The Greenman Cometh

So if you're a fan of this blog or journey or random assortment of slightly offensive and mostly embellished stories, you'll know for sure that we are all fans of the TV show "It's Always Sunny In Philadelphia". And, if you happen to also be a fan of this TV show, then you'll know about the chronicles of Greenman. For the other people in the world who don't know, also known as 'friggin goons', Greenman is an alter ego of one of the main characters - Charlie. Greenman wears a bright green full body spandex suit and is in the process of attempting to replace the Philly Phanatic as the official mascot of the Philadelphia Phillies. Confident in his dance moves and ball throwing skills, Greenman quickly earns a spot in the heart of anyone who knows/sees/hears of his exploits.

The only thing is, I didn't know how well loved he actually was. Here is the only proof I can offer:

I, inspired by sirens and Tanqueray, decided it would be a great idea to order myself a Greenman costume. It fit great - I mean I really felt like it was an extension of my body. The movement was fluid, the hip sways were epic, and it goes without saying - I was flamboyant. Except it doesn't cover my dong so great. Oh well. In my infinite wisdom I decided I would wear this garment in a place OTHER than my apartment. The OTHER in this case is Fat Turtle.

We had a very solid set of individuals grouping together for what was destined to be an incredible night. A few drinks at the apartment convinced me it would be a good idea to rock the spandex out, concealed, to the island's premiere venue for Friday nights. Upon arrival, further contemplation (a serious set of more drinks) convinced me that it would be a great idea to exit the main bar area, strip off my clothes, suit up, and make my way back to the bar to dance my ass off.

There were just a few things that didn't go exactly to plan. The biggest issue being that it is incredibly difficult to see through a green spandex suit when it is dark outside. This was one of those things one doesn't realize until they are in that situation, because honestly who walks around their apartment in a green spandex costume in the dark. I know I don't. Anymore.

So as I'm returning to the bar with the assistance of my boy Blake (who was donned the title of "Clothes Responsibilitist"), I'm blind. And I'm bumping into everyone - I mean everyone. This is where I realized the true magic of Greenman as there would be a three step process.

1.) I would unknowingly bump into an unsuspecting person, usually into the arm that is holding their drink.
2.) Upon realizing they were bumped into and their drink had been partially spilled, said gentlemen would turn around and utter the first two words of a three word statement, "What the -"
3.) Instantly realizing that I was in a Greenman costume, the previously planned third word of "hell" was replaced with "GREENMAN!!!!" This happened like seven times on the way to the bar, I shit you not. And we only traveled like 20 feet.

My Lt. Colonel Frank Slade to Blake's Charlie Simms (look it up, it won Oscars for cripe's sake), we make our way to the bar. Suddenly our friends see us - and Mount Vesuvius erupts. An onslaught of camera flashes light the way as I give a little hip sway action to momentarily appease the appetite of the ladies. Friends line up as pictures are snapped, and I make sure not to overplay the scene and bolt after one song. Returning to the spot of disrobement, I Optimus Prime myself back into disguise and return to the crowd as if nothing had happened. I even bumped into one of the same guys as before, who after staring at me menacingly asked me, "What the hell, bro?"

Upon further contemplation, it was decided to move the party to Club 75, the island's premiere (read: only) strip joint. I had been over-served (that never happens to anyone down here ever) so on the Safari ride over I decided I would get ready to suit up.

Now the first time, on the way down to Fat Turtle, I had put the suit on waist down and concealed it with jeans and shoes. This time, for whatever reason, I decided to come in with the suit on from neck down. This wasn't a huge issue as I was wearing a button up shirt to help hide Greenman, but they were checking IDs at the door... and my hands were green spandex.

Calmly, I pulled out my identification and waited in line. I had no idea what I was going to say, but for some reason I wasn't nervous at all.

The line shortened, the tension rose. The line grew shorter still, and I yet still felt no anxiety. Finally it was my turn. Upon handing my ID to the bouncer it was obvious I was wearing green spandex on my hands as they were glowing bright under the black lights. Before even looking at my ID the bouncer looked up at me, puzzled, his face wearing an air of "What the fuck?"

I said the one and only thing that came to mind. It was a masterpiece. When confronted with possibly being bounced, I looked him straight in the eyes and said, "Nah dude, its cool. I'm hypoallergenic." Satisfied, he handed the ID back to me and let me pass.

This was an incredible explanation of green hands and its for one reason only - saying I'm hypoallergenic is like saying "other people are not allergic to me." It by no means says that I am allergic to everything and I need green spandex on my hands to prevent me from getting sick, which is what I'm pretty sure this bouncer thought. People get hypoallergenic cats because they love cats but are allergic to them. I proudly moved on.

Club 75? No, I won't be writing about that. You have to experience that for yourself.