Dressing As Andrew Dice Clay For Halloween Was The Best Idea Of My Life

ItalianStallion8 years ago

The holiday of booze, costumes, and pumpkin artistry falls on a Tuesday this year, so I’m gonna take a wild guess and say that all of you probably got your celebration out of the way this past weekend? Not me. While I definitely did go out this weekend (as the security footage from that ATM I headbutted will confirm), I’ll be going out tonight as well. Why? Not just because I’m chasing that dragon, but because — for once in my life — I have the perfect costume, and it deserves all the partying I can get out of it.

Let’s rewind a few days to last Thursday. I’m sitting at New Jersey’s own version of a five-star restaurant (a roadside diner) with some friends discussing the Halloween costumes we were going to wear to our old college bar. One of my friends was going to be Yoshi, but because fuck Amazon and their shipping error, he had to make a last-minute pilgrimage to one of those Halloween stores to get a David Hasselhoff Baywatch costume. Another one of my friends was going to match his girlfriend’s slutty nun costume by being a priest, which is all shades of ironic because he’s Jewish. Another one of my friends was going to wear the same costume he wore last year: an Arkham Asylum prison jumpsuit that almost got us arrested last Halloweekend.

What was I going to be? I was going to be my political spirit animal, Anthony Scaramucci. Let’s be honest: the Mooch is a ladies man; the costume was certain to get me laid. Don’t tell me the White House staff wasn’t giving him the eyes his entire week-long tenure in the White House. If he’d lasted more than nine days, someone might’ve taken the newly-divorced Mooch for a quick romp in the Lincoln bedroom when Donny wasn’t looking.

My friends vetoed the costume idea. I briefly considered being a slutty cat, because everyone loves slutty Halloween costumes. Then one of my friends looks at me and goes, “Hey, you know who you should be for Halloween? Famous 1980s comedian Andrew Dice Clay!”

As a stand-up comedian myself, I was a little embarrassed to admit I didn’t know who Andrew Dice Clay was. For those of you who don’t know, he’a vulgar, filthy, sequined leather jacket-wearing comedian who is a walking Brooklyn stereotype. Drop whatever you’re doing right now and watch his dirty nursery rhymes routine (disclaimer: watch with the sound off or with headphones; this is more NSFW than porn). Fast forward 20 minutes and a bunch of YouTube videos later and I was completely aboard the Dicemaster train.

Fast forward again to Saturday night when we finally go to our college stomping ground. I’m fully decked out in all the glory that is Andrew Dice Clay.

The bouncer looks at me and goes, “Who the fuck are you supposed to be? Richard Simmons if he owned a Harley?”

“No, I’m 1980s comedian Andrew Dice Clay.”

“Never heard of him.”

The bouncer wasn’t the first. If I took a shot for every person who thought I was a cheap, knockoff of Danny Zuko from Grease, I would have blacked out in the first fifteen minutes. Then, some cute blonde girl dressed as a slutty cat (classic) comes up to me.

“You know who you look like? You ever heard of Andrew Dice Clay?”

“Yeah, that’s who I’m supposed to be.”

“I like it; it looks good on you. But are you as funny as him?”

“Well, I’m a comedian; I sure as hell hope so.”

“Well, why don’t you buy me a drink and we can find out?”

And the rest is history. Thank you, Andrew Dice Clay.

Oh, you wanted some miraculous, wild, zany ending? Sorry; no can do. Just congratulate me on the sex and scram, please. Thanks..

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