The 99% doesn't understand my Halloween costume

Last night, I dressed up as an Occupy Wall Street protester, who also happened to be undead. Fiancee did too.

Some people got it. That's ok. We could, at least, fall back on the fact that we made the unique choice of dressing up as zombies. After all, 2.6 million Americans can't be wrong.

Alas, I had sort of wanted to go as Hipster Cop, but I was worried that nobody would get it (except for hipsters, who would naturally already be dressed as Hipster Cop).

Here now, a short history of Halloween costumes that didn't work:

Kim Jong-Il (2006): It was more of a Team America Kim Jong-Il, but still. I found some drab olive pants and a WNBA-sized woman's blouse that made me look like a dead ringer for Dear Leader. An Elvis wig sans sideburns and Harry Caray glasses topped it off.

The first guy in the door at my Halloween party figured it out. He was the only one.

Damn you, Hans Blix.

Judge Harry T. Stone from Night Court (2005): Admittedly, Night Court had been off the air for 14 years when I decided to play the part of Harry Anderson playing the part of a wisecracking overnight judge who constantly dealt with screwball defendants. I could have been more topical, I suppose.

I found a black robe and punched the lenses out of my old high school wire-rimmed glasses. I even wore a name tag: the ultimate phone-it-in move for any costume. There was a supreme court race happening in West Virginia at the time. I passed out fliers, announcing judge Stone's candidacy.

"Cool! Harry Potter!" said everybody. When I explained who I was, they asked why I didn't dress up as Bull.

Motionless guy in a gorilla mask who appears to be stuffed (1996): In my young mind, this would be the greatest thing I had ever done. I put on oversized sweat pants and a Detroit Lions sweatshirt. I bulked up by stuffing myself with a pillows and balled up t-shirts. The rubber monster hands and gorilla mask would make me look like a Halloween scarecrow. I sat limply on a chair next to the front door. I waited.

Trick-or-treaters came to the door. I didn't move. Then, when they went for the doorbell, I sprung up and growled, and they screamed.

Then they asked what I was supposed to be. What am I supposed to be? I'm supposed to be the guy who just scared the shit out of you.

No, they said, if you're a gorilla, why are you wearing a sweatshirt? Gorillas don't wear shirts. Or shoes. Why does the gorilla have monster hands? Gorillas don't sit like that.

While we're at it kids, why don't you tell me who murdered Dian Fossey?

After five trick-or-treaters, I went inside, took off the mask and hands, and spent the rest of the evening as a fat Lions fan.

Conclusion: Stick with zombies. THEY'RE SO HOT RIGHT NOW.