Ghoul friends

I’m running out of cartoon characters.

Every year I pick a colorful creation from my comics-and-TV-obsessed adolescence, figure out a way to make a costume from scratch, and show up to my friend’s annual Halloween party dressed like an absolute buffoon. This strategy has gone over pretty well so far among my fellow masqueraders, although to be fair, some of them are half in the bag by the time I get there. That helps.

My choices are mostly unique, avoiding the popular trends of the day. The Halloween zeitgeist zigs, I zag. I was the Batman villain Two-Face years before he was ever depicted in the 2008 movie “The Dark Knight,” which clearly makes me a pioneer entitled to millions in back royalties. I’ve been Bowser from Super Mario Bros,, Dr. Zoidberg from the cartoon “Futurama,” heavy metal icon Dave Mustaine and at least two bad guys from the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles universe, which officially makes me a man-child. Dressing up as Peter Pan would be a little too on-the-nose at this point.

Every year I do this. Every single year. And now, after 11 consecutive rip-roarin’ shindigs, I’m finally starting to wonder if the well is running dry.

This is what’s known as a First World problem, by the way. I’m totally OK with that.

It’s not that there aren’t a ton of available options left. Devouring media has been a lifelong hobby, and there’s no shortage of whimsical characters I could choose that reflect the offbeat and mentally ill mosaic that is me. The problem is that, since I’m an adult man with the proportions of a freak-show basketball prodigy, each costume is an arts-and-crafts endeavor -- and the animated ducks and cats left in my repertoire would entail engineering feats more intricate than the Panama Canal.

To get a sense of what I mean, it helps to consider some of the extremes I’ve gone to in order to nail down a good look for a costume. The Dave Mustaine getup is a good example. Mustaine is the frontman for Megadeth, and like most hard-rockin’ metal axemen, he plays ornate guitars with bizarre body designs that look cool but contribute nothing else of value. His signature guitar is of the Flying V aesthetic, where the bottom of the instrument splits into two shark fins. Again, this body style does nothing substantive except announce to the world, “Hey, I play heavy metal and nothing else!” Because c’mon, you’re not going to peck out an Air Supply song on a guitar that could slice the head off a hippopotamus.

Since Mustaine is known for playing this unique guitar model, I knew I had to incorporate it into my costume somehow; otherwise I’d just be some doofus wearing a strawberry-blond wig that went halfway down to my keester. Yet I couldn’t just run out to a store to buy a guitar. Not only are guitars expensive, but if I had one slung around my neck all night I’d likely turn to someone in a drunken wobble and smash them upside the face with the headstock. Might be good for a laugh, but then I’d have a broken guitar and a bill for some poor schmuck’s dental work.

So I rolled up my sleeves. To create a fake guitar fit for a Halloween party, it needs to be somewhat realistic-looking, yet simultaneously light and shock-absorbent. Knowing this, I consulted my favorite Halloween collaborator, the internet, and found a great top-down shot of Mustaine’s guitar, just the kind of flat image I needed. Using a ruler, I measured the guitar’s dimensions on a printout and simply scaled up, tracing an outline of the body, neck and headstock on a few giant pieces of posterboard. To give it thickness and dimension, I superglued the posterboard onto a few layers of styrofoam. A few colored markers for detail and finishing, and voila, you’ve got yourself a fake guitar with which you can whack someone upside the head without sending them to the emergency room.

Describing the process takes only a few of column inches, but the actual time involved was massive -- a couple of weekends dedicated solely to that pursuit. I could have done something worthwhile with that time: volunteered at an animal shelter, perhaps, or taught a child to read. Instead, I made a styrofoam guitar for a party involving stripper poles and at least three different brands of raspberry vodka. Clearly I need to reassess the priorities in my life.

My next priority is to figure out what the heck my costume for 2017 will be. If I’m left with no other choice but to make a styrofoam drum kit, I’ll have to quit my job and open up a workshop in my basement. I’ll also have to get a basement.

Who’s left from my childhood that I could feasibly re-create with a few pieces of construction paper and a roll of duct tape? Daffy Duck? I’d have to build a beak. He-Man, from Masters of the Universe? I’d have to get really buff. Spider-Man? I’m about the last person you’d want to see in a skin-tight leotard, except maybe Jonah Hill and the chairman of the House Ways and Means Committee. And it’s not like I can realistically craft a costume based on my more recent heroes. Nobody’s going to guess who you are if you’re dressed as California Lieutenant Governor Gavin Newsom.

You know what, though? That’s next year’s problem. And it’s a First World problem. If that’s the most I have to worry about at this time next year, I’m probably doing all right.