The other day Julie and I realized that Henry will turn 21 on his golden birthday. This is on account of him being born July 21 and such. This got us thinking about what our gentle little pip squeak could be capable of when that day comes. Will he be going out and getting bombed during "the power hour" with a bunch of his no good buddies? So which one of these bozos would be Henry? 
Needless to say, this got the wheels turning.
The following tale is presented mainly for entertainment purposes and cheap laughs. However, it should also serve as a cautionary reminder to my son as to how dangerous the combination of binge drinking, gothic-themed cheerleaders and deranged shriners can be.
Certain details have been withheld or altered in a slight manner to protect the innocent and in the general interest of liability issues. Ladies and Gentlemen, this is the sordid tale of the Halloween of 2004 Costume Ball....
The story begins innocently enough at Timmie & Jessica's humble South Minneapolis home. I guess before we get too far here we should introduce the cast of characters...
First, there is me - whose Halloween costume is typically centered around a fake moustache - I then build around that. In 2004, I stepped it up a notch by investing in a matching fake beard. My costume motif was "weird shriner" in a casual sport coat. My wife went as Mrs. Mia Wallace from Pulp Fiction, complete with a hypodermic needle attached to her chest with liquid latex.
Pictured below, from left to right are: Kristina (as the gal from the Carrie movie), My wife (as Mrs. Mia Wallace), Jessie (as the Kimmie Bassinger one-eyed nurse villianesse from the Kill Bill movie), Sheri (totally 80's head banger gal with large bangs), and Shelly (Evil pageant person).

Arriving fashionably late was Crystal and Dave and Dave's friend whom, to this day, I know only as "Monkey". Pictured below are Dave and "Monkey" - bright and chipper - striking a sassy pose shortly after arriving. I consider myself a pretty savvy Halloween costume shopper. However, I'm not sure I would know where to go to find a cheerleader outfit with a pentagram on it.
And that picture to your right, that is just a quality photograph of two young adults with a passion for heavy metal music having a
good time. Obviously, the good times were rolling. People were dancing, laughing and carrying on. The music was just right. I think there may have been some chips and dip and other sundry snack items. The drinks were beginning to flow and everything was swell. For reasons that are not clear to me, this is about the time that "Monkey's" night went straight in the crapper. He was drinking Zima and doing shots of Crazyberry Schnapps like it was the eve of the apocalypse. At this point in the evening I commented to Timmie (pictured below with myself in his Dr. Feesy, Freelance Proctologist ensemble) - "That 'Monkey' fellow is hitting the Zima awfully hard. If he's not careful he is going to crash and burn." Timmie agreed.

Well, the evening carried on and I was just tearing into my second glass of white zinfandel when I happened to notice that "Monkey" was nowhere to be seen. In a panic I screamed "Monkey is gone! He's missing! Where the heck is Monkey?" Everyone became very concerned and began frantically searching the house for the missing house guest. He was nowhere to be found. I went outside to collect my thoughts and reflect on the evenings events. When I step outside I hear this rustling out back - like a couple of tom cats scrapping in the alley. But no, there were no cats. It was "Monkey" all hunched over and vomiting his guts out. I snapped this picture and ran away as fast as I could. This is the last time that I saw "Monkey". This is my tribute to "Monkey" and that is the end of my story.
