October 29th, 2006
|06:35 am - The Year After Glambo: Part III|
The votes went by applause until there were only three finalists. One, the Crypt Keeper from Tales from the Crypt, was a masterpiece of makeup and costuming. Another, saying that she had come as the most frightening thing she could think of, was wearing what appeared to be a shrubbery and spouting lines like "Four more years" and "Stay the course" and "Fool me once, shame on ... uh," to the amusement of all and sundry. Third, there was Glambo.
During a lull in the voting, I stepped forward, held out the AK menacingly, and stared down everyone in the crowd, saying, "I think we all know who the CLEAR choice for a winner is, don't we? DON'T we?"
For the final judging, our hostess asked us each to stand up in front of the group, and say one or two sentences maximum that would really exemplify our characters and our costume.
The Crypt Keeper stepped up, and in the perfect Crypt Keeper voice, said the perfect Crypt Keeper thing which, at this moment, I can't recall, but I do know that it was most excellent. I was beginning to get nervous.
Then, Bush stepped up and gave the famous "Fool me once ... shame on ... shame on you. Fool me ... you can't get fooled again," to thunderous applause. Uh oh. I would have to beat that.
I'd already used my best line, "Why camouflage when you can GLAM-o-flage," and my mind was totally blank. Desperately trying to think, I swaggered up to the front of the room, surveyed the crowd, and, in a fit of genius (or sheer insanity -- hard to tell the difference sometimes), blurted out "Now remember: The AK-47 NEVER goes with plaid!"
There was dead silence for a moment. I was sure that I'd lost for good, when suddenly, the room erupted in laughter and cheers and screams of approbation! One person literally fell out of his chair and onto the floor! It was genius, not insanity after all! I had won!
I received my trophy (a wine goblet where the stem was a skeletal wrist with the hand holding the glass) and basked in the sheer triumph.
Until our hostess cheerfully said those fatal words: "Can't wait to see what you come up with next year!"
And therein lay the problem. Suddenly, and without warning, it was "next year," and again, I had no ideas. I went back to my blog to beg for help, but to no avail. Almost everyone seemed to agree that the epitome of awesome had been reached with Glambo and there was no sense trying to beat perfection.
Some suggested that I simply add a Hawaiian shirt or a beret and go as "Beach Party Glambo" or "European Vacation Glambo." Others suggested that I just simply go as Glambo again. One friend suggested blowing up hundreds of tiny pink balloons, attaching them all over, and going as a French Tickler, but there being children at these parties, along with parents who are perhaps a bit stuffy about said children hearing the word "French Tickler," that was out.
"Ninja? Pirate? Ninja Pirate?" suggested another friend.
"Fashion ninja," put in another one, "You know: pink is the new black? Rhinestone-studded throwing stars? Sequined sword?"
I even had suggestions for "Electricity: do your hair up like the bride of Frankenstein," "Fudgeums" from the Domino's commercials, and "Jesus Christ Vampire Hunter." Unfortunately, I did not have the makings for any of these, so that left those out.
Six hours before the party, and I was stumped. Stopped cold. No ideas (or no feasible ideas) at all. It was terrible. I could feel myself sinking deeper and deeper into the pits of depression and despair. What on earth was I going to do?
As in so many things in my life, from my childhood through to the present day, it was my father, my good old Dad, who saved me from this nightmare.
I happened to be chatting with him about the Halloween party. "Are you going to go as Glambo again," he asked with a grin.
I sighed. "No, I already did that once," I said. "Actually, I have no idea what I'm going to do. I've been wracking my brain, but I just can't come up with anything to beat Glambo. I even asked my friends, but they pretty much think Glambo was the ultimate thing, and so all I get is suggestions like "Malibu Glambo" and "European Vacation Glambo" or other fashion consultant kinds of things. I mean, I need something different! Something totally off the whole topic of Glambo, you know?"
"Well, yes," said Dad, "I see what you mean."
He thought about it for a minute. "Yeah, Glambo was pretty good," he admitted.
"I know. That's what's killing me," I replied sadly.
Suddenly, a gleam appeared in his eye and the beginnings of a mischievous grin flickered around his face. Hope began to rise.
"You've thought of something, haven't you?" I demanded.
"Yes," he said simply. "You can go as one of the most truly terrifying things that any American can encounter. This will strike horror in the hearts of nearly everyone."
"What? What?" I yelled.
[to be continued here]
A pitbull walking Ann Coulter?
Come now. I wanted scary, but I didn't want people to DIE of fright! That would mean I'd have to be on call for the weekend!