I wasn’t gonna blog this soon.  I was gonna take some time and do it up right.  But that ain’t my style, bub. Sometimes an opportunity presents itself, and you grab that big pot of gold and dig in.  (Chili.  Not gold.  In my dreams it’s always a pot o’ chili.)

Firstly, on the little radio show I do, The TNT Show, we play a stupid game called “Getting to Know Ya” wherein we ask the listeners a buncha stupid questions.  There are no right answers, simply good answers.  Savvy?  Good.  On Monday’s show, we asked a guy what his favorite Halloween candy was.  His answer?

Skittles.  Fucking Skittles.

Now, don’t get me wrong:  Skittles are a fine candy.  I love playing the “which colors/flavors work best together” game.  Fan-fucking-tastic, Skittles.  Good candy you’ve got there.  But…it’s HALLOWEEN, MAN!!  I’d be less disappointed if he’d declared in a strong, authoritative voice that “Those crappy peanut-butter-taffy things that get stuck in your teeth are the finest confection known to man.  In particular, I prefer the ones in the orange paper wrappers to those in the black paper wrappers, even though I know them to be the exact same candy.  Perhaps I bear some sort of subconscious racism.  No matter.  Hands-down, those particular treats are the finest in my Halloween bag, make no mistake.  I am as firm as the Rock of Gibraltar on this issue.”

Skittles.  Fuck. No.

Another Halloween-themed goodie dropped right into my lap via Facebook.  My friend (and excellent drummer, BTW) Joe had posted the following as his status on this fine Monday: “Still have no clue what I should dress up as for Halloween! Come on smart asses what ya got?”

Oh no he DIH-UNT! Joe got a variety of ha-ha replies, and he nixed them all as being “stupid.”  That’s where I came in.  I wanted to just take a screen shot of his Facebook, but it would’ve been all compressed or worse, too frakkin’ big to display properly.  So what follows is a transcript:

Me: Milton from Office Space.

Joe: So far, Turner is winning

Me: Or Mitt Romney.  That’d be cool.

Me: I know! The Iron Giant!

(non-important person): Snooky!

Me: Papa Smurf!

Me: Mitchell S*****n! (*editor’s note: Mitch is a dealer and hockey guy we know who also digs street drag-racing.  Basically a pimp.)

Me: Two chickens!

Me: A tasty McRib sandwich!

Me: Rhubarb!

Me: The Grinch!

Me: Footballing legend Pele!

(some girl): Papa smurf! Lmao ya go as that!

(another, hotter girl): The Hamburgler

Me: Amy Winehouse!

Me: Daft Punk!

(girl again): Joe Dirt!

Me: Willie Nelson’s bar of soap!

Me: Meatsicle! http://www.foundshit.com/raw-meat-popscicle/

Me: A crablouse!

Me: Rusty’s chin! (*editor’s note: Rusty is a smaller, older version of Mitch*)

Me: A mule!

Me: A mule in a sombrero!

Me: Trivial Pursuit!

Me: Gravy!

Me: Harry Potter’s “wand!”

Me: Cthulhu’s cat!

Me: Top Ramen!

Me: Tron!

Me: The Sugarland Stage!

Me: A pair of Vicegrips!

Me: The Boudoir Bombshells!

Me: Knee-high socks and a bloody pitchfork!

RUSTY: Turner wants you to be a Hipster so you can be Hipster butt buddies with him. (*editor’s note: I actually “liked” this comment.*)

Me: A brown tooth!

Me: Barry Thickk’s Old Navy sweatshirt! (*editor’s note: Barry is my co-host.  He is the dude least-likely to own any sort of Old Navy merchandise that I’ve ever met.  And yet, he does…*)

Me: Ray Finkle!

Me: Soap on a rope!

Me: Pope on a rope!

Me: Hop on Pop!

Me: Flubber!

Me: Flash Gordon!

Me: Crash Bandicoot!

Me: Ned Braden!

Me: Ned Ryerson!

Me: Headless Ned Stark!

Me: Tony Stark!

Me: Tony Hawk!

Me: Dolph Lundgren!

Me: Rudolph the Red-Nosed Lundgren!

Joe: I would like to combine all of these into ONE costume!

And then something amazing happened.  The perky young lady that follows our morning show decided I needed reinforcements.  What followed was beautiful…

Jenna: A salad bar.

Jenna: A guy with hair. (*ed: see, Joe’s bald.*)

Jenna: A robot.

Jenna: A banana.

Jenna: A tampon.

Jenna: Apple-bottom jeans.

Jenna: Boots with the fur.

Jenna: Timmy.

Jenna: Poop.

Me: Tommy!

Me: Scoop!

Jenna: Measles.

Me: Weasels!

Jenna: AIDS.

Me: Kool-AIDS Man!

Me: Pierce Brosnan’s colon!

Me: Colin Powell’s piercing!

Me: Powerman 5001!

Me: Jodie Foster!

Me: Steve Buschemi’s used band-aid!

Jenna: Nell.

Jenna: Tay in the weeeend.

Me: Chicka-pay!

Jenna: Harold.

Jenna: Kumar.

Me: Maude!

Jenna: A chicken ring sandwich.

Me: That’s it. Chicken ring sandwich.

Me: Jenna wins.

AAAAAANNND SCENE.  There was more after that, of course.  Banter.  Mainly banter.  But, wow!  What a way to go out!  Chicken ring sandwich!  I don’t have the slightest fucking clue what that even is, but it’s perfect!  Did she mean to type “chicken wing sandwich?”  Or is this some weird internet phrase to which I am not privy?  Will that be tomorrow’s big meme?  Fuck, now I want a chicken ring sandwich, whatever the hell it is.  It’s too good not to be something.

So, there you have it.  Joe’s status garnered 90 comments by the time I wrote this.  Not too shabby, Joe.  And thank you, dear reader, for taking the time to scroll all the way down that bitch.  I owe you a chicken ring sandwich.  I do. But instead, I’ll give you the quick and easy recipe for the celebrated summertime drink the IdaJoe (named after my boy Joe, who’s Facebook is now the stuff of legend.)  Here ’tis: Over ice, pour three parts Sailor Jerry, one part pineapple juice, and add a splash of Grenadine.  It’s bliss. 

Here’s to you, Joe! Happy Halloween!