When my siblings and I were kids, Sis could not go as Elvira. My parents did not feel it would be appropriate. It was not until just a few years ago, that kids stopped wearing OJ Simpson’s Bills’ jersey. Unless you plan to wear a big purple dinosaur outfit, most animated characters do not go out of style.
I got to thinking about helping my kids choose costumes for this year’s Halloween. Matthew, my three-year-old boy will probably want to be Tigger again, or perhaps Bob the Builder. I do not think we could pull off Thomas the Train, but it would be cute. I keep telling Shannon, my eight-year-old daughter, that it would be a great year to go as the Statue of Liberty. She insists that she will be a Husker cheerleader again. Unless typical local predictions are wrong, the popularity of the Husker Football player costume may show a marked decrease.
The media makes it mean more, sort of symbolic at times. If you choose to go retro, Goodwill always has a great selection of old clothes. Real clothes are often warmer than the thin plastic outfits Wal-Mart has to offer. I am guessing you will see quite a few children dressed as soldiers. Hopefully, they will remember the bright orange tips on the end of the weapon barrels.
This definitely would not be the year to wear a “Bin Laden” or “Saddam Hussein” suit. That abuse might even bring back the Barney costume. Unless you’re wearing Everlast shorts and boxing gloves, do not go as anybody named Muhammad.
Years back, when I first began my correctional career at the Diagnostic and Evaluation Center, I made friends with a young man named Earl Lemanski. Earl and I were frequently paired up as floor corporal and control station officer in housing unit one. Earl and I shared many stories, and a great deal of what we told each other was for shock value. Eventually, we learned that we were not shocking each other, but discovering a kindred-perverted spirit. What started from there was a competition of sorts. Who could get away with more?
Things got started when Earl filled my lunch box with toilet paper and trash bags. I did not notice until I got home. The next time we worked together, I filled his cooler with over-the-counter meds that we use for inmate ailments. Making unintentional thieves out of each other got old quickly, because we got in the habit of checking out our respective lunch receptacles prior to leaving the post.
For a non-Marine, Earl had some unusual talents that I appreciated. He could almost fart on command, and his gas smelled like golf-course pond-water with extra range balls. I do not have the time and space to offend you with all the suitable entries, so I will just tell the most shocking story of all.
Earl was the control station officer for units six and seven on a day when unit six and their floor corporal were in the gym. I was working unit seven, and many of my unit inmates were out on passes, and one inmate in particular, Fisher, would be out for at least an hour.
Billy Fisher was a pretty cool inmate, but he always dropped ass right under Earl’s hatch. The gas was purely evil, and even impressed Earl. Even I was impressed by the sound. Fisher’s droppings had a way of reminding you of steel girders being bent.
Not to be outdone, Earl hatched a plan. While Billy was out, Earl and I switched places. I ran the control station, and Earl worked the floor. He entered Billy’s cell, and filled the toilet with wiping paper. Earl proceeded to take a massive dump on top of the paper so it would not sink, and the water would not absorb the stench. To top that off, when he wiped his ass, he just threw the shit paper away in the trash can next to the pot. Earl came out, and slammed the door, laughing and adjusting his pants.
“You gotta see it dude, you just gotta see it. That mud-dump makes me wonder why I feel so healthy.”
“Dude, I can see it from here, it’s like a mountain of poo.”
Prior to my departure, Earl claimed he was going to perform the most daring feat of them all. He was constantly talking about all the shit he could pilfer if wanted, but he decided the one thing that would be worth the risk was the fire extinguisher.
“How the hell are you gonna steal the fire extinguisher?”
“I’m gonna walk out of here carrying my coat in my hand, but my hand will be carrying the fire extinguisher. The coat will be a cover, disguising it.”
The strangest conversation we ever had involved the naming of his soon-to-be-hatched twins. Earl and his wife, Emily, both had names beginning with E. For some stupid fucking reason, his wife wanted to start a tradition and continue with the Es.
Jokingly, I said, “How about Elvis and Earnhardt?” “That’s brilliant! We both love classic rock and roll, and we are both race fans. But what if one is a girl?”
“Elvis and Earnhardt. They can call her Ernie, or by a middle name.”
“What if they are both girls?” “What about Elvira?”
“That’s a wicked-cool name.”
“Did I tell you about the time I met her in the Denver airport? Her real name is Cassandra Peterson, and she is a redhead. I offered to buy her a beer, and she said it had to be a Coors Light. I suppose that’s because she had a contract.”
“She’s a redhead?”
“Yah. Red on the head like a dick on a dog.” “You sat with Elvira and drank a beer?”
“Yah, and just so nobody could ever say, “You should have at least asked,” I asked her.”
“What do you mean you asked her?”
“I asked her if the carpet matched the drapes.” “Then what?”
“Do you want the truth, or do you want a good story?” “Oh fuck, you got me hanging, lie to me!”
“Not only did you find a side of humanity you did not know existed, you found one you hoped did not.”
I got to thinking about helping my kids choose costumes for this year’s Halloween. Matthew, my three-year-old boy will probably want to be Tigger again, or perhaps Bob the Builder. I do not think we could pull off Thomas the Train, but it would be cute. I keep telling Shannon, my eight-year-old daughter, that it would be a great year to go as the Statue of Liberty. She insists that she will be a Husker cheerleader again. Unless typical local predictions are wrong, the popularity of the Husker Football player costume may show a marked decrease.
The media makes it mean more, sort of symbolic at times. If you choose to go retro, Goodwill always has a great selection of old clothes. Real clothes are often warmer than the thin plastic outfits Wal-Mart has to offer. I am guessing you will see quite a few children dressed as soldiers. Hopefully, they will remember the bright orange tips on the end of the weapon barrels.
This definitely would not be the year to wear a “Bin Laden” or “Saddam Hussein” suit. That abuse might even bring back the Barney costume. Unless you’re wearing Everlast shorts and boxing gloves, do not go as anybody named Muhammad.
Years back, when I first began my correctional career at the Diagnostic and Evaluation Center, I made friends with a young man named Earl Lemanski. Earl and I were frequently paired up as floor corporal and control station officer in housing unit one. Earl and I shared many stories, and a great deal of what we told each other was for shock value. Eventually, we learned that we were not shocking each other, but discovering a kindred-perverted spirit. What started from there was a competition of sorts. Who could get away with more?
Things got started when Earl filled my lunch box with toilet paper and trash bags. I did not notice until I got home. The next time we worked together, I filled his cooler with over-the-counter meds that we use for inmate ailments. Making unintentional thieves out of each other got old quickly, because we got in the habit of checking out our respective lunch receptacles prior to leaving the post.
For a non-Marine, Earl had some unusual talents that I appreciated. He could almost fart on command, and his gas smelled like golf-course pond-water with extra range balls. I do not have the time and space to offend you with all the suitable entries, so I will just tell the most shocking story of all.
Earl was the control station officer for units six and seven on a day when unit six and their floor corporal were in the gym. I was working unit seven, and many of my unit inmates were out on passes, and one inmate in particular, Fisher, would be out for at least an hour.
Billy Fisher was a pretty cool inmate, but he always dropped ass right under Earl’s hatch. The gas was purely evil, and even impressed Earl. Even I was impressed by the sound. Fisher’s droppings had a way of reminding you of steel girders being bent.
Not to be outdone, Earl hatched a plan. While Billy was out, Earl and I switched places. I ran the control station, and Earl worked the floor. He entered Billy’s cell, and filled the toilet with wiping paper. Earl proceeded to take a massive dump on top of the paper so it would not sink, and the water would not absorb the stench. To top that off, when he wiped his ass, he just threw the shit paper away in the trash can next to the pot. Earl came out, and slammed the door, laughing and adjusting his pants.
“You gotta see it dude, you just gotta see it. That mud-dump makes me wonder why I feel so healthy.”
“Dude, I can see it from here, it’s like a mountain of poo.”
Prior to my departure, Earl claimed he was going to perform the most daring feat of them all. He was constantly talking about all the shit he could pilfer if wanted, but he decided the one thing that would be worth the risk was the fire extinguisher.
“How the hell are you gonna steal the fire extinguisher?”
“I’m gonna walk out of here carrying my coat in my hand, but my hand will be carrying the fire extinguisher. The coat will be a cover, disguising it.”
The strangest conversation we ever had involved the naming of his soon-to-be-hatched twins. Earl and his wife, Emily, both had names beginning with E. For some stupid fucking reason, his wife wanted to start a tradition and continue with the Es.
Jokingly, I said, “How about Elvis and Earnhardt?” “That’s brilliant! We both love classic rock and roll, and we are both race fans. But what if one is a girl?”
“Elvis and Earnhardt. They can call her Ernie, or by a middle name.”
“What if they are both girls?” “What about Elvira?”
“That’s a wicked-cool name.”
“Did I tell you about the time I met her in the Denver airport? Her real name is Cassandra Peterson, and she is a redhead. I offered to buy her a beer, and she said it had to be a Coors Light. I suppose that’s because she had a contract.”
“She’s a redhead?”
“Yah. Red on the head like a dick on a dog.” “You sat with Elvira and drank a beer?”
“Yah, and just so nobody could ever say, “You should have at least asked,” I asked her.”
“What do you mean you asked her?”
“I asked her if the carpet matched the drapes.” “Then what?”
“Do you want the truth, or do you want a good story?” “Oh fuck, you got me hanging, lie to me!”
“Not only did you find a side of humanity you did not know existed, you found one you hoped did not.”
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