Mckibbins West Island Halloween Party - Pimp my costume

This year's Halloween party was a complete success and featured everything one could want; from foreign dead people, to hot Bavarian waitresses, to a guy wearing a garbage can with a beer holder, our macabre celebration at McKibbins was great fun. It started off with Jess, her mother and myself forcibly attending someone's house Halloween party, with Pam clearly the winner of best costume sporting her freaky hybrid Frankenstein / Einstein ensemble, becoming in essence Frank Einstein. The emerald green makeup covering her face and hands gave her definite Frankenstein credentials, while the struck-by-lighting hair, lab coat, glasses and clipboard made every inch the German scientist. And if that wasn’t enough, Pam had fashioned herself a friendly “Frank Einstein” nametag to remove all confusion and induce pearls of laughter.

Jess and I got to McKibbins and were soon joined by all types of freaks, monsters and Hollywood royalty. For some reason Blogger won’t let me upload all the pics on one post, so I’ll be splitting this in two.
















Igal and his wife, Olga, as the perfect couple. The husband is dead so he doesn’t ever have to lift a finger around the house while the wife is sexy witch who turns men into drooling, hapless idiots without ever needing to resort to a spells.


















And the drinking commences. It was $50 open bar – I think Halloween might seriously replace Christmas as the most wonderful time of the year.




















A touch of class amongst pimps and slutty cops, Tania aka Audrey Hepburn finally got to use that cigarette holder she’s been saving.

















Natalie as the devil – who’d of thought it? I still don’t know who’s pimping who in this picture.















Jess was such a perfect slutty cop that I had to truly fight an almost overpowering urge to commit crime. I was ready to tell her that I was smuggling in drugs from Columbia in hopes of a full-body search.




















This will be fun to explain at our wedding. “Well you see, it’s a funny story. I was running hoes and Jess was patrolling the streets. One thing led to another…now she’s employee of the month.”

You Can’t Spell Russian without “Us”

If there’s anything better than getting pissed with good friends and having nothing to do the next day, I don’t want to know about it. The Russians invaded the West Island with a fury and brought a little Eastern Euro flair into the mix. We had an accent competition with one guy boasting of his talent to mimic diverse dialects and inflections – they all sounded the same to me, dude. I’m itchin’ to try out my new Russian stock phrases at these Russian club parties I’ve heard of, which sound incredibly exciting. I figure I’ll either get beaten up or go home with a mail-order bride someone left at the post office.

Andre, showcasing his trademark generosity, flashed us a provocative one-tenth of his ball (I call it a testy tithe). If you think that was bad, he then wanted to charge us for that freak show. All I have to say is that there was a little too much Cheese and not enough Pork for me to fork over some cash.

The rest of the night gets a bit hazy. I remember singing, and someone breaking my necklace, and doing vodka shots, and then seeing myself on TV. Maybe Andre and I could start our own show, “Peep my Balls”.

Nah. We’d probably only get viewers Back in the USSR.

If I Sweated Ice Cream, Would You Lick My Face?

My blogger in crime Tina and I hit the town tonight, with her sister Linda and her friend Vanessa in tow. The plan was for Foxy to come to my place, eat, watch F.R.I.E.N.D.S, (of course), laugh ourselves silly and then head off with our groupies (Linda and Vanessa) to watch some fireworks at the Old Port. Now, I can only imagine that the fireworks were in honour of Bastille Day, celebrated here with some antiquated notion of a French Connection. Works for me - no better way to pay hommage to the mother country than with pretty lights and loud noises. Anyway, Tina got here late (of course) with barely enough time for me to force feed her pickles and crackers. She was wearing this gorgeous green dress that suited her perfectly, showing off her tan and svelte physique wonderfully. Satiated in both appetities, we picked up Vanessa and Linda and went off to see these fireworks.

Foxy is a born performer (of course) and took very easily to a car game of mine. You listen to a song very loudly, something you know the words and melody to. You sing along, in time with the song, and someone then turns off the volume. You continue singing for 30 seconds or so and when the volume comes back on, we see if you're still in time. Sounds riveting here, I know, but it's much more fun live.

Anyway, we got to the Old Port and saw the fireworks had already started. Oohs and Aaahs permeated the crowd for about five minutes, which is Sanjay's maximum firework tolerance before ennui sets in. After that, we got some ice cream (of course), saw various performers and the girls got some free hugs by a very enterprising (and not at all creepy) man. The Chinese acrobats did a two-man dragon (wonder what's Chinese for "rim job"?) and there were fire dancers, 2 men and a woman with a pretty mouth.

The highlight of the evening was Foxy and Linda getting their henna tattoos. Linda got a star on her wrist, which though she is dissatisfied, I find it very cute. Ok fine, it's slightly crooked. So what?? It's a bloody henna tattoo!! It's not like she's bought a lame puppy or a condo with a brick wall view or X-ray specs that only work at night - it's a star that'll wash off in a week. Be happy with it, revel in it, enjoy the moment, offer it to the real stars as proof of your bond with the heavens. Why worry about something you can't avoid or change?

Foxy got a Superman tattoo (guess who puts the "S" in Tina?) on her back, the beauty of which I cannot praise enough. The lines are the paragon of elegance, the design the essence of sophistication, the emblem the epitome of grace.

Oh, and the tattoo is pretty good too (of course).