Adult Cockroach Costume

Product Description

This hysterical Adult Cockroach Costume is one funny Halloween costume idea that will bug everyone out! You may not be able to survive an apocalypse in this funny roach costume, but you’re sure to have your friends laughing. Featuring a hood with long antennae and a set of hairy legs, this cockroach costume will have you scurrying to your next Halloween party as fast as you can. When they see you, everyone won’t be able to take their eyes off of you — and unlike the real thing, they’ll want you to stay! If you’re lucky, nobody will step on your either. This hysterical cockroach Halloween costume consists of a hooded pullover top with roach legs. One size fits most (up to 6′ tall, 200 lbs).

Adult Cockroach Costume Feature

• This cockroach costume for men includes hooded pullover top with roach legs.
• This whacky costume is sure to get a lot of attention at any costume party.
• Please note: This item’s color may vary due to inherent manufacturing variations or your computer monitor’s color settings. The item you receive will be identical or substantially similar to the item pictured in this listing.

Dragons on the birthday cake

At least, an attack on the Birthday Cake (or should that be cakes, as these were giant birthday cupcakes?) at Second Life’s Seventh Birthday Party (SL7B).

And this is a perfect illustration of why Linden Lab is wrong when it suggests that the Ninth Birthday Party for Second Life should be held in the disparate communities and thus demonstrate … erm … community.

I’m sure the dragons can throw a perfectly awesome party in their own region. I’m equally sure that their immensely talented creators can contruct the most delectable of birthday cakes, and that the dragons can happily raid it to their hearts content.

Watched by … other dragons. And people who know about the dragon community.  Not by people who will be taken by awed surprise: “Wow a dragon! That’s … huge!  Wow – there’s another one! Oh aren’t they gorgeous! Oh – they’re raiding the cake! Isn’t that hilarious! Oh look – there’s a golf course. Oh my, pirates! And there’s a library … Was that a giant cockroach?”

That’s what the birthday is all about.

But sadly, not this year, it seems.

Dragons raid the birthday cake at SL7B

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Catch up with your Prim Perfect jigsaws (showing images of Second Life and other virtual worlds).

If you’d like to submit a photo of your own to feature as a jigsaw, send it to the Prim Perfect Flickr Group. It should be sized 800w x 600h, or else it will need to be re-sized.

I was, however, shocked today to walk by a string of eateries roasting dogs on spits on the sidewalk. The shape of the animal looked familiar, and I humiliated myself in front of a whole group of Vietnamese while trying to confirm that it was, in fact, dog. They laughed at my ignorance, my naivetae, my Western sensibilities. Or maybe they just laughed because I was trying to talk to a group of people without knowing a word of their language. Maybe they laughed because a host of other foreigners has already had the same reaction. I tried not to react so openly. Tried to control my face. I understood intellectually that people eat dog. Someone suggested last week that I might have already eaten it without knowing. But seeing dogs on a spit is just one more thing that makes me feel like a total alien here. Makes me feel more different, more distant. Every living dog I’ve seen since seeing the dog meat seems to have this ridiculous, sad look on its face, and I wonder, would they eat this one? No, this one’s a pet. No, this one’s too skinny. No, this one’s too old. This one’s got cataracts in his eyes, this one’s got some weird skin issues.

But I do wonder. There are chickens wandering around town too, but I don’t wonder if they’ll end up on spits. I know they will. And I’m going to be one of the people eating them. And I’m okay with that. I actually seek it out. Eating chicken gives me a great sense of comfort—it’s something I know well, and understand completely. And food matters a great deal to my sense of self.

Before I left for Asia, I made a deal with myself that I could eat anything I wanted while I’m here. I’d never eaten pork before, nor shellfish, out of a sort of arbitrary respect for keeping kosher. I don’t keep kosher in any other way, but this was one thing I’ve always done in order to stay connected to Judaism, my family, my cultural heritage. I knew it would be incredibly difficult to avoid these categories of food throughout Asia. As Sarah says, they use pork like a spice here—sprinkling dried pork floss on otherwise vegetarian dishes. It’s been odd tasting both of those kinds of meat, and truth be told, I still cringe when I put pork in my mouth, and the texture of most seafood is unsettling.

I truly understand now the concept of “comfort food”. Eating food I know can shift my mood, bring me back into focus, remind me that I do actually have routines at home, and that I like to cook and bake. I lose track of myself here sometimes. I have no personal space, let alone a kitchen, no clear memory of how I’m different at home. I can’t count on anything here, and no one counts on me for anything, which is liberating, and it also gives me this bizarre ghostly feeling. This city would be exactly the same with or without me. I have no place here except to consume as much as I can in a short period of time.

This morning I arrived in Saigon on the overnight train—solo, as Rosie is taking a few days to explore central Vietnam with an Easy Rider motorbike tour—took a taxi to District 1, and right off, I found an Israeli cafe and ate a perfectly predictable carrot muffin. I treasured it. After the muffin, I went out into Saigon, found a sweet hostel tucked away in a small alleyway, parked my giant backpack, and went back into the city for my first real wander. After just twenty minutes of random rights and lefts, going through winding alleyways and narrow streets, I found a bustling, overflowing produce, meat and spice market.

The markets are almost always my favorite parts of each Southeast Asian village, town, city. They all have consistencies: heaps of leafy greens, most of which I don’t recognize; bright purple eggplants; towers of garlic, orange, yellow and white ginger; every kind of fruit you could hope to stuff in your mouth. In Saigon, the individual sellers sit on tables behind their produce, chopping, prepping, cleaning, looking up occasionally, chatting with their usual customers.

I found a woman selling cold desserts, and when I walked over, she pointed at a small plastic stool and told me to sit down. Okay, I said, committing to eating whatever it was she’d put in front of me. She opened a cooler on the floor and picked through the two dozen jars inside, looking for the perfect one. She handed one to me with a small metal spoon, and so I ate. Vietnamese yogurt. Not like any yogurt I’ve ever had before. Creamier, more tart, icy. There is a comfort, too, in eating new foods. The feeling of absolute satisfaction in tasting something you’d never thought of before. You’d never imagined. In knowing that you’ve put something in your mouth that you may never get to taste again. That your palate is improved for having sat down on this small plastic stool.

Later I had slow-cooked chicken with rice and cucumbers. And then an iced Vietnamese coffee flan. And fresh squeezed pomelo juice. And I’m going out again for round two (or two hundred?).

If food helps me to define who I am, then I’m relieved to know that who I am is uncertain. And willing to taste new things. And willing to miss my routine for the prospect of three more weeks of pickled this and roasted that. And pickled this and roasted that mixed with sugar and citrus and spice and cream.

Vietnamese food, of all the food I’ve tasted anywhere in the world, is the most ridiculously creative, variant, wild and surprising. It’s become a huge part of my experience of the country, and of each city individually. I remember streets by what we ate there, and I remember people by what flavors they delivered. I made my first Vietnamese friend, Giang, while eating tofu soup on a plastic stool in Hanoi, and she’s helping to deliver me to even more delicious underlayers, Vietnamese dishes I couldn’t have found on my own. There are benefits to being a ghost, nearly invisible and largely mute. I get the flavors without any of the responsibilities. And I can handle that for a few more weeks.

A few minutes later the whirring sound came back, this time much louder. It was as if the fan blades were scraping against something. I shook off the momentary, grotesque vision of one of the geckos (I have a small family of them living in my room) getting stuck in the unit.

Soon afterwards, while I was brushing my teeth, the sound made an abrupt and awful change. It sounded as if the air conditioner was spraying some type of fluid everywhere and would explode at any second. The pitch of the sound grew, higher and higher, like a boiling tea kettle. I bursted out of the bathroom in a panic, clueless as to what I should do. No liquid was coming out and my quick visual assessment yielded no clues. But the sound kept getting louder. Right then, as the screeching noise reached its sharpest and most terrible level, the biggest cockroach I have ever seen blasted out of my air conditioner like a rocket propelled grenade and landed smack in the middle of my room.

I stood with toothpaste dripping down my chin at the threshold to my bathroom. I’m not bad with bugs, but the sheer surprise and grotesqueness of what had just happened was difficult to comprehend. Luckily, the beast-monster was in more shock than me. He had been through a lot and it showed. With a leg or two missing, he sat on my floor, stunned, and I swear I heard him muttering through shortened breath, “holy shit, holy shit, holy shit.” I decided that he was battered enough to stay put for a bit. I rinsed out my mouth, grabbed a cup, and strapped on my Ghostbusters Proton Pack. The behemoth was in the same place I had left him.

Without much of a fight, I got the Roach into my plastic cup. I felt a little bad about unceremoniously dumping him out of my second floor window after all we’d been through, but I figured that if he had survived a high powered blast out of my air conditioner, he’d make it through this.

That night my room got as cold as it’s ever been.

-Meltzer

Are you as brave as this 6-year-old from Virginia who's letting a Madagascar hissing cockroach crawl on her shoulder? Look at the size of that thing! (AP Photo/Manuel Balce Ceneta)

Georgia is bug country. Whether we’re battling Argentine ants, the small black creatures that swarm en masse out of cracks, or expertly throwing a flip-flop at the roach skittering across the wall, the war between bugs and Southerners is no joke. Which is why it’s puzzling to me that anyone would keep an insect for a pet, especially one that’s as long as my index finger and makes triumphant hissing noises when it vanquishes a rival.

According to National Geographic, Gromphadorhina portentosa also hiss when they mate (sexy!) or to sound the alarm, say, when some hapless crew member arrives to collect them for a TV reality show. Occasionally, entire colonies of Madagascar hissing cockroaches may even hiss in unison. A cockroach chorus!

Let’s get back to the pet thing. I’m familiar with people keeping exotic pets, but insects? Really? I looked around for one on Petfinder and didn’t see one, just those ubiquitous cuddly puppies and kittens. A little more digging revealed that an entire Madagascar hissing cockroach kit could be mine for about $60. Even more, these dark brown, wingless creatures may live for several years. They don’t bite, and they even stop hissing once they get used to being handled. Stop petting them, though, and they’ll be back to their old harrumphing in weeks. The best part is that if you suffer from allergies, having and handling one of these as a pet might ease your symptoms, according to research published in the journal Symbiosis.

That’s it. I gotta go walk my dog.

Read more about insects, fungus and less cuddly organisms at HowStuffWorks.com:
How Cockroaches Work
Insect Quiz
Is a dog really a man’s best friend? (Nope, it’s a hissing cockroach!)
How Cat Shows Work