Geek Outlaw did something the other night that I have never done in the history of my long illustrious (often mind-numbingly boring) career as a human being.
If you guessed bungee jumping off of Mount Rushmore naked while eating a roast beef hoagie, then you assume I actually live somewhat of exciting life, or you may have some sort of psychological issue that you should be have looked at immediately.
For those that said I went to a Halloween party and a bar all by my lonesome, dressed up in my new Rick Grimes get-up, you would win a grand prize (assuming I had any budget to give away a prize worth more than a Taco Bell value meal).
As you may have seen from my Walking Dead photo-shoot of the insane undead and not-undead yet killing sheriff, I went the whole 9 yards in my attempts to pull off Mr. Grimes. Apparently I did such a good job, that every thought I was an actual trooper. There were a few random overly-inebriated folk who thought I was a Super Trooper, and a few others who decided that just calling me Sheriff was easier (or it was one of the few things in their limited vocabulary outside of “one more please”.)
Nevertheless, Walking Dead fans are a brighter and devoted bunch, and they know a Rick Grimes when they see one, and a good one no less. Those that did recognize the sheriff apparel from season one, gave admiration to how much they loved the costume, but even more so gushed about how I was a dead (pun intended) ringer for Andrew Lincoln himself.
While there were a few impressed patrons at my hockey teammate’s freight-fest shindig, the Outlaw didn’t win any awards for best dressed. My guess is that seeing a sheriff waltz into their house was pretty common place and in turn, unimpressive at best.
The Borderline Country Bar and Grill on the other hand proved to be a more fiscally rewarding night endeavor. I knew I was destined for a special evening as the very moment I stepped out of my truck in the parking lot, a cute and undead blonde also stepped out of her vehicle. As is expected, the first words out of my mouth were “we we’re meant to be”.
Unfortunately, the zombified youngster showed only a passing interest in my complimenting choice of costumes. Oh she realized who I was, but she decided she didn’t want anything to do with the orange taped and non-functional .357 Colt Python air-soft gun toting sheriff. Not until alcohol and money entered the picture.
It had to of been about two drinks in when the blonde zombie ran up to me in non-zombie like fashion and decided to grab my arm, pull me away from my conversation with an incredibly attractive (and drunk) 24-year-old, in order to enter us into the Halloween group costume contest of the night. Don’t get too excited Outlaws, it wasn’t that type of group contest… unfortunately.
With the help of some die hard Walking Dead fans in the crowd, the Outlaw and his twenty-something undead partner walked away with 3rd place and $30 apiece. Hell, $30 may not buy a ticket to the movies anymore, but it’s arguably better than a kick in the groin.
But wait, there’s more!
About two more drinks later, the undead-blondie was back, and this time she was stumbling like a proper zombie should, albeit it had nothing to do with being in character. This girl had a nose for money. Again, I was dragged out to the dance floor, although this time for the best overall costume category. The competition was larger this time, and I figured there was about as much of a chance of us winning this round as there was with me going home with a woman who wasn’t even a glimmer in her parents’ eyes when Ghostbusters was first released.
Much to my surprise, the “I Heart Rick Grimes” community pulled through in force, and with a little help from the judge/cameraman (whose favorite show coincidentally just happens to be the Walking Dead), the sheriff and his hot zombie won 2nd place overall and pulled in another $125 each!
Not too shabby for a couple of trips to the dance floor in a sheriff’s outfit and roughly 30 seconds of embarrassing zombie killing poses, wouldn’t you say?
Happy Halloween fellow Outlaws.