Batman's Dead...You're Next

The past three years I have been Batman for Halloween. It was always an easy choice; just throw on some thermals, put on a jock strap and head out the door with the utility belt as a wallet and road dog holder.—-

The first time it was hilarious, in my mind at least. I bought a large child-sized costume. There was no six-pack pads or fancy boots, it was mostly spandex that barely fit over my shoulders, but with the help of ghouls and ghostly faces we made the stretch. The "shoes" on the outfit were just yellow shoe covers that were attached to the end of the legs and they protruded from my shins.

All this was grand for the Friday round of parties, but come Saturday it's not as amusing when all of your friends have second night costumes on because they are all Fine Art students. It's even sadder the next year when you are still Batman.

This year was going to be different. I started out with a beard that I hadn't shaved for a while because I'm a rugged man and razors are for legs. I decided to trim my beard and voila, I had an old-timey handlebar mustache. I raced out and bought some mustache wax to curl the ends up ever so nicely. This was the dedication I had this year to Halloween. I was starting my costume two months in advanced. Suck on that Art Bitch! I wasn't going to have some fake mustache, which would fall off in a matter of hours due to the wet slop that would produce from the Pirate Punch. This was the REAL DEAL, Bill McNeil!

I've styled it many different ways looking for the proper feel on the face. I've even gotten compliments from strangers not knowing it was all in preparation for Friday the 31st of October (btw, it's Vanilla Ice's birthday). As my feelings changed everyday from love to hate to admiration to creepy dawg, I kept on trucking because I knew the goal was near.

The magical day has come! I will finally be able to show off the hair above my lip that has kept me from getting picked up by massive amounts of chicks everyday. With the aid of a hat I stole from a party where Ian and I were almost killed by a driver from Turkey and a carpet with a hole in it I found in a barn.

I will stroll into the party, sombrero tilted down, the music will stop, ill raise my head and the black shiny curly mustache will gleam with desire. My rug with a hole in it will slowly shake off the dirt onto the floor of the party and the music will drop again. The party will rage on into the wee hours of the morning and everyone will wake up the next afternoon and say "Who was that asshole Mexican with the over sized sombrero on? I think it hit me in the face like 20 times." Oh how I love Halloween.

- Charlie Gibson

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