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(Morally) Horrifying Halloween Costumes


October 14, 2004

WARNING: THIS ARTICLE CONTAINS POLITICALLY INCORRECT AND OFFENSIVE COSTUMES. DO NOT READ IF YOU VALUE HUMAN LIFE OR IF YOU ARE A BORN AGAIN REPUBLICAN.


As Halloween draws near, your thoughts invariably turn to ghosts and ghoulies, costumes and candy (or candy-flavored vodka.) I'm always rambling about how stuff goes down in San Francisco, but seriously, you haven't experienced Halloween until you've done it here. This place goes INSANE for All Hallows Eve. Any excuse to dress up and show off is heartily embraced. There are only a few drama queens and exhibitionists here...

Carol Channing A huge, multi-block party is annually held in the Castro neighborhood. Halloween is the only night of the year that straight people outnumber the gays. (If you walk the hetero path of the righteous and it's your first time in the Castro, I'd suggest you keep a close eye on those gays; they will do almost anything to kidnap your pre-pubescent son and force him to wear Diesel tank tops while dancing to circuit music. He will then develop a fondness for Carol Channing and antiquing. Be wary; the gays are crafty and may strike at any time. No child is safe until the gays have renounced their "lifestyle" or have been put to death.)

Despite the risk of being infected with homosexuality, tens of thousands of people flock to the Castro to strut, drink and unofficially compete for "best" costume. Group costumes are popular; whole teams of "movers" haul couches, rugs, tables and floor lamps on their backs, Diesel, the right of passage for the gay male. stop to set up a cozy living room, rest and then pick up their make-shift rumpus room and continue down the block where they repeat the process. Partridge Family look-alikes perform snappy routines and beat tambourines while the Chariots of Fire drift past in slow motion, pausing briefly to take sips from their tallboys. This being an election year, I'm sure there will be plenty of politically-inspired looks. Your days are numbered, George.

My own costume ideas most often come to me in the form of a vision. A bright, celestial light flashes, a soothing voice emanates (Elton John's, actually) and suddenly I have a new purpose in life:

The Elton John Oracle
Elton: Liiiiiiiii-saaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa…this is the year you shall assume the stature of a noble Amish man. From there, you shall simulate coitus with an Ovis aries.

Lisa: Thank you! Thank you, Sir Elton!

A few years ago Elton failed to speak to me -- I think he was having trouble with David and couldn't be bothered with my petty costume concerns. Consequently, I spent that Halloween assembling a wardrobe from Ikea. I realize that is completely lame, however we had just moved into a place with hardly any closet space...cut me some slack.

No one should be left out on the big night of tricks and treats -- especially because of costume woes. If you're having a hard time or suffer from lack of inspiration, you're normal. On the flipside, if you simply don't care about dressing up, then you're boring.

You better work
I enlisted the help of my trusty photo archive to provide you with a few offensive ideas that may help kick start your creative process. As you can see, most of these looks work for both girls and boys (that is, boys, if you're willing to dress in drag). If the word "drag" is scary or you think that dressing like a woman will turn you into one of them queers (if you're not already), don't worry. "Drag" doesn't really exist on Halloween; a boy in a dress is just a boy in a costume. Adding fake eyelashes, pancake makeup and a wig just makes him a pretty boy in a costume.

As for what I'm going to be this year...wouldn't you like to know. Let's just say that there's a certain party at a certain person's house with a certain theme of Medical Horrors. There will be a full report on this in a couple weeks. In the meantime, if you come up with something particularly freakish or fabulous, send me a picture. Happy costuming!

Ezekiel loves Jebediah

Amish Sheep Fucker

Ezekiel was a simple man. He was content to till his fields with the ox-plow, read the Bible by the soft glow of an oil lamp and play the sweet hymns of Jehovah on his hand-hewn fiddle. His children were grown and his wife, Josephine, taken by consumption the year before, was no longer there to satisfy his pleasures of the flesh. Alone and grieving, Ezekiel turned to something most shameful. It began the night he crept into his barn and was struck by the beauty of his prized sheep, Jebediah. Jebediah returned his gaze, calmly chewing. Soon the staring gave way to stroking and stroking quickly turned to fondling. It wasn't long before Ezekiel's instrument of the devil was buried six inches deep in Jebediah's rectum.

final release Eventually the townsfolk discovered Ezekiel's perversion. Mr. Crockett came by to trade some of his fresh eggs for some of Ezekiel's pumpkins and caught him pounding away at a dazed-looking Jebediah. A town meetin' was held; the elders voted unanimously to bar Ezekiel from entering the church, all public buildings and even the cemetery where Josephine waited for him. If he could fuck a sheep, they reasoned, desecration of their dead wouldn't be too far off. Ezekiel later died while committing the sinful act; a heart attack struck him down in mid thrust. His children, having renounced their Amish upbringing in order to appear on a FOX reality show, did not return to claim the body. Ezekiel was buried in an unmarked grave in his pumpkin field. Jebediah moved to the Castro.

(I can't resist adding that if you've seen that "other" sheep fucker costume photo floating around on the internet, please keep in mind that mine was FIRST and I MADE my own sheep... I had to sew, people; me sewing ain't pretty.)

Tastes like chicken

Zombie Prom

One part prom dress, 18 parts liquid latex, two parts fake blood, five hours peeling liquid latex from skin and hair and three days crying about the rash left in its stead.

The real rash looked much worse than the fake gore. This costume really isn't offensive so much as it is a warning. In other words, DON'T PUT LIQUID LATEX ON YOUR FACE AND NECK.

Oh, it definitely looks cool -- especially when you create "pockets" in the latex, fill them with blood and pop them. That always gets a reaction. However, this chilling effect does not outweigh the pain of getting the stuff off your person later. It was 3:00 am; I wanted to sleep but was still saddled with the enormous task of removing the gummy mess. This is not the kind of stuff you want to go to bed wearing; come morning your eyelids will be gooed shut and you will have ruined your pillow case...not to mention your peaches and cream complexion.

Overdose at Prom


Oops, I did it again. She had been looking forward to the prom for months; it was to be a magical night filled with moonlit limo rides, dancing under a thousand glittering lights and just a little bit of H she'd scored from her older brother's friend's uncle. She could not have foreseen that her date, Pablo Smothers, would end up ditching her for her so-called best friend Dorie (whore-y), leaving her to sit on the bleachers in the shadows with the dance chaperones. Sure, Mr. and Mrs. Hatchet were ok; she'd known them for years. Mrs. Hatchet had been her babysitter off and on during those years when her mom had been in rehab. It was just, well, now that the "best night of her life" had arrived, she didn't want to spend it chatting with the woman who had discovered that she binged and purged every day after middle school. Actually, the bitch had told her mother about that, raising all hell. That was how she explained the scar over her left eye.

She finally bid a polite goodnight to Mr. and Mrs. Hatchet. They flashed sympathetic smiles as she left the gymnasium, only bursting into laughter after she was out of sight.

That will never come out. As she pushed her way through the double doors and made her way behind the dumpster, a single tear fell, soaking onto the bodice of the dress she had so lovingly shoplifted from her part-time job at Hit or Miss. She angrily wiped it away as she hunted through her evening bag to find her kit. "Fuck you, Pablo," she mumbled as she cooked up a healthy hit. Wrapping the wellworn leather belt around her arm, she coaxed a willing vein. As the plunger came down, she waited for that wonderful feeling of disassociation to Don't you want me, baby? fill her, wiping the memory the evening out...at least for the time being. Instead, she felt herself slipping, down, down, cradled by the soft gravel and broken glass. Before the darkness of unconsciousness fully took her, she struggled to breathe through the steady stream of vomit that flowed from her mouth and nose. Then, just as Pablo was finishing up with Dorie in his parked car not thirty feet away, she finally succombed to the quiet.

Bob and his Back Alley Abortions.

Bob the Back-Alley Abortion Doctor

Bob was armed with a pail of fresh fetuses that had already enjoyed a quick jab and thrust of his trusty coat hanger and tong. Before I knew what was happening, I was bent over the banister while my uterus was scraped clean. Once you get an abortion, you'll never go back to using vinegar -- talk about a fresh feeling! After little "Dusty" was forcibly extracted from my body, I asked Bob if I could hold her in my arms...if only to experience that one fleeting moment of love between a mother and a Damn, that felt good. bloody, not-yet-formed baby. As I peered into Dusty's lack of face, I swore that I saw something that sort of looked like a mouth kind of do something that vaguely resembled a smile. But then, it could have been her skull caving in. Shrug. I tossed her into the bucket.

the miracle of life.

Pam and Dakota

Pam's had a hard life; Dakota's birth was no exception. Little Dakota took over 26 hours to make her entrance into the world. When it was finally over, Pam leaned up on her elbows:

Pam: Well, Mickey, what the fuck is it this time? Boy or girl?

Mickey: Hey Pammy, it's yer lucky fuckin' day. You got yerself what them doctors call a "still born."

Pam: Huh? What you mean, Mickey?

Mickey: Mean that the goddam thing won't be suckin' off yer titty any time soon. Not that yer floppy titty be good fer that anyway. This baby, she deader than shit.

Motherhood is a bitch.
Pam: I'll be praisin' Jesus! The mother fucker answered my prayers! Hey Mickey, before you get rid of the kid, wouldja mind grabbin' that sack thing it comes in? Phyllis down at the Sure Cuts says it's good fer the scalp. With winter comin' my psoriasis been actin' sumthin' fierce.

Mickey: Sure thing Pammy. Say…since yer all slipp'ry and such, think you can repay me with the usual?

Pam: No sweat...at least I can't catch pregnant right now. 'Sides, I'm so goddam numb that you could drive a rig up in there an' I wunt feel nuthin. Let's go, daddy.

Mickey: That's my girl.

If Pam was the type of mother who saw fit to visit a hospital instead of giving birth on the sawdust-littered floor of Mickey's Feed "N Breed, Little Dakota may have survived. That said, and the fact the Pam already had five kids back at the trailer with as many men, it was by God's good grace that Dakota was spared. Pam and Mickey didn't even notice the tail that sprouted from her lower back; they could have made some money off of that.

Tears in heaven.

Post Mortem JonBenet

A six-year-old pageant queen is found strangled to death in her family's Boulder, CO home the day after Christmas in 1996. Before her death, JonBenet Ramsey had had a bright future ahead of her; she was on track to become a professional JC Penney catalog model or, if everything went according to Patsy's master plan, a Mousketeer.

After a botched investigation that the tabloids are still talking about, no one was ever charged for the crime. The Ramseys have since relocated to Northern Michigan where Big Papa John attempted to run for an open seat Cherry poppin' daddy in the House of Representatives. He lost the bid that would have put him on the ticket. Would you have voted for him? I would have too. It's a sick world we live in.

Here lies JonBenet
After spending the night dressed like JonBenet, I have developed a strange psychic ability that allows me to receive her messages from beyond the grave. She has some interesting things to say about her daddy. Mostly though, she talks about her new pony from Jesus and how she wishes the Spice Girls were up in heaven too.

-lisa
 
Copyright 2017 Daniel S. Fettinger and Lisa Warner, all rights reserved.