Halloween has passed and you and your little Bo peep costume won your blue ribbon, but it's not too soon to start thinking about next year. From soup to nuts, check out what costumes won our top prizes this year and are sure to be top winners in '05.
Miles O'Cock - Listen dick head, I know you've got mad willies on the brain, but you're the first dude I've seen with balls on the chin who wasn't doing it to earn crack and/or smack moula. You've made your motivation known and my jimmy hat is off to you, John Thomas.
No costume provider has come forward to produce this amazing work, but if you've got sex on the brain, and indeed all over the head, nothing says you get sex left, right, center and at all degrees in between, like dressing up as Miles O'Cock.
Give in, give it up, strap lifelike penises all over yourself and make a statement. Get your party started. Scruples sold separately.
Tuna of the Turf - Nothing screams "this end up" like the mammalian version of Chicken of the Sea; it's Tuna of the Turf.
Whether you're a flat-chested girl who wants sexual attention usually reserved for fatted booby silicone goddesses or someone just wanting to tell men that your coochie is cavernous, there's no smarter choice than the free-range vagi-cephalus.
With arms out stretched like the vagina itself, the hands can hold traffic direction lights, as if to point inbound 747's on taxi to "park it here".
Obscene? Yes. Disgusting? Perhaps. Irresistible when smothered with day-old albacore? Oh my, yes!
Goddess-Zilla - Enough costumnal catastrophe for a minute, let's embrace the glorious beauty of debatable nudity done as only mother nature and father monster-movie could express it.
Don't be satisfied to witness, but stand out and participate in the highest culmination of God's evolution and man's scientific creation. Be Godess-zilla. Know that with a single hand and a pair of artistically adorned knockers you could resurrect the creature film genre. Know that your dry, hybrid, reptilian touch could sell a real life Jurassic Park and Bordello, even to the most hesitant investors and otherwise flaccid skeptics.
When people see you, they will point and stare. There's no shame, for what follows next is invariably, "did you see the headlights on the naked gator chick?" Shelve your shame, embrace the cold-heated woman inside you and then embrace me with both arms, both legs and that freaky tail you're trying so hard to hide.... Please?
Dorothy and Tin Man - On the other end of the spectrum comes the Worst Use of Unsuspectable Nudity, as if marching full-bore down a yellow brick road, screaming a show tune. There's no bricks in this funky house, Dorothy's grown up and even Viagra ain't doing the trick this time.
The message from Glossy News to any of the many aging and aged Dorothy's of the world is officially this; if you don't got it, please don't flaunt it. Our message to the would-be Tin Men is; once you get a brain, go get a clue, get your eyes checked and get the hell clear of Toto toting trippers of acid or brick roads like her.
Dear readers, life is not so different from a mountain road. Hit if fast and enjoy the modest curves, but don't die smashed against a slide of boulders, even if there is a wet spring at the Y in the road begging your Fiat to park in the tunnel. Steer wide, steer (is) wide, trust me on this one.
Untransformable - let's bring this down a final, regrettable notch to our pity prize. This years Bottom Consolation goes out to Inoptimus Way-Out-of-His-Prime, the leader of the Autobots, the guy who lives with his mom at 40, and who can not, will not and has not been out on a single date... Not even a fake one.
The costume is unmistakable, characterized by red and blue tempura paints and a desire to be anything other than what he is. He wishes to be a robot, however fictitious, a semi-truck, however impractical, or a cartoon, however passé. Regardless of effort or cost, he's still just a fat, bald guy wearing a bunch of stupid boxes.
Now, while this guy and his costume are nearly as old as the internet, it still bears mention that it is a true bottom of the sludge of the bottom of the most bottom barrel.
We call him the untransformable because, despite his passion, desire and creative use of cardboard, paint and Scotch tape, what you see is absolutely all you get. Take it or leave it, but for the love of God, no matter what you do, leave it. Even at his age he can't ever transform himself from senior cashier to assistant manager, let alone from virgin to mediocre lover.
