When you show up at the party the boos will push you back
out the door you came in.
“FUCK YOU, YOU PIECE OF SHIT!” a woman with frizzy hair will
scream at you before spitting in your face.
You’ll walk home sullenly, kicking the prop can you’d
planned to kick jollily at the party.
Whenever you try to hail a cab you’ll just get various kinds of drinks
thrown at you. At one point a cab will
slow down and you’ll just be pelted with several chicken schwarma from the
inebriated passengers.
When you finally get home you’ll meet up with your
girlfriend, who’s just on her way out.
“HOLY SHIT!” she’ll scream, making you before she realizes
who you are. Once she figures it out
(from your screams) she’ll sit there on the couch with your head in her lap
petting your skull while your eyes clear.
“You really need to think your costumes out better,” she’ll
murmur down at you, a charitable blurry mass of sexy cat lady. “Also, I’m pretty sure Charlie Chaplin didn’t
wear beige and red.”
She’ll be right.
Congratulations Decontextualized Charlie Chaplin
Impersonator!
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