Really. Do Not Go In There.
by Dan Greene
Okay, I know I've promised you a lot of things. I've promised to write about Japanese horror movies, more Cronenberg, the Leprechaun movies.. a lot of shit. And I will keep up with my faithful readers, God love ya. But today I'm going to talk about a different kind of horror.
There's a song I keep thinking of, and the lyrics go something like
The things I do for money
We've all talked about the things we do for money. Are we whores or are we masters of our destiny? The following is the first of two parts...
I got the idea to write this when I read the LNT section on mascots a while back….. I’ve paid my mascot/costume dues, my friends. I've done my time, and far from being ashamed of my past, this story will show what a strong person I am. I think. It at least shows that I’m a whore who will do just about anything for chicken or seven bucks and access to a minivan with a spinning light on top.
There was this one day when I was about 12 years old; I made an uninformed decision and I joined air cadets. Real punk as fuck, I know. Yeah whatever, screw you, it got me laid. Among other things I met lots of girls and got to fly planes, I learned that politics is a shitty thing but only when people are involved, and I learned that I would get free food if I volunteered to walk in the Santa Claus Parade.
Free food. Now, I quickly learned that when the city was paying for your food in response to your volunteer work, it was most likely going to be Mary Brown’s Fried Chicken. Colonel Assface could always and can always go fuck himself. Mary’s was the shit. I would do some very questionable things for Mary, time and again.
So I volunteered to walk in the Santa Claus Parade, figuring that I would be marching with the rest of the geeks in my air cadet uniform. Not true. They had special plans for me. They had a Goofy costume. Shitfuck Goddammit. I knew the chicken was coming and I knew I wouldn’t get shit if I didn’t put on that Goofy costume. So I did.
Some old skank from some Ladies’ Auxiliary club had made the headpiece at some arts and crafts class, and although it did look really good, it was made of paper mache. It weighed about five or seven pounds, it was uncomfortable as hell, didn’t fit at all, and kept sliding down the front of my face while I was trying to walk. The only thing I could do to keep it in place and not faceplant was to stick my lower jaw out as far as fucking possible and let the top of Goofy’s muzzle rest on my bottom teeth. The parade lasted about 5 kilometres (3 miles). I was – seriously - a mouth breathing, drooling Disney dog with a painful case of voluntary underbite and a mouthful of paper mache paste. It was brutal, man. After the parade I walked in to claim the chicken that was so fucking rightfully mine, and you know what I saw?
That fucking Colonel. Shitfuck Goddammit.
By the time I got forced into another costume I’d become rather disillusioned with being told what to do (I’d also seen the other costumes that the Ladie’s Auxiliary club had put together and they all sucked, except for this one paper mache cow head that I eventually stole and used all the time, but only while on acid). This time though, Mary Brown’s was specifically mentioned as a reward so I was cool with it, and was maybe even a touch enthusiastic. And the costume was cool alright…… The Maple Leaf Big Stick Bologna. Now, when I say cool I mean so fucking lame that I couldn’t resist putting that shit on and acting like an idiot in front of people who couldn’t recognize me. I’m very pissed off that I can’t find a picture of it anywhere, but trust me. It was stupid.
The costume was a two piece. The outer piece was a six foot long piece of fake bologna, made mainly of plastic resin and some polyethylbullshit. The inner piece was a one piece bologna-coloured spandex jumpsuit thing. It was so fucking lame, stupid and abstractly homoerotic that I simply could not resist smoking lots of hash, climbing right into that fucker, and walking around and hugging dudes in public at the manufacturer’s home improvement show or whatever. Think about it. If you were a regular guy at some event or other and you got accosted by some huge phallic piece of processed meat in a processed meat coloured bodysuit, then you just might become really, really uncomfortable – and if anyone asked you why you were upset about it, you’d only get more uncomfortable. If I saw a lumberjack shirt or untied pair of work boots on anyone that day, I’d hug that dude. That was such a great day. Everyone felt awkward but me, and I got a three piece combo with taters at the end of it all.
But you see, it was all training for the big league.