If you want to win, you can’t take half-measures. You have to go further than anyone else.

You have to go as the rapingest man around.

You swing by the Goodwill after work and find a striped dad sweater and a pair of ill-fitting corduroys. Then you head to the grocery store for some pudding cups, raid your expired meds to get a good mix of different shapes and sizes, and boom: you’ve nailed it. Sure, you don’t look anything like Bill Cosby, but if you slick your hair back it’s close enough. Judging by that Solange outfit, people don’t care about verisimilitude, they just want the shock-factor.

You don the outfit the next morning and head into the office. No one mentions the costume–in fact, no one even seems to notice.

“Didn’t get in the spirit, SNRCK?” a yellow-skinned Debby says in the break room. She’s wearing overalls, a bald cap (also painted yellow), and a pair of goggles. The resemblance to a Minion is overwhelming. But also extremely upsetting.

Though not as upsetting as Debby thinking this is you in normal clothes. You’re fashionable, right? Jesus.

“No, I…well, you’ll see later.”

At two, your boss calls everyone into the lobby for the contest.

You grab the pudding out of your messenger bag, pop the top, and sprinkle the pills all over it.

“So glad to see so many of you participated in this year’s little, uh-uh-uh, contest,” your boss says, looking around the room. “Anyone who’s signed up will now have a chance to, uh-uh-uh, strut their stuff for us.”

You start practicing your Cosby voice under your breath.

“It’s a sleepy-time puddin’ with the sprinkles and the Jello,” you whisper Cosbily. “It’s a special-tastin’ puddin’ for the ladies who like the sprinkles.” Which is the best option?


You turn. Cynthia, from accounting, is standing there, squinting at you through her wire-rimmed glasses, every inch of her looking pinched and dried out. She’s like a living prune.

“Hey, Cynthia.”

“I just wanted to tell you before you make everyone as uncomfortable as I am, that I think your costume is in extremely poor taste.”

“Listen, Cynthia, Halloween is all about having a sense of humor, and–”

“I have been personally affected by this scandal and I think your costume creates an unsafe office environment.”

Thank god you don’t work in accounting. You would have suicided way before now dealing with her every day.

If you’re going for it, fuck Cynthia, click here.

If you want to play your costume off as something else and apologize, click here.

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