Anyone who knows me knows that Halloween is kind of my jam. In college I threw Halloween parties in the Oneida Hall 4 A-L lounge that were the social event of the season. Now that I’m a grown-ass lady, I use Halloween as a chance to win prizes and internet fame (We’re #10 and #2). Hell, last year, my fiance proposed to me in the middle of our town’s Halloween parade.
This year, Ian and I are going as The Goon and Franky from Eric Powell’s awesome comic The Goon, because we have a very unique concept of the “couple’s costume.” It was my idea, because I wanted something easy, something I could move/dance in, and something that cool people (like Trace Beaulieu!!!) would recognize, but wouldn’t get us swamped with requests for photos, like with our Maitlands and Alien costumes. Also, I have a deep, possibly unhealthy affection for Franky (it’s a natural progression of my love for Shane Vendrell) but what can I say? I’ve got a soft spot for the sidekick.
But when I put on that costume, something weird happens….
By nature, I am a pretty likable person. I’m funny and I’m cheerful and I don’t like conflict and don’t go out of my way to be an asshole. But when I put on that hat, my Id, the razor blade under the tongue of my soul, takes over. I move differently. I make faces different from my normal range of emotional expression. And suddenly, I feel like I can do whatever I want. It’s a fantastic and terrible power, this costume.
And it then becomes this fight between Libby and Franky to not, say, stab a Ghostbuster who was being a broseph to my friend Corey at a horror film convention. (Ian made me a “switchblade” with silver tape and a comb). At her most badass, Libby might throw some shade in Ghostbro’s direction when he’s looking at her so that he knows she doesn’t think he’s so hot, in fact, he’s kind of dumb looking and takes his stupid hobby to idiotic extremes. (Libby won that round…for now)
But Franky? Well, Franky’s a different story. Franky’s unhinged. Franky is going to get a beer instead of a Dr. Pepper and then Franky is going to compliment how good the waist-cincher on your pirate costume makes your boobs look, because Franky has no filter or decorum. Franky is not going to tolerate it when drunk skanks try to hit on The Goon and may resort to violence*. Franky would love to play Cards Against Humanity, but you’d better bring your A-Game; Franky isn’t going to tolerate your faux-edgy Dane Cook bullshit and will be happy to grin and tell you that your cards are neither funny nor clever, because Franky plays dark and mean and you should too.
Franky throws her clothes on the floor instead of the hamper. Franky doesn’t do the dishes before bed. Franky doesn’t wake up at 7 a.m. to work on her novel, and Franky doesn’t think twice about making breakfast out of three tacos, Cuban espresso and the last fun-sized Milky Way that The Goon hid in the the back of the cupboard.
When Halloween/convention season is over, I’m going to really miss being Franky…but somehow, I don’t think anyone else will.
*Ripley-Libby did once resorted to physical threats; I slapped a drunk Slutty Cop’s hand away when she grabbed Ian’s Alien costume (DO NOT EVER DO THIS, EVER), and I screamed, in character, Get your hands off him, you bitch! She quickly realized I was probably crazy and took off with the rest of her horde. It was one of my prouder moments.