My Time to Shine

It is here, people. Here at last! I remember, as a Young Freeman I would skip to the Brattleboro Public Library, go up to the children's floor (Level 2, y'all! Represent!) and go to the record section, put on the GIGANTIC headphones and pull out my fave album: Halloween: Games, Songs and Stories. Oh what joy! Spooky noises, a song SPELLING Halloween, a song about an old man who lived in a graveyard... you get the gist.

Nerd? Perhaps. Loser? Maybe. Halloween GENIUS? MOS DEF!

I know the question on everybody's lips is: what is she wearing THIS year?

A series of Hippy Dog outfits with frequent costume changes a la Cher?







HELL naw, folks. A whole side of crisp, smoky bacon?



Fraid not!



The quivering, sweaty brow of white collar criminal Charles Grodin in 'Midnight Run'? Or perhaps Robert DeNiro as tough-talking bounty hunter? I am SO the bounty hunter type, twould be too easy.

Well, it was hard going, peeps. I finally settled on what I think is quite the conversation piece...



Christ on the cross scrambled eggs?

Noooo, silly!



The cast of 'Frasier'? Hells no. I cannot explain the LOATHING that Kelsey Grammer inspires in me. Words cannot express. SHOOT me if I ever EVER even WHISPER his name. I am shivering with rage right now. Shivering with fucking rage, and it's nobody's fault but my own... and Kelsey Grammer's.

Anyhoo...



Rodney Dangerfield impersonator? Nope, though that would be pretty fucking DEEP... going as a celebrity impersonator? God, maybe next year... have you guessed yet? No? Think: what combines my love for sharks, The Fugitive, Victorian street urchins and yet conveys my deep hatred for bathrobes, oven mitts, devilled eggs and beards?





Mmmm hmm, that's right, you are seeing correctly. My Halloween costume this year is the bone-shatteringly fucking amazing event that IS this duet between Michael J. Fox and Joan Jett. WHO KNEW?

I did.
I wept and then went right out and bought me some hair dye.

Welp, got to get out there, folks. This candy's not going to collect itself!

Byyyeeeeeee.

Support Group

It's time for me to admit that I have a problem, folks:



If loving a shark hat is wrong, I just don't want to be right.

So, I watched 'BIG' last night, and Young Tom Hanks (David Moscow, peeps: RECOGNIZE!) and his dad sport matching shark hats while at the funfair that would later change young Josh Baskin's life. How good is that? Thought: get myself and father matching shark hats for Christmas. Sit back and watch the memories being made. Try to avoid old, rather crusty looking arcade games that are UNPLUGGED but somehow mystically turn me into a 30 year old man, because THAT type of shit I just don't need right now.

What a fucking amazing film. And yet, does it bother ANYONE ELSE that a 13 year old boy (just barely 13 as well) gets it ON with a 30 year old woman?!?! Does it freak you out that his mother THINKS HE IS MOST LIKELY DEAD, lying in a fucking DITCH somewhere for most of the film, when in fact he is just getting the freakz on with Elizabeth Perkins? Talk about the end of fucking innocence, people.

I am all riled up now. Need to calm down. Quick! More shark hats!



This one is almost majestic! Rising off of the head like Jaws rises from the foam of the briny Atlantic Ocean. I can almost taste the chum!



However, if I must pick bones (and I must), I am a bit confused as to why these jackasses are so fucking CHEERFUL! You are a fucking HAT model. Bottom of the barrel people.



This one warms my heart. A whole class of tiny shark hat lovers! If I had only had opportunities like this when I was a wee tyke, well I might not be the twisted, tortured soul you see before you.



That's not me. I would NEVER bust out the dreads. We won't even talk about the waxed chest. That said, would it be wrong of me to wear this to an exhibtion opening on Thursday? Please note that I would NOT wear this as a Halloween number as ready-made is SO 2005. I am all about Method Halloween.



Hence my turn as a 3 Dimensional Dennis Quaid in Jaws3-D. Halloween '91, peeps. Thas right, even back in the early 90s I was perpetrating. Don't hate, celebrate. You may think, 'Ah, whatevs, Freeman. No fucking sweat.' Au fucking contraire, my skeptical so-called friends: anyone who has ever MET Dennis Quaid will know that the man is BARELY two-dimensional, making my rendering of his in 3D QUITE the fucking feat. So back off, Doubting Thomas.

I am not meaning to cast aspersions on The Quaid's acting abilitites. LOVED him in Inner Space- which I might add, is the only film in which I can STOMACH Meg Ryan without having a violent reacotion, akin to eating too much cheese. And yes, before you say it: there IS such a thing as too much cheese. And now, get ready. The award for Best Image of Martin Short Expectorating a Small Craft Bearing Dennis Quaid Which May or May Not Have Been Exploring His Nether Regions goes to...



This shit. Can somebody PLEASE ensure that this is printed on my gravestone?

Thanks.

Quit playing games with my heart

'Hey there, you fiiiiine filly! Whaddya say we head back to MY place? Open a few brewskis, turn on the black light and see what happens? Who knows, honey... you might like it. You can wax my back.'



So, that happened.

Ha! But seriously, peeps: day after tomorrow is Halloween and I have yet to nail down the final outfit. Methinks something drastic will have to happen... if only I could reprise an old fave:



Sodden, perpetually stymied at every turn by the fugitive Dr. Richard Kimble.. yes, here I am as Tommy Lee Jones (Lt. Phillip Gerard) in 'The Fugitive'! Besides the oodles of leather tanning solution I applied to my skin to get that special TLJ weathered sheen, I also committed to memory his famous 'Outhouse' speech:

'Alright, listen up, people. Our fugitive has been on the run for ninety minutes. Average foot speed over uneven ground barring injuries is 4 miles-per-hour. That gives us a radius of six miles. What I want from each and every one of you is a hard-target search of every gas station, residence, warehouse, farmhouse, henhouse, outhouse and doghouse in that area. Checkpoints go up at fifteen miles. Your fugitive's name is Dr. Richard Kimble. Go get him.'

God, just saying it again gets my blood up! Damn you, Kimble! Nobody outsmarts me... especially not an inappropriately bearded Harrison Ford. Seriously Harry (we all call him that)- the beard was a fucking hellish mistake. That said, watching Harrison Ford dipping his chubby fingers into an egg salad sandwich is not in my list of must-sees either. HOW did that film ROCK so fucking hard when it had those fatal flaws?



Gak! Looka there! He looks like a fucking muskrat with something to prove, for instance, HIS INNOCENCE!



'I DIDN'T KILL MY WIFE!!!'




I DON'T CARE!

Bwahahahaha! I fucking love that shit. Speaking of love...



This is shit is asking ALL the right questions. I can finally live my high school dream of being the star basketball player. It does not take a fucking rocket scientist to figure out that Yours Truly was not exactly Teen Wolf on the court. Oh well,


Whatevs, me and my seeing eye pony got along JUST FINE. So fuck ALLLL y'all.

Trump Card!

ZING!!!!




Ha! I bet you thought I was going to start off with a picture of Donald Trump, eh? SUCKA! WHO do you think I am... some fucking AMATEUR? Hells naw. That shit is elementary, and I am so far above it I am like a large zepplin in the sky. In fact I will say this now: I will NEVER put a picture of DT (not talkin' 'bout you, Tamarkin, your ass will never be safe) up on this page. Evers. This I swear.

Anyway, JUST when I think I have it all figured out re: Halloween costume glory, some earnest chubbster with questionable sandals goes and blows my fucking MIND:



I mean, check her OUT! Great mask! ha! And who is that ODD little man next to her with the drastic haircut? Bwahahahaha. Just kidding, peoples. Of COURSE my main focus was Professor Pumpkinhead... why, I hardly even noticed Granola McLab School there in the totally HORRID pink tee, such was my bewildered delight in finally finding MY EQUAL (because, let's face it, I am pretty fucking DOWN with Halloween) when it comes to Halloween Finery. This make-believe pumpkin scientist has taught me so much... soooo much. I imagine he is Moriarty to my Sherlock Holmes. Wow, am I full of myself or what?

But seriously, perhaps the greatest demonstration of my Halloween skillz is to follow. My Best Costume Ever:



Mmmmmm hm. Pizza motherfucking GUI-tar. Earth-shattering stuff, I know. It makes you want to weep and fall to you knees, does it not? One word: majestic. But put it in the hands of the wrong person, and pleasure turns quickly to pain.



Quod erat demonstrandum, friends.

Ouch!

I have a stiff neck, people. I woke up this morning, after dreaming of BEER (no joke, it was crazy) and I cannot look down or to the right. Note: anyone who wants to STEAL MY MONEY or perpetrate a crime, come at me from the right. It's open fucking season.

But did I whine? (yes) Did I complain (um, DUH!)... nope, I just hopped on the DRUNK BUS (where an old man slurred at me to 'shut up!' and no, I was not saying a thing, and may I add, it was 8 in the morning. Get a JOB, old man!) and came to work.

God I am SUCH a DEDICATED worker.

Oh, and did I mention the part where I transported myself back to 1990's Madrid, joined a motor racing team, won the FUCKING COPA (alas injured with whiplash along the way, hence the FUCKING CRAZY CLOWN DOLL neckbrace), and returned triumphant to my home village where the townspeople feted me with a roast boar?



Well, it happened... somewhere between getting on the Drunk Bus and getting a cup of coffee. Fantastic voyage!

And while I am at it- dwelling on my pain, I mean- is this the only answer?



How much do those massage chairs gross me out? I hate the idea of being MASSAGED in public.. or in this case, in the middle of a meadow. And let me just say this: that guy is wearing JUST the shoes I THGOUGHT a man being massaged in public would wear. I'm not calling them child molester shoes... but then again, maybe I'm not NOT calling them child molester shoes. If you get my meaning.



What? Where did this come from? Ehmmmm, no eye-deee-er. It appeared as if by insane hat-tastic magic... much like an episode of 'Blossom.'. But I will tell you this much: dude in the back with the sunglasses? One badass motherfucker. He will shank your ass. Word is bond, people.
More later, once the painkillers have kicked in. Toooodlez.

A night at the opera

What? These?



Oh, they're just my new opera glasses. I got them yesterday. And here's the kicker: they were made by a mental patient. Yeah, it's true. £500 and some change at a little shoppe, it DOES get a bit hard to see the 'action', but they're SO charming and I REALLY needed new opera glasses, ya know?

You don't like opera? Huh, that's weird. I don't think I know ANYONE who doesn't like *opera*! Are you sure you don't mean you don't like POP-era? because that is just WAAAAAY beyond the pale.

Sooo, back to my glasses:



Do you like them? What? My BOWL CUT? Well, looks can be deceiving, its not a PROPER bowl cut per se, just more like my bangs have grown too long and- what's that, dear? What am I having for dinner?

Why, OYSTERS of course, darling!



My favorite of all fruits of the sea... aren't they yours? Snot? Hmm, that's a bit GAUCHE, I never really thought of that... no I really didn't. Snot. Well, just goes to show. But anyway, I just saw the DAMNDEST thing in the park as I was going for a leisurely jog... yes, yes I DO go for a run now and- what? well, it HAS been a while, but... yes, I know, aches and pains and what not, you know... but anyway, the DAMNDEST thing, you'll never guess. Go on, guess. No?

PIGEON SEX!

I KNOW, it was really quite something. Rather disturbing if I do say so myself. No, with another pigeon. No, she didn't look to pleased about it either. I know. Yes, rather tawdry.



No, never seen anything quite like it. A bit... awkward really, there were a few children playing nearby and I'm certainly glad I wasn't the one who had to do the explaining. No, just ran on by... Hmm? Oh yes! I AM in the market for some new furs! Why, do you know someone who has some for sale?



Well, that sound delightful. Yes, by all means give him my number. But I really must be going... who am I going with? Well, funny thing really: he's the brother of my fiance... yes. No, Ronny. He's the one with the wooden hand... you know, the baker? Well, turns out he simply LOVES the opera.



No, Johnny has gone back to Sicily to see his ailing mother. I know, timing, eh? Well, it's never a good time is it? But annnyway, we're off to La Boheme at Lincoln Center... my what? My hair done? Hmm, you think so? Take the grey out? Well, I never really thought I was that grey, but maybe you're right- treat myself, eh? Something a bit new, fresh?



You know what? I'll DO IT. Yes, well it's great to see you too. Yes, we must. Okay then, do call. Mmm hmm. I will! Ha! hahahahahahaaaa ha ha... ahhhh mm hmm. Okay, well I'd better be- she did? Ohhh, that's not good is it? How did it happen? Well, you never know who's going to be wandering around in the woods. I mean it's dangerous, isn't it?



Mmm, I remember that. Yes... sigh, well, I really should be on myw ay. Okay, ell let's meet up sometime and really catch up. Okay, yes. And give my love to Frank.

Aspirational Images

Generally speaking, I am content with my lot in life. Wait, that is such bullshit, I am anything but content, but what I mean is I am not toooooo bitter about it. Wait, that is bullshit as well. Fuck it. I don't have a leg to stand on. What I mean to say is...

I wish I were Teen Wolf.



Seriously. On my BEST day I can MAYBE bowl 100... fucking TEEN WOLF here bowls 300 regularly... and rocks the plaid all the while. I can SO not get away with that shit. And do not think I haven't tried.

SIDEBAR: I feel I MUST mention the fact that in college there was a guy who worked at the Feve (holla!) who sported the plaid Teen Wolf shirts (and may or may not have had prominent canine teeth) while ALSO resembling Scott Baio. Elnie and I dubbed him BAIOWOLF. That, my friends, is how it's fucking DONE. God, that's good shit.

Annnywayz, back to the matter at hand. I am, as per usual, still on the lookout for Halloween Inspiration, and shit like THIS gives me hope that I am not the only crazy-eyed dreamer out there.



How awesome is it that the guy on the right dressed as Teen Wolf's DAD? I seriously need these peoples' digits. Because I am thinking of just fucking going all out and dressing as Teen Wolf's BIGGEST FAN:



WHAT THE FUCK? I don't know. I just don't know. My main issue is how to transport that amount of cola with me wherever I go, but I can handle it. I may have to pull some crazy shit, but logistics is my forte, people...



I mean, I managed to go one year as Doc Brown's mind reading apparatus, so you tell ME what I cannot do... that's right. Speaking of Doc Brwon, it occurs to me that really the IDEAL costume would be Doc Brown Through the Ages... but I see that these FREAKS are one step ahead...



I mean, is that dude even SUPPOSED to be Doc, or does he just fucking randomly show up at the Universal Studios parking lot and charge people to have their photo taken with the biggest ass-munch in L.A.?



The ONLY way you would even THINK that this bastard had anything to do with Back to the Future is because he has managed to plop himself down- as one would upon a toilet seat- next to a DeLorean and just look fucking APESHIT.

That really pisses me off. I TRY, people. I try damn hard. Look at me here as Doc AND Marty 'Life Vest' McFly.
Look at the sheer TERROR in my face(s)! That cannot be bought. That comes only with PRACTICE and a private knowlegde that the Libyans from whom you have stolen your plutonium will be hutning you down like a dog... God help us all. And fucking MARTY... I mean, it's no picnic dressing up as a 35 year old (if he's a DAY) MAN playing a 16 year old BOY who may or may not 'happen' to get it on with HIS OWN MOTHER. I couldn't sleep for months.



I need a holiday.

Wish List

Sometimes we have to take a step back, people. Time to stop fixating on the negative and start to celebrate the positive. I like to think, despite the bitterness, that I am a cheery soul- much like a friendly postman, or a small, immaculately turned out hedgehog who does your washing and mending.

So, I though to myself, 'Sarah, what do you like?' Ah! The wealth of lovely goodies that springs to mind:



No list of mine is complete without a crazy fucking bald child shrunken head... because, when the chips are DOWN and all your so-called friends have deserted you, the ONLY thing your ass is going to have left is the scary guy who works at the deli on the corner and his FUCKED UP collection of masks. But hey, when life deals you lemons... you just get the hell out of there, maybe move house and NEVER go to that deli again. Seriously, not even for a diet coke. You have been warned.

Okay, so that took a turn for the macabre, my fault. I should have seen it coming. Soh-rrrreeeee! This will make up for it, I swear:



Remember those so-called friends I was just talking about? Well they love you and they love saturated fat, so the best times will be when everything is washed down with dairy- maybe even HOT DAIRY. I know, I know, it seems crazy now, but see where your head is at after a few bong hits with these dudes. Suddenly you will not be just craving a plate of cheese fries, you will be craving a long, in-depth conversation with a plate of cheese fries, maybe about the state of shit in the Middle East or whether or not your bangs are too short. I am serious, these guys party. And it is no coincidence that CHEESE FRIES is an anagram of HOLY GRAIL. Okay, so it's not. Whatever the fuck you want. It's allllll about you.




How much would I pay to live in that shit? Imagine waking up every moring to the largest damn pot of coffee in North America (Canada... didn't even see it coming, did you?)! This tops it all. Only thing better? If that guy propping shit up was your butler. I totally think he's up for it too, if you zoom in he's got a really shit-eating grin on his face, so clearly he's eager to please. Just get him the suit and a copy of Remains of the Day and you've got it made in the shade... the shade provided by the shadow of a GIANT POT OF COFFEE.

Ah! I feel better already. It was good to exorcise those demons, but no fear I will be back, properly HATING on someone soon. Odds are it will be this jackass:



That's right: The Wood. Clearly this was a photo session for his little-known film 'They Never Told Me it Was Wrong.' Nice try, Woody, but you are carrying YOUR OWN POLICE COMPOSITE DRAWING. Not too slick, and most likely a dead giveaway... and what's with the belt? Have you TIED HER DOWN?

Anyway, next time peeps, I am fading.