Halloween Fun

Cowboys cheerleaders were feeding me Baconators and complimenting my cleverness when I was rudely awakened by a window knock and shower call. Fuck me. Another day in the SHU.

Imagine my confusion when I looked out the window and observed Stalin wearing nothing but a Speedo with “Before” written on his chest. I had no time to process this information before the door to the cell opened. Manfra wore a matching speedo with “After” on his bosom. Halloween had snuck up on me. These two were an advertisement for Ultratan. Or maybe a skin cancer infomercial.

On the way to the shower, I saw Knox dressed as Cartman from South Park telling White, an ironic last name, to get his bass guitar from upstairs. Token swore that he didn’t have one or know how to play, but I had a feeling that I’d be seeing him later. Sure enough, by the time I returned to my cell, Token was picking riffs like a pro.

Unsurprisingly, Savage wore a Village People Indian costume when he arrived to get us for rec with a bearded Ronald McDonald. Of course Heaney would be a fucking clown. Chief Suckalottadick slap slash grabbed the Before and After brothers’ asses on the way out while complimenting their costumes.

When we got outside, I noticed Gunn was predictably sitting on a milk crate, hiding from the camera, and smoking a cigarette like he hated his fucking life. Savage complimented the Reno 911 style shorts on his cop costume. Speedos and booty shorts on dudes—I didn’t think this costume party could get any worse.

My cellie and I both noticed Clark at the same time. “What the fuck?” we asked simultaneously. Clark sat in the booth on the edge of his chair completely naked. I shuddered at the sight.

“He’s that guy from the meme,” I informed my cellie after I realized.

“The who from the what?”

“The naked black guy sitting on the edge of the bed meme.”

My cellie had no idea what I was talking about. I wish I didn’t, either. I shuddered once again.

The Chief stopped to admire the sight and verbally approved. Thankfully, there was no slapping or grabbing.

Celestial Being Green came out first to bring us back to our cells. She wore all black with cat ears on her head, whiskers painted on her face. If I had a dollar for every basic bitch cat outfit I’d seen on Halloween, I’d never have sold weed. Still, she totally pulled it off.

The next costume was a hard one. The pigtails, bunny shirt, and short schoolgirl skirt should’ve given it away, but it was actually the less than usual amount of makeup Silberstein had on that made me realize she was Harley Quinn. I shuddered for a third time.

As Catwoman and Harley Quinn guided us back to our cell, I noticed the orderly had purple hair.

“Did you really put on orange pants and a brown shirt just for an extra tray?” I asked Gurtley.

“I heard they had pumpkin spice bagels,” she answered. Were those even a thing? Meanwhile, Token was now shredding on the bass, impressing even myself. Ryan stood there, listening with an IPA in hand.

“It’s not a costume if it’s the clothes you already wear every day,” I commented. He had  a flannel shirt hanging from his frame, suspenders, and had his jeans rolled up at the bottom to show off his socks. Fucking hipsters.

“Tell that to Harley,” Ryan countered. Valid point.

“She only still has that outfit in case her ex ever comes back. It’s different.” I had to have Silberstein’s back.

Someone was dressed at the Burger King, but I had no idea who until he brought the book cart around and my cellie asked if there were any hood novels. The response “We have the Michelle Obama biography” meant it had to be Garbecki. That’s a true story, by the way.

For count, Johnson walked by in his Eagles uniform, pads and all, with Wendy from Wendy’s following. I heard a loud slap and “Good game!” in a voice that could only be Savage. I was glad Velma decided to be Wendy instead of her Scooby-Doo character lookalike. Personally, I’d trade Johnson for an extra washcloth.

There must have been boxed Franzia Pinot Grigio in the office because the party started cranking up. With Token on the bass, Gartley took command of the mop handle like it was a Bruno Mars microphone and accepted requests. If Green asked for one more Paramore song, I was going to start beating on the door. Harley was drunk-dialing her ex in the office, and Cartman was screaming at Manfra that he wasn’t fat, he was just big-boned.

The Burger King was handing out dinner trays with Wendy, which apparently made Ronald McDonald jealous. Before I could get my tray, Ronald jumped on the King’s back and tried to twist his mask around backward. I was then distracted by the sight of Wendy’s calves. They were twice the size of the rest of her body. I guess those ten thousand calf raises she did a shift peeking in windows worked out for her. I suddenly really wanted a frosty. Even the dollar size would’ve been fine.

“Chicken fries are better!” I was snapped back into reality as the King roared and overheard threw Ronald onto the food cart. While I agree that chicken fries are better than Ronald’s chicken options, the actual fries are better at the Golden Arches. The food cart went rolling down the range like a bowling ball, making all the intoxicated officers jump out of the way.

“What’s going on here?!” I’d recognize that voice anywhere. The No Fun Police had arrived. “In my country, we don’t celebrate anything but the victory of the motherland. Get back to work!” Of course, she wore her KGB uniform.

The officers all put their heads down in disappointment—Halloween fun was officially over. I popped two allergy tablets and started the Michelle Obama biography. I was back to the cheerleaders in no time. Just another day in the SHU.