This year I dressed as ...


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( chobb ,ø¤ºGREATº¤ø,¸¸,ø¤ºRAPISTº¤ø,¸¸,ø¤ºRECOMMENDEDº¤ø, Fri 13 Jan 2006, 10:03, Reply)

crap spider
I decided to go to a friend's 21st dressed as a spider. I bought some tights (a nice lady in Boots helped me choose), and I cut the legs off four pairs, stuffed them with newspaper and sewed them onto an old T-shirt. For eyes I stuck loads of ping pong balls onto a woolly hat, and I put some velcro on some black plimsolls for spider feet. It looked the business.

Anyway, I got the tube there on my own which was humiliating enough, but by the time I arrived the velcro and all of the legs had fallen off and only one ball remained glued to my hat. I turned up almost in tears in my PE kit, completely blacked up with a ping pong ball on my head, carrying stuffed women's tights. Presumably the other guests thought I had come as a retarded racist.
( browser still relating boring anecdotes into a void on, Thu 12 Jan 2006, 22:45, Reply)

( Pineapplez, Fri 13 Jan 2006, 2:02, Reply)

Baby Jesus goes to the Zoo
Every year at the church I attended as a child, there was the obligatory Christmas pageant. You know the ones, someone plays Mary, someone plays Joseph, blah blah blah. The year in question, all the younger kids had to be the animals in the stable. I was a sheep.

My younger brother, then about five, announced that he wanted to be a lion. And they let him. So Christmas Eve comes, and here's the nativity with the ass and the ox and the sheep, and a fucking lion. With a mane and everything. Halfway through singing "Hark the Herald Angels Sing," he got bored and started roaring whilst knocking over the little kids dressed as lambs.

My mother is still mad.
(Alliath, Fri 13 Jan 2006, 22:23, Reply)

Xmas Eve 1998
I'm Djing and fancy dress theme is superheroes and supervillains. I call the local fancy dress shop and reserve a Spiderman costume for the big night.

I go and collect it on the day and - it's wank. A pair of pyjamas with the logo and web drawn on in marker pen, and one of those flimsy 50p from the newsagent plastic masks.

Determined to make I go of it I phone a friend who comes round and uses face paint on my entire head (bald anyway) and down my neck beyond where the neckline of the pyjamas end. Looks MUCH better.

End of the night I get chatting to the new barmaid, one thing leads to another and it's back to my place for some monkey style fucking, me still dressed as Spiderman.

8AM Xmas day she's waking me up. I am confused. 8AM?

"I've got to get back to my boyfriends - NOW" she says.

Boyfriend? This was news to me, so I rang her a taxi, and *forgot* to remind her that she had bright red facepaint all over her face, boobs, belly, thighs, everywhere.

Saw her to the door and contentedly went back to bed to sleep off my hangover, chuckling at having had the last laugh.









Three weeks later it hurt me very much to pee, and turns out she had the last laugh after all :(
(FiftyFour, Fri 13 Jan 2006, 0:36, Reply)

About 5 years
back, me and 3 friends went to a halloween party in Oxford as 4 car accident victims.

Someone we knew (Dan), who did makeup for the film industry, did the honours for us. It took bloody ages. The problem was, Dan loved his job too much. He went completely over the top, and it just looked too realistic.

I had half of my face missing, with the jawbone exposed. One of my friends had a compound fracture, with the bone sticking out of his forearm, another had a windscreen wiper stuck through his neck amongst other things ... and so on ..

To get to the party, we had to walk through the city centre. We made 2 children cry just by looking at them, and were promptly bollocked by their mother, who also looked like she wanted to get out of there as soon as possible.

At the party, no-one talked to me all night, because they just couldn't handle looking at my bloodshot-eyed, glass-shard infested, half missing face.

Never again.
(8-Ball, Fri 13 Jan 2006, 12:35, Reply)

Vikings, tadgers and real nurses
Back in my days as a student at Plymouth uni dressing up was a regular event. So much so that most people would own several different outfits and many lads actually had a goodly collection of make-up and whores perfume (pound shops can supply all these cosmetic items, at just a pound each!). I think it was either my 19th or 20th birthday and we had settled on a theme of Vikings. Many lectures were missed scouring local charity and toy shops for pointy helmets, plastic swords/axes and kilts. A lad I lived with called Skip was unable to find a kilt so had to settle for a second-hand Marks and Spencers plaid mini-skirt.

Come 1100 on the big day and myself and Skip set out for a pub (The James Street Vaults for those in the know) next to the uni campus. We lived about a 20min walk which must have taken as least 40min that day due to the regular stops for pillaging and sword fights.

As we arrived on campus a couple of bus loads of spotty high school kids had also just arrived for a look around this esteemed school of learning. Of course we waded right through the middle of them swords and axes flailing wildly. I’ve always wonder whether we encouraged more or less of those kids to apply for Plymouth, probably more I reckon.

Flip forward a few hours and things are getting decidedly more blurry. Several bloody wounds are in evidence thanks to one lad who had bought a plastic axe which provided weighty enough to de some serious damage. Many other Vikings have arrived and we had started a drinking competition which was something along the lines of drink 5 pints, 4 bottles of lager, 3 doubles, 2 alcopops and a Jack Daniels with anyone finishing sans-chunder winning a T-shirt.

Skip was feeling the effects of many guinesses’ before starting the race and was having trouble performing everyday tasks. A non-Viking came up to me and explained that Skip had fallen on the way to the toilets and was lying on his back in the middle of the packed pub with his M&S mini-skirt over his stomach and his tadger in full view. After checking he was ok, and taking a photo, we left him too it as he still had hold of a beer, his drinking arm was free, nobody seemed to mind stepping over him and the bar staff were fellow students didn’t seem like they were going to throw him out.

Some time later Skip has picked himself up and now the majority of blokes are also sitting around with kilts tucked up to show that they too have come commando.

More beer later and once again im told that Skip has fallen down. This time its outside and much blood is involved. So out I go and find out that after finding a big queue for the toilets he had gone for a slash outside. Whilst half way through the deed he had lost his balance and toppled backwards. For reasons that the couldn’t explain, instead of putting out his hands to break his fall he had keep a firm, double-handed grip on his old man and instead had slowed his fall with his own head. Fool.

One trip in an ambulance later and we are in hospital. Skip has passed out on the hospital bed, the top half of which was now soaked in a combined mixture of blood and vomit [Head wounds bleed a LOT]. Unfortunately he woke up mid way through his X-ray’s and as he was a bit confused wouldn’t lie still. After several failed X-rays the nurses ask me if I can try to get him to stay still. Sure, I answered, stepping forwards, punching him in the stomach and getting him in a head lock. Their reaction make it quite clear that this wasn’t what they intended and they even got quite stroppy with me. Well what the f#ck do they expect, I’m not exactly a trained health-care professional. Ungrateful bunch of slags trying to get me to do they job for them. No wonder they get paid so little if they have to get assistance from drunken bystanders for the simplest procedure*

We are then taken through to the ward for Skip to get stitched up by one very cute female trainee doctor and a matron-type evil nurse. Now, it’s a well known fact that blokes are at their most charming whilst pi#sed and splattered in vomit. Me and the doctor are soon bonding, and she has let me have a go at using the razor to cut away the hair surrounding Skips head wound [maybe I too should have become a doctor?]. Evil nurse** is not happy and TELLS the doctor that im not allowed to have a go at the stitching. Oh well, I guess its the medical professions loss rather than mine.

Stitching done and we are left alone in the ward whilst they find somewhere for him to stay for the night. Im drunk and bored, and so go for a wander. In an adjoining empty room I found a blood pressure machine on one of those three-wheeled type things that trail behind really ill people carrying plasma and stuff. I wheeled this back into his room, wrapped the collar-thingy around his arm and began pumping.

I had got it well inside the red zone before he woke up and began to squeal like a girl. Kept me amused for a few minutes though.

Nurse comes back, takes him off to a proper ward and I am given a pair of NHS trousers to go home with (Since leaving the pub all I have been wearing is a kilt and horned helmet with most of the rest of me smeared in Skips blood).

For anybody who hasn’t worn NHS trousers they are like pyjamas except the groinal area is open with no zip or buttons. I accidentally exposed myself to many, many people whilst trying to find a taxi that night.


*Most nurses do a very difficult job and should be paid much more than they do. Just not these ones.
**Or this one





If you didn’t like the length you would have stopped long ago.
(Digstar fu#king loves biscuits, Sat 14 Jan 2006, 14:22, Reply)

Luke, it is your destiny...
What’s better than going out in fancy dress to see Star Wars Episode 1? Convincing your immensely gullible work colleague you’re all going out in fancy dress then not, leaving him to have to walk round the local out-of-town retail park in the middle of the afternoon dressed as a Jedi Knight (costume comprised of black baggy trousers, black knee socks, plastic light sabre and a degree gown…). The local chavvy kids had a field day.

Eventually, we took pity on him and took him to TGI Fridays for a pint (though some might think this was actually a more sophisticated form of torture.) Outside TGI’s was a bloke dressed in a really professional Yoda costume, giving out promotional leaflets for the cinema next door. Our young Jedi master walked over to him and said “Guess it’s just you and me that made the effort then, eh?” In a moment of fancy dress solidarity, Yoda replied “Piss off, prick, I’m getting paid to wear this.”

We then left him to catch the bus back to town on his own. The sight of his little face pressed up against the back window of the bus as a gang of teenagers tried to bum him with his own light sabre haunts me still.

There’s a seat next to me on the bus to hell if anyone’s interested…
(Rakky, Mon 16 Jan 2006, 9:45, Reply)

How can THAT win it?
My mum could handle a sewing machine with a lightness of touch which would have pleased the Gods. I was used to winning, it was in the blood.
First year it was a dog, simple but so very beautiful. The competition was beaten before I took to the stage, they knew it, I knew it. Eat my dog.

Next year it was Daffy Duck, yes you heard, Daffy effing Duck in your face losers, I win, easy, EASY, EASY.

Can you imagine the pride I felt when I took to the stage in my exact replica E.T costume. It was the sort of pride that Nelson must have felt when taking his fleet to battle, unbeatable that’s what I was. One of England’s greatest heroes. Three years on the trot, I’d retire after this, go on the interview circuit, write my memoirs. The school’s greatest ever fancy dresser, they’d name buildings after me. I stepped onto stage and drew gasps from the crowd, I even heard gentle sobbing from the front row, probably. That’s it, I’d done it the room nearly rippled with anticipation. Now, surely all that were left were formalities … until she showed up. Struggling up the steps she came like some drunken mongoloid, one box, no arm holes and the crappiest paint job since Rolf embarrassed the queen. A rubik’s fucking cube which could only have been painted by Joey Deacon, my twin brother could have done better and I don’t even have a twin brother. I suppose it goes without saying that the greatest travesty of justice then occurred, she took the book token and with it spilt my milk of human kindness. My only saving grace was that my full face mask, with the uncanny ET likeness, captured my tears (in my mother’s used tights)

Next year my sister won as Princess Leia, it was a hollow return to form. Too late to rescue me from a lifetime of hatred.

And to this day I still hate you, I hate you all, just go, leave me alone you bastards.
(I'M JACK MEADOWS, Fri 13 Jan 2006, 16:44, Reply)

You're A Very Naughty Moose!
At university I belonged to the Hat Society, surely the laziest form of fancy dress club, being that it only affected the top of your head. Still, much effort was put into having the weirdest hat. In case you're wondering what the Hat Sociecty is (you can guess really, I mean we were students) it was pretty much just a weekly pub crawl in hats. Excellent fun, never seen so much vomit in my life. Anyway, my hat was a stuffed toy of one Bullwinkle The Moose stitched on top of a straw boater, don't ask why, it just seemed comedy at the time. It went down rather well, at one point we entered a pub where some woman was up on stage singing and she stopped the song half way through to offer me £100 for my hat. I'd gotten Bullwinkle from a trip to America and was pretty sure I wouldn't be going back soon so turned her down.

However the night took a slight turn for the worse when we invaded a different bar. There was a large group of us (thankfully) standing shoulder to shoulder with a handful of skinheads who we guessed didn't like students, judging by the looks we were getting, but there seemed to be enough of us to make them think twice. That was until one of my mates mentioned the singer and the £100 and I saw their eyes light up. Despite re-telling the story in a very loud and deliberate voice the looks on their faces seemed to confirm that I had been marked for not only a good kicking but a quite decent mugging as well. Five minutes later and the beer is taking its toll and I head to the toilets. I'm standing at the urinal when one of the skinheads walks in and stands right next to me. I was preparing myself for the inevitable, when he turns round, looks me in the eyes, then his gaze drifts upwards and he looks Bullwinkle in the eyes. Then with the right amount of drunken slurring, in a top quality Biffa Bacon voice he says "How man! Wor moose is looking at my cock!"

I hold in my laughter, he said it aggressively enough to let me know he's trying to provoke the fight. Luckily, however, I've just finished my wee and so, zipping up, I put on my best 'The Major' (Fawlty Towers) voice, look upwards to my hat and say "You're a very naughty moose!" before legging it back out to the safety of the group, giggling like a retard.
( Gleeballs is mostly made out of chocolate and hate., Fri 13 Jan 2006, 10:27, Reply)

I'm dyslexic.
I once went to a toga party dressed as a goat.
(dazsnow the "ever amazing" - cowjam said so once, Fri 13 Jan 2006, 1:19, Reply)

Where's Wally?
Right... I was 8 years old and it was a Fancy Dress at school and I was really looking forward to it. recently I'd been reading "Where's Wally?" books and decided I'd go as Wally form the books as I had a hat and shirt/top just like his.

So it's the day and I'm all dressed up, fake glasses, top, jeans, hat the whole lot and my mum taks me to school, drops me off and I turn up ( a little late due to traffc problems) for Assembly and lo behold... I'm the ONLY one in fancy dress - it was supposed to be fancy dress after school not DURING!!!!!!!!

So there am I sat in the middle of an assembly with teachers wettnig themselves laughing at me.

They even took a photo and put it up in the staff room with the phrase "where's wally?" underneath and was known as wally or being a wally for the rest of my primary school life.

It is one of the many traumatic things that habe happened in my life which surprises me as to why I've not needed therapy yet.
(One_Winged_Angel Ich Dien, Fri 13 Jan 2006, 13:02, Reply)

highway to hull...
A few years back, one of my housemates returns from the pub with the news that there's a fancy dress party going on that night.

Back to the house we go to find outfits. After scrabbling around for half a hour with no success, i sit down with a spliff and the paper to get some inspiration.

Eu-fucking-reka. I spot juanita...the high quality blow-up doll we brought back from Berlin as a souvenir the previous year (unused, settle). I leggit to the charity shop and purchase a cardigan and tweed skirt. I dress the doll and we head out, housemates absolutely perplexed as to what i'm going as.

The headline? "Harold Shipman charged for 20-odd more counts of murder" Me? I fuck grannies.

1 blow-up doll - free
one granny outfit - £5
the fact that best mate of the party host is Harold Shipman's son - priceless
(jeed, Thu 12 Jan 2006, 21:57, Reply)

So I'd read in the paper that lots of people went to see the League of Gentlemen panto dressed up as the characters...
...so I went as Papa Lazarou. When I got there, I was the only one who had bothered. I had to travel on the tube done up like a minstrel, and as luck would have it, every time the train stopped another enormous black man would get on and sit opposite me. I've never felt so scared/exhilerated in my life. It was great, but I don't think I'd do it again.

( emvee cruor deo cruoris, Thu 12 Jan 2006, 22:56, Reply)

I was going out with a lass in sheffield
who had a bit of a "rugby follower" sense of humour.
She invited me to a fancy dress party, and I was under the impression that it was at the flat of one of her similarly minded mates.
It turned out to be a family party with several generations present.
Needless to say I was the only party goer who turned up dressed as a used tampon.
( blyerkit e k trilby, Sun 15 Jan 2006, 14:13, Reply)

A
friend of mine used to have a fancy dress party at his house every year
Several years ago someone came dressed up as Superman...













...in a wheelchair.
( social hand grenade I was a lurker before you were a lurker, Fri 13 Jan 2006, 13:19, Reply)

I once went to a party dressed only in my Y-fronts
When confronted on what I had come as, I retorted "Premature Ejactulation"

After all, I had just come in my pants.
(Waynster James Joyce is fucking my sister!, Fri 13 Jan 2006, 10:48, Reply)

Contreversial.
A friend of mine recently went to a fancy dress party at uni.

What did him and his three friends go as?

A terrorist, two towers and plane.

Their arab friend was the pilot.

The show piece was when just as the party was quieting down the chap dressed as the plane ran towards the two towers and on collision lots of little toy men fell, attached to strings, out of the 'windows' of their costumes.

Awful but genius.
(Spoil Me please, oh, please, Fri 13 Jan 2006, 10:15, Reply)

For comic relief a couple of years ago
I went to school dressed like this:





Full clothes, makeup, etc., even down to the underwear. I even purchased shoes specially for the occasion, as my mum nor any of my friends had any shoes which would fit.

Whilst waiting at the bus stop, the cold breeze around my ol' bollocks was very refreshing, and I recieved a number of appreciative hoots, whistles and comments (mostly derogatory) throughout the day, from pupils and teachers alike.
(The bus driver didn't bat an eyelid though)

By far the best, however, was the kid who passed me in the corridor and loudly exclaimed to his mates, "Eurgh, she looks like a man!"



_{edit: not relevant at all but Holy Shit I know this man! (4th down on the best of page in last week's QOTW).
Though you missed out the fact that YOU ATE IT AFTERWARDS, you sick cunt.}
(meagle, Thu 12 Jan 2006, 20:53, Reply)

teabag
Aged about 7 I constructed a square from garden canes and wrapped it in a sheet painted with brown spots. I was meant to be a teabag but it looked like I was wearing a lumpy poo stained mattress.
(toadrunner, Tue 17 Jan 2006, 10:24, Reply)

"Hello Sailor"
As an insufferable swot, I went on a school exchange trip to the south of France.

They held a fancy dress party, in which I was forced to wear - by the evil family I had been dumped with - a rather cheeky sailor's outfit, that made me look, frankly, like the King Of The Homosexualists.

All fine and dandy, except the school we were exchanging with, was in Marseilles, the hardest city on Earth, and the party was right by the docks.

I'm lucky to be alive.
( Scaryduck LIKES EGG, Mon 16 Jan 2006, 8:33, Reply)

Toast my fancy dress
When I was about 7 my very 'inventive' dear mum made me a fancy dress outfit for a competition in Butlins where we were having our annual luxury holiday. The outfit consisted of a very girly pretty dress (think Shirley Temple) with toast sewn all over it. I held a banner with the words 'The Toast of Bultins in Bognor'. I didn't win (surprisingly) but did get chased by a angry (and obviously hungry) swan on the way back to the chalet.
It's scarred me for life, I've never been able to wear toast since.
( Penile, Fri 13 Jan 2006, 19:42, Reply)

spongbob!
i mate of mine once abused his company's dress-down friday policy by going into the office in a full spongebob squarepants outfit.

he was sent home and they've since changed the company policy about dress-down fridays to avoid it happening again!
(secretsquirrel, Fri 13 Jan 2006, 17:30, Reply)

She shat in his coffee, then got him fired
Back when I was about 8 or 9, my parents dragged me to some work party with around 50 couples and their kids. I go as superman, complete with shite foam patches for muscles.
I looked like a twunt, and knew it, so with all the superiority an 8 year old can muster, I demand muscles from everyone in the entire room.

I then proceed to fill out these muscle pads with a collection of cardboard, paper hats and tissues, kindly donated by parents and some freaked out kids.
All went well untill I went to the toilet and asked the nice man in the loo's for some toilet paper to make me look like superman.

Turns out he didn't like my Mum, or his job, very much.

It took my parents 4 hours until I took the costume off at home to figure out why I stank of human waste.

I'm still, asked "What's that smell?" at family outings to this very day.

How did my mum get revenge? Read the title.
( Pointy Head poked another hole in my anorak on, Fri 13 Jan 2006, 4:00, Reply)

robot
For halloween i made myself a robot costume. it had speakers in the chest and an LED Display also. it looked like this.



i enjoyed it.
( sooperdave, Thu 12 Jan 2006, 23:14, Reply)

21st birthday party
One of my friends had a medieval-themed party. Me and my then-girlfriend got a book from the library on medieval costumes, and made a Byzantine noblewoman's costume for her, entirely out of old clothes that she owned, which was ridiculously authentic-looking. I had an inaccurate but amusing Scottish highlander costume; her tartan skirt, an army blanket & one of her brooches as a cloak, blue paint on face - the amusingness of it mostly being my weedy physique.

Everyone else, including the birthday girl herself, interpreted 'medieval' as 'wear your best goth clothes'. Presumably the reasoning was, what...

a) Dracula is from the middle ages and goth clothes look kind of like that, that's right isn't it? No, it's fucking well not right, Dracula is represented as wearing the normal clothes of a rich man of the time in which the book is set ie the Victorian age.
or
b) I couldn't possibly wear anything except my goth clothes, will somebody please call the 'waaaaahmbulance' as I am a big fucking baby.

I'm leaning towards b.

I mean Jesus Christ, it's not difficult -

i) have you ever seen Robin Hood or any other show set in the middle ages on TV?
ii) were there goths in it?

No? well perhaps goth clothes don't look medieval.

And, now that I think about it, you know how there are like two different kinds of goth 'looks' - the more modern PVC/Marilyn Manson-ey one and the older shirt/long-dress pseudo Victorian-ey one? I've just remembered that everyone had carefully gone for the latter 'old school' look. Because obviously, if you're trying to evoke the 1500s, God forbid you should look like someone from the 1990s as opposed to someone from the 1980s vaguely evoking the 1890s. Then you'd be out of theme.

Note to people who want to both wear their goth clothes and have a themed fancy-dress party: make the theme the Victorian age, the 80s, horror films, bondage, come-as-your-favourite-colour, or 'unlikely subjects for a Ken Loach film'.

I think I have the wrong attitude towards fancy dress.
(apeloverage committed the vile act of onanism on, Wed 18 Jan 2006, 1:46, Reply)

Bad taste
A couple of years ago, a friend went to a bad taste fancy dress party oop north where there was a prize for the costume displaying the least taste and decency.

The winners? Two blokes who came in trainers, jeans and man utd shirts, one with 'Holly' on the back, the other 'Jessica'.
(morning person, Tue 17 Jan 2006, 12:18, Reply)

Magnum P.I
Last year, having been given exceedingly short notice, I had no choice but to go as Tom Selleck. Bearing in mind I am a girl, going to a club on a Rock night, I look slightly out of place in my red hawaiian shirt, generous 'tache, stubble and T-shirt with a picture of Tom Selleck on it amongst the girls who had almost without exception gone as 'sexy goth vampire sluts'. I wonder if Selleck ever wears a picture of himself on his shirt. I hope so.
(schnuff, Mon 16 Jan 2006, 13:23, Reply)

Crap costume & sort-of-racist judges
I) Back when I was at school we used to go on skiing trips once a year, and there were many crap activities to keep us kids 'amused' in the evenings, including a fancy dress competition. We had been advised to bring a costume with us as 'Roman' (ie bedsheet togas) and 'Skier' costumes were banned, but I thought I'd just sit it out so brought nothing.
Unfortunately, entering the competition was mandatory. So thinking quickly I just put on all my clothes backwards, and wore a pair of sunglasses on the back of my head. Guess what - my 'Mr Backwards' costume won 1st prize!

II) The following year I didn't win (same costume), but one of the winners was a girl who'd put a fair amount of effort into her '1920's Flapper' costume - floaty dress, heels, beads, decorative headband with feather, you get the picture. She even had the slim, almost breastless, build that was idealised back then. I complimented her on her outfit, and waited for the winners to be announced.
She won second place - as a Red Indian.
I guess it was the fact that her family was from India that had confused the judges. She didn't stop crying all night.
(Plyck, Fri 13 Jan 2006, 21:40, Reply)

A pumpkin
Honest to god, a man wearing nothing but a pumpkin with a set of suspenders once vomited on me last new years.

So I kicked him in the nads.

Through the pumpkin.
(DarkLite swallowed my entire undercarriage, Fri 13 Jan 2006, 10:55, Reply)