Extra Halloween Points for Not Being Original

So I decided (weeks and weeks ago, like back in August) to be Max (of "Where the Wild Things Are fame) for Halloween this year.

And based on a random sampling of revelers in the Foggy Bottom/Georgetown/Glover Park area, just like roughly 10% of the male population on Halloween night.

So sue me.

Despite the fact that the costume was popular and dinged by Gawker last week as being too cliche (too late, I already bought the outfit) and that I thought my outfit was pretty good/authentic (I mean: I had the white one-sy pajamas, a tail, crown, hoodie with ears on it; some people wore pants, blue or gray pajamas, Burger King crowns. C'mon, people...), I still had a shitload of people ask me, "So, like, who are you supposed to be?"

And when I answered, there was a staggeringly high percentage of people who still didn't know what the hell I was referring to. Said one of the more militant Maxes I ran into that night, "What, do you people not know how to read? Get out of my faces, you fucking illiterates!" (Note: while I love Max and WTWTA, I'm not quite as passionate.)

I was asked if I was a Cat. Or a Bunny. Or the Little Prince. Or one of my favorites, "Burger King Boy" (does such a thing exist? What would that be, exactly?)

As I was walking late at night from my first party in Foggy Bottom, to DuPont Circle, I got perhaps the best proposition I've received in a long time: "Whoo-wee boy, you can be my king anytime!"