I have never gotten a kick out of dressing up and parading around. I’m also not a big fan of holidays where every Jacques off in the world ventures into my domain, gets hammered, loud, and downright annoying. In other words, I’m not a big fan of “amateur nights”.

I’m planning on attending a Halloween party tomorrow night with my friend Christine. I’m not sure what to expect, but I know that I’m not going to dress up for it. I’ll just tell people that I’m dressed as a spy (I’ve been wearing the spy costume for years). A spy’s job is to blend in and look like everyone else. Looking like Batman or Dorothy with stubble would attract attention.

Let me take you back to the last time I got dressed up for Halloween…

My girlfriend, Brad K., my sister, and various others were visiting a friend that lived in Friendly Hills (apartment complex). She was having a Halloween party and we were all pouring booze down our throats like Otis Campbell on Earth Day.

I spent an hour or so painting my girlfriend up like Paul Stanley. It wasn’t a dead-on costume, but she came to me last minute and I worked with what I had. As I recall, it turned out really good.

Brad K. had the most inventive costume… He wore a blazer with elbow patches and taped a bandage over his left ear. Around his neck, he wore a cardboard sign that read “Paintings for Sale - Impressionists need not bother” along with a collection of credit card logos pasted at the bottom. A cask of wine prop provided the final touch. Brad K. was Van Gogh.

I put my costume together at the last minute too. I had a favorite old shirt that just got ripped. I had a helluva an idea… I ripped up the shirt, affixed a plastic knife to the back, bloodied up the shirt and myself with fake blood, and went as Leno LaBianca. He was a victim of the Manson Family.

The party started getting a little intense when the hostess’ boyfriend started getting his amateur drunk on. He was getting belligerent and confrontational, so we left. It didn’t help that he was the jealous type and believed that every guy in their apartment wanted to bang his girlfriend.

It didn’t take us long to find the next party. The nearby frat house that was across the street from the Spring Garden Brewpub (no longer there - it’s where the back parking lot of Chick-fil-a is now) had a house and yard full of costumed party goers. We just walked in and crashed that joker. Since everyone was all pretty much drunk, we blended right in.

I ran into Charlie Manson there and we exchanged pleasantries. And there was another member of KISS in attendance. Gene Simmons was in the yard!

Everyone sort of went their separate ways, but a little later into the evening… Brad K. came up to me and said, “I think Gene is putting the moves on Paul.”

I looked over and saw something that no KISS fan ever wanted to see… Gene Simmons kissing Paul Stanley!

It was a hideous sight! Not because my girlfriend was being accosted by some joker and she wasn’t fighting it, but because it looked like two members of my favorite rock band KISS had gotten to first base and were rounding second.

I went over to them, tapped on her shoulder, and told her that it was time to “Move On” (a song from Paul Stanley’s 1978 solo album).

“I’m sorry, Eugene! I’m so sorry!” she said as she stumbled around like a toddler on NyQuil.

I told her that everything was okay. I knew she was drunk and I also added that I would get a chance to make out with her friend once she passed out. Making out with her friend would make everything fine. I also thanked her for burning an image into my mind that will remain with me to the grave.

We left the party in the wee hours and my girlfriend wanted something to eat. The only place open at that hour was the Krispy-Kreme on Battleground so we stopped there. We grabbed doughnuts and soft drinks to go, but nothing was sobering up my in-again and out-again girlfriend as we drove around.

It was time to take her home, carry her inside, and face the wrath of her my girlfriend’s sister.

I parked the car, walked around to the other side so I could pull my girlfriend out, and what do you think happened next?

That’s right! Her friend stopped me and the next thing I knew, her tongue was down my throat and tickling my spleen.

I remember my girlfriend rising up from her prone position in the back seat and saying, “Hey… What’s going on?”

“I’m getting even with your Gene Simmons session that happened earlier,” I said calmly as I tried to make out with her busted and then reluctant friend some more.

My girlfriend said “Oh” and laid back down again.

That was my cue to drag her inside and call it night.

She didn’t remember too many things from that night which was fine with me. And I never saw her friend again.

So there you have it. The last Halloween where I dressed up and probably the weirdest Halloween that I ever had.


  1. I would just like to add that I was dressed as Quentin Tarantino's Vincent Van Gogh. It was a pretty bloody bandage on my ear.

  2. Anonymous4:19 PM

    Ha! That's a great Halloween dress-up story.

    I'm going to a party tomorrow night, and am in no mood to spend money or effort on a costume, so I'm going as Ashley Todd. She's the McCain campaign chick who fabricated a story about getting robbed and beaten up... and she scratched a backwards "B" in her cheek claiming that her attacker was an Obama supporter. CLASSY!

  3. Anonymous9:08 AM

    i was at the frat party at the old Bates Motel/frat house.
    i can verify all events as truth.

    i remember kiss making out, and I too have never been able to listen to Love Gun the same way again.

    thanks halloween. thanks eugene's drunk ass girlfriend.

    thanks for taking away the innocence of mr stanley's lyrics about his love gun.


  4. Great idea, Bebo!

    As for the last comment... You're not my ex are you?

  5. Anonymous3:35 PM

    I had a night kinda like this one... our kindergarden class was never the same after. I still can't believe that Mr. Rogers made out with Captain Kangaroo right in front of our faces. The "neighborhood" was never the same after that.