The Halloween 'Tard Fiasco, Part 2 - December 24, 2006

(Reconditioning Batteries)

Seth and I abandoned the newly vacant dance floor for some socializing. After I had spooked the Joy Luck club out of the bar, I was taking shots and shaking hands with my new fans. I was beyond drunk; my vision was quickly becoming a problem and I was starting to slur words. I was wearing at least two complimentary shots on my shirt because they failed to find my mouth. The night was starting to take its toll on me.

"Oh my God, you are KungFu Mike, aren't you?!"

A very attractive blonde girl walked up to me. As it turned out, she was an avid reader of my shit that I wrote for a local newspaper at the time. Her name was Tracy.

Tracy: "So what brings you to this place?"

Me: "Can you babysit me?"

Tracy: "Huh?"


I strapped the business end of the kiddie leash onto Tracy's arm and started dancing with her. Staying in character, my dance was a hybrid between the Heathcliff Huxtable shuffle and a photosensitive seizure. She laughed, we chatted. The night continued on like this until the music stopped and a man's voice boomed on the PA system. It was the voice of the whiter than white DJ.

"Is ayeeone havin' a good time tonight? I saaaaaaid - is ayeebody havin' a good time tonight?! *people screaming* I can't heaaarrrr youuuuu!! *more people screaming* Aiight, we 'bout to keep it poppin' off Halloween style wif a costume contest, ya heeeearrrdddd. If y'all entered in n' shit, step on ova to da line next to da dance flo. Holla!"

A line of about 20 or so people started forming by the dance floor, which was now lit up with a man standing in the middle with a microphone. Contestants started walking out to the man one at a time and he would ask them why they thought that they should win the contest. They would say something like, "because I'm a naughty police officer and you need a spanking" or some tired shit and walk off, leaving the audience screaming for another salacious Halloween whore to pander to them.

I thought about jumping in line for a quick second, and that second quickly came and went - the painful thought of standing in a line for God knows how long without being able to leave to get a drink or take a piss was akin to that scene in Hard Candy where the guy gets castrated - unbearable.

Tracey definitely wanted me to do it, and was begging me to get in line. Then Tracey's friends all started to chime in. Then Seth began screaming at me to join the contest. Then passing strangers that happened to witness the dance floor incident started harassing me about it. They just wouldn't take no for an answer, no matter how much I resisted. Out of nowhere, two cute girls I hadn't yet spoken with that night grabbed me by both arms, pulled me over to the registration table, signed me up and shoved me in line with a fresh drink. I would probably be involved in a lot more things in life if I had two girls like that working for me as assistants. Things like Pilates. And voting.

Slutty beer wench. Slutty Playboy bunny. Slutty nurse. Slutty toddler. Aaaaand I'm up.

I sauntered into the center of the dance floor clutching what was left of a Red Bull and Vodka and a lit cigarette trapped between my fingers. As I made my way over to the announcer I heard a woman gasp "Oh my God, I can not believe that handicapped boy's parents let him drink alcohol. Someone should call the police!"

The announcer took one look at me and disapprovingly shook his head. Besides my ridiculous costume, my face told the tale of a man that had poured ten too many.

Announcer: "Well now, what is your name?" *bringing the microphone to my face*

Me: "Mahhhhh name es Mikoww. Es Mikowww."

Announcer: "Excuse me?" *holding microphone closer*

Me: "Mikowww, Mikowww...mah name es Mikowww."

Announcer: "Ok, I guess. Now what makes you think that you should win - "

I snatched the microphone from the announcer's hand.


Three hundred people went silent. My retard gibberish had silenced a nightclub completely packed to capacity. You could honestly hear a cell phone vibrate from across the room. The crowd just stood there slack jawed, staring at me. Ten seconds went by before a few nervous laughs sounded intermittently as I gave the microphone back to the announcer and shuffled off of the dance floor.

When I walked back to my table, Tracey grabbed me by the kiddie leash and told me that I was coming with her to an after party a few blocks away. Not asked, told. I was far too drunk to be able to gauge facial expressions and tones of voice, so I wasn't sure if it was because I had just embarrassed her to the point that she felt she needed to leave or if she actually wanted to fuck me. Or maybe she wanted to fuck me so I would stop embarrassing her. Either way, it was getting close to last call, so I accepted.

As I was being led out of the door by my leash, I noticed Slutty Policewoman taking first prize in the costume contest. "FFFFFACK YOUUU, SHLUTTY COP!!! I AM DEE WINNUHHHH!!!! BLLLAAARRGRHH!!!" Tracy yanked my leash to force me out of the door.

The after party was pretty quiet. A handful of people from the bar and a few others hanging out in a living room were drinking cheap champagne and roasting up some average commercial weed when Tracey and I walked through the front door. Everyone laughed when they saw my costume. As soon as I went to introduce myself, Tracey pulled me into another room by my kiddie leash and shut the door.

There I was; dressed like a special needs kid, getting a blowjob from an unfamiliar woman in a dimly lit room at a party that I just crashed. All I needed to do was turn towards a camera and give it a thumbs up to turn the entire night into a Mentos commercial.

I was pulling my pants back up when Tracey left the room. I imagined that she was probably rinsing her mouth out, or maybe she was sobbing silently in the corner of the bathroom because she just then realized that she had sucked off a man wearing a helmet that she just met a few hours ago. I heard people talking in the adjacent room and I saw a light peeking out from under the closed door, so I figured I would try to at least be sociable to the hosts of the soirée I had just used as a receptacle for my semen.

A guy and a girl were hanging out in the living room. The girl was blonde with bad hair and worse skin, and the guy was, well, he was your stereotypical Masshole; Italian looking, black t-shirt, short gold chain with a cross dangling over it and a manicured 5 o'clock shadow. Both of them looked like they caught the first chairlift of the morning on Sinus Snowstorm Mountain.

I said hello, sat down on the couch and poured myself a drink. It seemed as though everyone else at the party had either taken off for the night or were hanging out in a different part of the house. I knew Tracey was a smoker, so I put two and two together and came to the conclusion that I was in McDonald's antisocial binge cocaine user's Play Place. I figured I would just hang out with them and wait for Tracey to come back so I would have a comfortable place to sleep, wake up and have morning sex.

We all talked about what we did that night, what local bars we liked and what was on TV. Well, it was more like I was talking about all of those things while Cokey Roberts and Coke-a-Dile Dundee fidgeted in their reclining chairs, looked nervously around the room and savored their post nasal drips.

Cokey left the room to go to smoke a cigarette and left me and Coke-a-Dile Dundee behind to chat.

Me: "So, where are you from?"

Dundee: "Lowell, Mass."

Me: "Ah, gotcha. I'm actually originally from West Springfield. How do you like it there?"

Dundee: "It's ok, except for the niggers and the spics."

Me: "..."

Dundee: "They're everywhere. They ain't human, guy."

I just went from receiving excellent fellatio to having a conversation with Walt Disney. Fabulous.

Me: "Sooo why don't you move away from Lowell if you hate minorities?"

Dundee: "No fucking way, guy. I'm not leaving my fucking family with those fucking animals. I'm going to kick all of those filthy niggers and spics out of Massachucetts. Leave the commonwealth to clean white people, you know?"

I could hear the hammerlock of a handgun click in my head when he finished that sentence. I can deal with ignorance to a point, but only if I have something to gain from it, like breakfast, or another blowjob. Maybe the booze had something to do with it, but I just couldn't listen to his shit for another second. I stood up, still garbed in full 'tard regalia, and let him know exactly what I thought about his Aryan ideals. Cokey Roberts came back into the room just in time to witness the end of my tirade.

Cokey: "I think it's time that you left."

Me: "Yeah, I think that you're probably right. Thanks for the hospitality."

Dundee, fists balled up: "Get the fuck out of here, you motherfucker."

I walked out the door, down the steps of the front porch and onto the street. I looked at my cell phone - 3 a.m. The street was completely dark except for one street lamp casting shadows from a tree branch blowing in the breeze. No lights on in houses, no cars, nothing. Silence.

I heard the screen door swing open and bash against the side of the house. It was Coke-o-Dile Dundee. He raced down the stairs of the porch and started after me.

Dundee: "You laughin' at me? Huh?! You laughing at me, guy?!

Me: "No, I was walking home, dude. Relax."

Cokey Roberts came out of the house, screaming for Dundee to come back inside. I sized him up as he was walking towards me. He was about my size, maybe a little more built, but I definitely thought that I could take him if it came to blows. I stood my ground as he approached.

Dundee: "I'll fuckin' cut you, faggot! GO GET ALL YOUR NIGGER FRIENDS!!! I'LL CUT THEM TOO!!!"

This is where Coke-o-Dile Dundee whips out a knife. Not some Webelo issued two inch locking knife - a fucking bowie knife. It looked like something that Ted Nugent would use to skin a stray cat in his backyard. He held both of his arms outstretched, knife in his right hand as he got closer. I started to backpedal with my arms out.

Me: "Dude, put that fucking thing away. It's just you and me; there is no need to bring a knife into this. Just relax."

It came at me like a flash. The knife darted toward my head and I threw my hands up in the only way I could feasibly guard my face from getting cut. The blade grazed my forearm and retracted for another strike. That's when I stopped backpedaling, turned around and sprinted for my life. I glanced back to find him a few paces behind me. I could see the knife gleam in the light from the street lamp every time his arm made an upstroke. I turned around, put my head down and ran harder. Faster. I had to run faster. I could see the well lit intersection that I needed to be on to get back to my apartment about 100 yards away from me; I just had to make it there. My arms pumped furiously, my strides were long but I was barely breathing. I was too scared to breathe. The closer I got to the intersection, the further away Dundee trailed me. By the time I had hit the intersection and hooked a right, he was long gone.

I slowed my pace down to a trot about a block after I turned, checking behind me every five or ten seconds. After a bout of panting, wheezing and spitting, I lit up a cigarette and started walking. Miraculously, my forearm only had a small gash in it, nothing serious. I took my button up shirt off and covered the cut so I wouldn't draw attention to myself. Then I started laughing because I realized that I was still dressed up in my retard costume.

I got home, changed my clothes, cleaned up my arm and walked down the street to a local breakfast joint where I ate the most delicious sausage, egg and cheese breakfast sandwich that I have ever tasted in my life.

Posted by KungFu Mike at 12:52 AM

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There is nothing I love more then heading over to portsmouth at night and seeing all the greasy, wifebeater and gold chain wearing stump necks.
and I would have thought your costume would have gone over better? I mean after all even a retarded person has more common sense then some of those ho bags after a few drinks.

Posted by: april at December 24, 2006 07:45 PM

Great story, even though the beginnings to both parts mostly just confused me. Halloween costumes CAN get you in trouble though. When you look sketchy and dress sketchy for halloween, as I did, the cops seem to pay more attention to you...strange, no? No. No it isn't. At all. Good posts though, I'm lovin' your writing.

Posted by: Captain Canada at December 25, 2006 03:40 AM

Wow, that's pretty incredible. That's something I'm definitely going to have to try in the future on Halloween!

Shame you didn't kick the guy's ass. That would have shown the red-neck piece of shit!

Posted by: Steve at December 25, 2006 04:13 AM

Posted by: at December 26, 2006 08:36 AM


oh and the fight club reference at the end, pretty effin sweet. keep doing crazy shit, i'll keep reading em

Posted by: jordan at December 27, 2006 11:16 PM

I find it kind of ironic that you rail against intolerance and ignorance but use the slur "guido" in the same story.


Posted by: Vimmy at March 3, 2008 03:07 PM

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