Tonite we dine...in HELL!!

There is something about 300 spartans and a shot of whiskey that inevitably makes for a great evening.

Last nite I experienced my first Halloween in WeHo - which, incidentally, means West Hollywood - first lesson of the evening. Second lesson, West Hollywood means Dragville, and most important lesson, Dragville means best time ever. Frankly, I never knew the Tin Man was such a slut until last nite.

First and foremost, I think it's important to bring up the fact that the West Hollywood Halloween Parade is worth going to if not for one simple reason: the most succulent bacon-wrapped street hot dog I have ever devoured. I don't like bacon. I like hot dogs only at baseball games with a beer in my other hand. But this thing was diVINE. With grilled onion goodness and a yellow mustard topper, I knew immediately the nite would be a huge success.

The second thing to tip me off to this fact was the Jesus Christ I saw walking down the street bearing a life-sized wooden cross. I'm pretty sure the fake blood on his back was real by the end of the nite, and I'm quite positive that's the most pictures Jesus has ever taken with his people. He couldn't get a moment alone all evening. NOTE: I am not in support of the blasphemy that comes with dressing up as the Savior, nor do I condone making light of such a tragic historical event. I only encourage creativity and realism, and this guy had it. Amen.

Rather than freaks amongst the regulars, this nite was overflowing with every psycho, slut, crackpot, nutcase and gluesniffer ever to walk the greater LA area. The best part of it all is how much obscurity, obesity and lack of any class whatsoever is admired and supported this one nite of the year. This is the place you can come and let every bit of "weird" minutia in your body shine through, and in turn be touted and photographed purely for your ability to be strange.

And then there's the trannies.

My personal favorite. I haven't seen so many beautiful women in one place maybe ever, nor have I had such a rough time determining whether or not they had penises under their short skirts. What I DO know is, most had nicer legs than me, and most were probably checked out by straight guys throughout the nite, only to scare them into thinking they might be homosexuals themselves. Classic - I love that people think they can be tricked into homo-ship. It's not a pyramid scheme, people.

To top off the nite, my dream came true - I was photographed with a foursome of Spartans straight out of 300. When I say straight out of, I really mean the following: beer-gutted drunks in full garb, lacking any real muscles whatsoever. In fact, as a means of abating this sad truth, they not only wore fake cushy muscle suits, but the other half painted / shaded abs onto their skin. Frankly - worked for me.

Don the crimson cape and shield and I'll hold your chest and smile for the camera anyway.

Grrr.