Brain Matters Vol. 3

I’ll admit it. The past few years, I’ve been slacking on my Halloween costume. I’m the guy who has huge plans, but doesn’t try to execute them until the day before, when they’ve run out of everything. This means I have to improvise with completely moronic items that don't even remotely look like what I want them to look like.

I go to find a pirate hook and end up with an untangled clothes hanger sticking out of a cut-up Nerf ball. Or every place is sold out of fake blood and I have to borrow my niece’s Pink Scented Magic Marker. I may look like a complete moron, but at least I smell like the exotic aroma of Wacky Crazeberries.

Last year I was Tyler Durden from Fight Club. Or as everyone else thought...a random 70's guy who got his ass kicked.

At a recent superhero costume party, I was Danger Mouse. Or as everyone else thought...a random, mutated super bunny. On numerous occasions throughout the night I heard people whisper to each other, “What the hell is the gay bunny supposed to be?”

They were clearly mouse ears, people. But not just any mouse ears. They were Danger Mouse ears, which makes them slightly less embarrassing.

But this year, I've decided on a costume that will still require people to ask me what the fuck I'm supposed to be, but at least I'll be satisfied.

I'm going to go as myself....on the first day of Kindergarten.

This will require a tin Rambo lunchbox, a grey Mickey Mouse ringer t-shirt, shaggy hair, short blue shorts with the white trim, tube socks and a complete lack of dignity. Lucky for me, I lost that long ago.

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I was driving the other day and passed a woman in a minivan, which exists solely because a regular van is just way too cool for some people. But this woman had an even bigger problem. A problem that borders on psychotic behavior.

Her entire dashboard was COMPLETELY covered in Beanie Babies. And when I say completely covered, I mean that there was not one square inch of her dash that wasn’t loaded down with felt and beans.

Because, let’s face it, that’s all they are. Beans covered in felt, given a name and sold to morons. At least when it was a “craze,” there was the possibility of selling them for a profit and retiring to Switzerland, or wherever the hell Beanie Baby collectors dream of retiring to.

But my first thought when I saw this woman’s BeanieMobile was that if she ever got in an accident, the paramedics would have to fight to control their laughter when they arrived on the scene.

There she is, putting along, when she notices her prize Beanie, Lil’ Clubby the Seal, has fallen into the floorboard (presumably trying to escape the nightly tongue baths she subjects it to.) She reaches down to retrieve it, runs over the median and flips her minivan. When the paramedics show up, they have to pry the doors off with the jaws of life, only to find an entire bean-filled animal kingdom filling the inside. They drag the woman out (unharmed thanks to her collectibles, which she considers nature’s airbags) and head back to their ambulance with one more story to tell their drinking buddies.

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Note to self: Just for the stories, begin hanging out with paramedics.

Another note to self: Think about being a paramedic for Halloween next year.

Yet another note to self: In preparation for the costume, borrow niece’s markers and make a stethoscope out of old toilet paper rolls, beanie baby felt and a baked potato.