Some people can look at something like an advertisement for the all-girl KISS tribute band Black Diamond, laugh for two seconds and move on with their lives. EI am not one of these people.

So on Saturday night I attended the KUFO sponsored Paranormal Party at the Crystal Ballroom. Why? Because of the obvious metal kitsch factor and the fact that an event like this would no doubt draw in all sorts of weird people dressed in weirder costumes. Plus, I didn't have anything better to do.

The Smurf near the front entrance was a good (if you can call something like this, in any context, "good") sign of what awaited upstairs. An overweight, extremely hairy man, dressed only in a diaper and a white hat had painted himself entirely blue. I should have fled down Burnside to extinguish my now burning eyes with Dr. Pibb but, hey, I paid $12 for a ticket. I had to at least cross the threshold.

As I headed upstairs, a wife was consoling her husband, dressed in a beer can costume. I could only make out this bit of their conversation: "I didn't know it was gonna be like THIS." Maybe he was nursing a stab wound under his costume. Either way, God was no doubt trying to send me a message I couldn't be bothered to listen to.

I made it to the balcony and hid in the bar. This seemed like a safe vantage to observe the scene down below. Out of the crowd I was one of maybe four people that hadn't bothered to dress up and had obviously attended to people watch. The other three, all bored hipsters on the cusp of yuppiedom, were downing microbrews in the front row and acting like royalty in box seats at the Roman Coliseum. Along with pointing and laughing at everything in sight, one of them had procured a headless Barbie doll. He used it as a pointer to draw his colleagues attention to the highlights on the main floor.

The lineup, Black Diamond and the Iron Maidens had managed to fill about 3/4s of the Ballroom. Underneath a ceiling with dangling paper skeletons was a crowd mingling and mostly ignoring the band's double entendres and the tongue-wagging posses of Mrs. Gene Simmons. Where were the smoke machines? What's KISS without pyrotechnics and a moment where Simmon's spits blood? The very least they could have done was break out a Whistling Pete or one of those cardboard chickens that shoots flaming eggs. Somehow these girls had made crossdressing as spandex-clad demons boring. As they rolled through the bands hits, I spotted:

-A doctor in bloody scrubs frenching a Catholic school girl.

-A hobbit/Friar Tuck.

-A hunter with an arrow through his eye.

-A marine/Jason.

-At least two pudgy Spidermen.

- A Nazi officer sitting in the lap of a guy dressed in a black and white prison costume. During their "session," a guy dressed who sound like Jay from all those Kevin Smith movies wandered up and shouted, "OOMPAH LOOMPAH DIPPITY DOO!" As they continued making out, he repeated himself before wandering away, dejected that they had not paused to acknowledge what was obviously The Most Brilliant Bit of Wit Ever Spoken.

Then, as Black Diamond rolled through Love Gun, an family, dressed conservatively, strolled in. Mother, father, two "daughters" in their late 20s/early 30s, all drinking from clear plastic cups filled with red wine. They acted like the kids from Village of the Dammed and must have been what made the guy in the beer suit fleeing for the exit.

Then, out of nowhere, a gigantic Metal Man, dressed in red spandex jumped into the chair next to me and began launching a machine gun assault of political diatribes at the woman next to him. Over the music I could only make out bits and pieces, which all sounded like "YeahalltheguysarevotingforBushwhereIworkand
yeahhe'sareligiouspreisidentsomedayI'mgonnareadthebiblewhole
thingfromfronttoback."

During this, Black Diamond silenced the crowd. Acting like a monk atop a remote mountain, the lead singer passed down this bit of wisdom: "We've been pursuing our dreams and here we are. As you go after yours and work your heart out, don't forget to ROCK N' ROLL ALL NIGHT AND PAR-TAY EV-ER-RAY DAY! WOOOOOOOOOO!"

After rolling through the prerequisite, she smashed her black guitar and handed it to a man in the front row that looked like Kyle from Tenacious D. About this time, Metal Man rushed downstairs and onto the stage and revealed his true identity: KUFO DJ. He and his coworkers had dressed as members of Motely Crue. I think he was supposed to be Vince Neil.

It was time for a costume contest.

A nude devil girl took home a resort getaway for sexiest costume, a man dressed in a pot leaf won for best overall costume. Among the losers, two Oompah Loompahs, a suicide bomber, a man in an elaborate cell phone costume that couldn't stop saying "Can you hear me now?," and "The Chick Magnet," a fratboy that had duct-tapped Barbie dolls all over himself.

After a Grim Reaper voice-over, the Iron Maidens wandered out. Their amps were covered in crop-circle/feminist symbols. They had two smoke machines, waived large British flags while covering "Two Minutes to Paradise."

On the way out, I discovered that the devil girl was actually wearing a body suit and found myself stuck behind the cell phone as he struggled down the stairs. His antenna became caught on a low portion of the ceiling. Through a speaker in the front, he had to ask for help. Two members of the staff grabbed his arms and guided to the door. Many a late night must have gone into the construction of that thing.

Outside, the police had just arrived. A zombie with a painted-on head wound was screaming and the Ballroom's security staff was on edge. Despite this, I didn't stick around to watch what might ensue. A guy in yellow glitter suit down the street was playing a trumpet while wearing a hat shaped like Goofy. How could I pass up a performance like that?