Tag Archives: toga

It’s so frikkin on right now – Act 1

Where was I? Ah yes, pausing for warm joo-joo pleasure and Judd Nelson air-punch. So, following the technicolor hurl that was Poppins, NASA and I went into superhero mode.

Context. A month ago, we were invited to a costume party of superhero proportions. And on that decidedly traumatic Saturday, we sat over lunch musing how to achieve social awesomeness – finally landing upon the notion to go as super versions of ourselves.

I went as a villain (which basically meant adding a mask) and NASA as a hero (in spandex, pink-metallic mask and cape – springs of hair punching the air in victory).

We rock up to this gig lookin’ like comic strips on a night off, anticipation and six-pack in hand. We’re going in, cover us. But wait, what? Lo and be-fucken-hold, every single person is in a fucking toga. Kiss my Ikea, you bastards. What the frik.

“Hey everyone! I’m in a BED SHEET. Come see how good I look!”

By this time, they’re 3 fitted-sheets to the West. And there we sit – two masked comics in the corner; corkscrew hero and brooding villain. Good anti-climatic times.

Cut to: NASA and I exit Poppins, our hopes and dreams violated, but in surprisingly good spirits. Wucs. Time to kick this puppy up a notch. We head to our haunt, a club with themed entry and 80s joo-joo. The theme? Superheroes, bitches! It’s a sign. Totally psyched, yo.

Time for a costume change. We duck into an empty shopping mall, passing a little geek parade of geisha and wizards. (O-kaay. Guess we aint the only ones getting our freak on.)

Into the toilets and suit up. I don my pink wig and Elvis sunnies (don’t ask for logic), and NASA assumes heroic form. We eye our reflections in the mirror. I look like a candy-dipped Uma of Pulp proportions. Accidental, but I’m feelin’ it.

Upon exit, the mall is deserted but for a lone security guard. He tips his hat, as if to say … “we get heroes in ‘ere all the time, no big deal.”

go to … It’s so frikkin on right now – Act 2


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