Phil & Rosco Dress Up

It’s Halloween and a costume party is kicking off.  The room is filled with a priest, a clown, gum stuck under a chair, a missing sock, a sexy nurse, a civil war medic, Lenin, Spiderman, etc.  Everybody is having a good time.  Among the people stands Phil, dressed as the back of a horse from a two-man horse costume.  He is talking to a woman dressed as a zombie.

ZOMBIE GIRL:  So you’re supposed to be a horse’s ass, right?
PHIL: (sighing) No.  My friend is supposed to be here as the front of the horse.  He said he would meet me here, but I’ve been waiting for twenty minutes.  I’m starting to look like –
ZOMBIE GIRL:  A horse’s ass?

Rosco busts into the party, panting from running because of his lateness.  Yet he too is wearing the rear end  portion of a horse costume.  He grabs a beer from a cooler and walks up to Phil.

ROSCO:  Hey buddy.  Sorry I’m late.
PHIL:  Ros, what the hell are you doing?
ROSCO:  Having a beer after I ran ten blocks to get here.  I know I said I’d be here sooner, but there’s like no parking spaces around this neighborhood.  I parked down on Adams and Vermont and then just booked it here.  I certainly got some strange looks, even for Halloween.  You’d think for a horse costume they would make it easier to run in.  But at least I didn’t have to worrying about what to do with the head . . .
Rosco finally notices which end of the horse Phil is wearing.
ROSCO:  Why are you wearing the end?
PHIL:  Because I said I would be the end so you would get to be the head.
ROSCO:  What are you talking about?  I was going as the horse-butt because I made you shave your head last year so you could be Lex Luthor to my Superman.
PHIL:  Why didn’t you tell me that earlier?
ROSCO:  I wanted it to be a surprise!  Why did you think that I’d screw you out of the cool part of the costume?
PHIL:  Because you’ve been screwing me out of the good costumes for fifteen years!
ROSCO:  Which was why I was gonna be the better man and let you take the lead.
PHIL:  You should have told me!
ROSCO:  You should have trusted me!
PHIL:  (turning to Zombie Girl)  Can you believe this guy?
ZOMBIE GIRL:  (giggling)  You both seem like asses to me.
ROSCO:  (scoffing)  It’s like there’s nothing you can do about that joke. It’s coming, and you just have to stand there.
PHIL:  But she’s right!  We’re just two losers who can’t coordinate now.
ROSCO: (putting his beer down)  Maybe not.  I have an idea.

Rosco edges towards Phil, who just stands there eying Rosco with suspicion.  Rosco slowly hugs Phil, bringing the edges of the costumes together so they look like a horse made out of rear sections.  They stand there, shifting slightly.

ROSCO:  (turning slightly so his tail is pointing at Zombie Girl)  Well?  Do we look cool?
ZOMBIE GIRL:  You look like an abomination.
ROSCO:  We can work with that!

Phil pushes Rosco away.

PHIL:  Get away from me.

Phil storms out of the party.  Rosco leaves in the other direction.  The Zombie Girl stands by herself.  Rosco comes back in.  

ROSCO:  You’re a cute zombie.  Don’t go anywhere.  I’ll be back in a moment.

He finishes his beer in as few gulps as possible, and then leaves.


Rosco, dressed as the front half of the horse now, is back as the party and talking with Zombie Girl.  His arms are poking out of the costume, holding another beer.

ROSCO:  – see now I’m just a fucked up centaur.
PHIL: (from the front door)  YOU SON OF A BITCH!

Phil has also returned to the party and is also now dressed like the front of the horse.

ROSCO:  You’ve got to be kidding me.

Phil begins to scream.  Rosco pours the rest of the beer in his costume’s mouth, throws the beer to the ground, and also begins to scream.  They run towards each other and start to fist fight, punching each other in the costume heads.  Everybody at the party starts taking pictures of the two fighting.


Phil and Rosco sit on the curb in front of the house.  They each drink a beer while they look at photos on Rosco’s phone of the two of them fighting.

PHIL:  I told you people would get a kick of it.

You got something to say? Go ahead, I dare ya . . .

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