If you want to show up at a party wearing something totally unique—unlike the hordes of Balloon Boys, Gosselins, and zombies—here are a few inspirations for you. Not everyone may get it, but if you have to explain it, that's a great way to meet people. See, we're here to make sure you look good and get laid. How servicey is that!

All but one of these ideas came right from you, the readers, and we just stole them from the comments of our last two Halloween posts and fleshed them out a bit. Thanks for the effort, and sorry if we ruined your concept by putting it out there for the world to copy.

Think you can do better? The comments are open!

Costume: McKinsey Executive
What You'll Need: A power suit, covered in fake blood. Old copies of Gourmet, Cookie, and Domino with a knife through them.
Works Best For: Media Insiders, those collecting severance from Conde.
Recommended By: Former English Major

Costume: Ernie Anastos the Fox New York anchor who coined the phrase "Keep Fucking that Chicken."
What You'll Need: A suit, and a whole raw chicken, attached to the crotch of your pants. To go that extra mile, get some bad face work done.
Works Best For: Carnivores, men.
Recommended By: HamburgerHotdog

Costume: Glee's Sue Motherfucking Sylvester
What You'll Need: A short blond wig, a track suit, a whistle, a protein shake, no uterus, and a ton of bitch quips.
Works Best For: Lesbians, gay guys, theater dorks, Gleeks.
Recommended By: NotSewFast

Costume: John Fitzgerald Page, the worst person in the world
What You'll Need: Just like BettyCrocker said, "'80s prepwear (yellow suspenders, cufflinks shaped like $$) and a total lack of self-awareness."
Works Best For: Gawker diehards, frat boys.
Recommended By: BettyCrocker

Costume: Mary Murphy, the exuberant judge on So You Think You Can Dance
What You'll Need: Fake tan, a brunette wig, a tacky outfit, a loud scream, and a miniture "hot tamale train" to circle your head.
Works Best For: Reality show fiends.
Recommended By: Spirit Fingers

Costume: Anna Wintour in line to see the The September Issue
What You'll Need: Tight jeans, loafers, Fashion's Night Out T-shirt, sunglasses, bob wig. Bonus points for a snake coat or bringing a friend dressed as Grace Coddington to laugh at you.
Works Best For: PR girls, skinny people, those with a mean glint in their eye.
Recommended By: Brian Moylan

[Image via Getty]

Here's what you DO need:

• An unquenchable desire for fame: Obviously. It is what drives all fameballs.
• Shamelessness: Your desire for fame must be greater than that voice in your head screaming, "Stop; you look like an idiot."
• A lack of redeeming talents: This isn't the Nobel Prize, okay? If you're a shameless fame whore but you also, say, cured cancer, one could argue that your talent is being properly appreciated. This will not do.
• An abundance of non-redeeming talents: These may include, but are not limited to: oversharing, self-regard, delusions of grandeur, superficial physical attractiveness, a ridiculous distinctive personal fashion trademark, the ability to talk about oneself without end, conspicuously false modesty, and sluttiness and/or man-whorishness.

• Growing a conscience: It can happen to the worst of them. Instant death.
• A desire for meta-fameballdom rather than actual fameballdom: This is the key mistake that people make when they come directly to us, begging for coverage. We're talking to you, lady who keeps sending us emails billing herself as "The next Julia Allison." You see, while we do grow and cultivate fameballs, it's absolutely essential that those fameballs are not seeking our approval; they must dream of stardom (even micro-stardom) in the outside world, not simply with a knowing wink on Gawker. A fameball's famelust must be their undoing, not their doing. If you're deserving, we'll find you.
• Being a one-trick pony: Lots of people do embarrassing fameball-like things from time to time. But do they have the staying power to keep plumbing ever-greater depths of self-abasement? Only the greatest do.

JFP is apparently now an extra-wrangler. For the movies! He was trolling for extras on Craigslist in Atlanta—the posting is now deleted, but luckily it's reproduced right there on his priceless personal website!

DO YOU WANT TO BE IN A MOVIE WITH BILL MURRAY, SISSY SPACEK AND ROBERT DUVALL - THEN COME OUT ON WEDNESDAY & THURSDAY (note dates have been moved back AGAIN due to inclement weather)!
NOTE: to be in this movie, you must use my name - JOHN FITZGERALD PAGE - when you check-in. NO EXCEPTIONS. Leave me your name and the days you can show up at johnfpage@yahoo.com if you plan to come out either or both days.
What: Feature Film - "Get Low" - starring Bill Murray, Sissy Spacek, Robert Duvall http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1194263/
Setting: 1930's
Date: Wednesday 3/4 and Thursday 3/5 (EARLY IN THE MORNING)
When: Call time 3:30 a.m. WOMEN (pre-fit) & MEN (pre-fit) 4 a.m. Pre-fit means you have already been seen by wardrobe.
When: Call time 5 a.m. WOMEN & MEN (not pre-fit). Early birds get closer to the cast!
Scene: outside - a recluse stages his own funeral before he dies and it becomes a huge event with thousands attending.
Temp: (at call time) 35-43 degrees (high) 55-61 degrees- dress appropriately - some heated areas provided. Wear thermals or plain jackets you can take on and off easily.
Food: Complimentary coffee and soup, lunch
Extras: OPEN TO THE PUBLIC! Bring yourself and as many other people as possible (pre-fit or not). We can use you Wednesday (more important day) or Thursday or both days. Email johnfpage@yahoo.com with first & last names and days you plan to attend, then just show up with period clothes, hair & makeup and use JOHN FITZGERALD PAGE at check-in! Find me on set!...

Compensation - No pay, but you get lunch/snacks, a chance for prizes (flat-screen TVs, signed scripts, meet the stars, etc.), to be in a movie and see Bill Murray, Sissy Spacek and Robert Duvall up close!
Perfomance by: STEEL DRIVERS (GRAMMY NOMINATED BAND) WILL BE PERFORMING THROUGHOUT THE DAY

Any Gawker readers in Atlanta had better be there, taking notes. And just FYI, ladies, JFP includes these photos as guidance as to how you might want your hair to look:

Send us full reports! [Read all about JFP here and also here]

From his Esquire ad:

From his homepage (warning: awesome music):

> You are a complete assbag.

JS:

Care to say that to my face, Mr... Internet Stalker?
Regards,
JFP

Interesting challenge.....tough guy. It must be an interesting existence being as oblivious as you are to your shortcomings. I just hope you make enough money through your self-deprivation and marketing efforts to compensate for being a complete ass clown and laughing stock of millions.
Although I'm certain you'll never have the opportunity, do everyone a favor and don't reproduce.

JS:

I will give you a shot at the heavyweight title and put it on YouTube!
Jealousy will get you everywhere...
Since you can't reproduce - who are you picking at the sperm bank - me or an internet stalker?
Regards,
JFP

Scrotum lip,

Heavyweight title? Are you suggesting a physical fight? I'll pass and I suggest you spend your free time looking for a gainful employment, and possibly a friend or two. Looks like they are in short supply for you.

As for the sperm bank.....you're comment flew over my head. Must be that swell education you boasted about.

And with all the tracing capabilities you have, I'd think you would have identified me by now. Maybe I should continue to respond so you can get a lead....how's that sound testical breath?

JS:
Well, chalk yourself up as just another internet pussy, who is unwilling to go toe to toe with the champ!
You are mad at me, because I blew off a fat chick on the internet - are you a staight man?
Are you enjoying stalking me - are you masturbating, playing Doom in your mom's basement and eating Cheetos right now?
Regards,
JFP
The man, the myth, the legend!

I'm not angy at you, nor am I concerned about your online dating exploits. Rather, I just wanted to point out the obvious, of which you are oblivious to, that you are one of the biggest testicles on this planet.

Best of luck to you though, I do hope you make some money off your notoriety, even if its at the expense of being 'the worst person in the world'.

JS:
You mean I HAVE the biggest testicles on this planet.
Would you rather me go on TV and cry and apologize like every other pussy?
Or stand up and say, yeah, I did that - so what?
Regards,
JFP

Again, you are missing the point, and thats the comical part of it. What you 'do' defines you, not what you 'have'. But, that has surpassed your shallow opinions about yourself and others.

Sorry, I forgot to ask.......and I'm curious....what are you the 'champ' of?

And for what its worth, that cheetos comment made me chuckle. Cheetos and Doom.....a nice combo.

JS:
Did you read my website. I both DO and HAVE!
Why am I creating such controversy?
Because I am a real life Superman and it irks people's chain!
Regards,
JFP

Yea guy, you're a modern day hero!
Odd though, the rest of the world doesn't see it that way.
Good luck to you d-bag.

JS:
Well, you are emailing me!
If 10 million flies eat shit, would you too?
Do you think the average person has my looks, body, brain, wit, education, car, wordliness, sense of humor, place, location, charm and gets hit on on the internet
24/7? The world is jealous, you are jealous and you know it!
Can you beat me at ANTYHING, let alone EVERYTHING?
Regards,
JFP

From the former fan/tipster (highlights in bold):

MY INITIAL EMAIL

Just saw your website, it is is awesome dude.

You rock.

HIS EMAIL BACK

[redacted]:

Rockin' is what I do.

How did you come across it?

Regards,

JFP

MY #2 REPLY:
It is all over the internet. You are famous because of your match.com blow up. I heard initially on the news, then a radio show, then checked for myself.


What you do with it is up to you. If you keep on seeming to be oblivious to your mistakes, you'll be in the news.

if on the other hand, you do a video similar to your myspace dating tips, only with a little more self-modesty/self-depriciating humor you'll turn it around to your advantage. Its hard to tell on your myspace dating tips if you are serious or actually mocking yourself a little.

HIS #2 REPLY:

[redacted]:

I didn't make a mistake. A women, who I blew off on a private, paid service, with a masked email address, sent my confidential email out to the world.

If you have never had a letter, email, photo or text you don't want read to the U.S., then fire away. If not, you may need to reevaluate your choice of words, as this could happen to anyone, if it happened to guy of my stature - somene who is beyond reproach!

Regards,

JFP

MY #3 REPLY:


John,

I'd like to help you!

What is not helping your case here is that you keep reiterating that your email was 'private' and therefor no one elses business. Yet, you have gone on the news to address it. So now it is public domain.

Here is my unsolicited advice on the matter, because I actually empathize with you John.

Send a statement to CBS that says something to the affect "I apologize if my words seemed insensitive. I may have become a little carried away with my self-assesment, but hey I really think I am a great guy and a good catch, you can't fault for me that." and leave it at that.

Then shop around for a book deal. You can turn this around to your advantage John. If you can admit you've been a little pompous and conceited and kind of play the Hugh Grant "Awww Shucks" card right now, you can become an advice guru on how to fix any problem.

If you keep on telling her what a catch you missed and why its not a big deal, you'll miss why this has some people laughing not with you, but at you.

If you want my help John, I'll be glad to give it. Not to toot my own horn, but I am a published author, a single parent of a 12 year old, Bank Exec and a few other minor accomplishments that I generally play down. I can't bench as much as you, but I am saying that I do understand where you are coming from and I think I see where you are going wrong.

HIS #4 REPLY:


[redacted]:

I refuse to apologize. I will say and do whatever I want. I didn't get this far by listening to random advice from strangers. Where is this fattie if she is so awesome?

No one of those people "laughing" would ever say anything to my face.

They are jealous - that is the bottom line.

Celebs boo hooing on TV make me sick - man up! She is the fuck up, not me!

The media thrives on looking at people's private business - they don't care how they get access!

Regards,

JFP

Like it or not, the holidays are upon us. I'm sure when you were stumbling home in the wee morning hours of November 1st in your slutty Madeline Albright costume, you saw the shopkeepers ripping down witches and vampires and putting up pictures of a fat old man who breaks into your house and tries to woo your children with toys. But there's also that other holiday in between, that one dedicated to an afternoon spent face-down on the shag carpet, woozy from tryptophan and big-bottle wine. A time when you listen to and look at your family and wonder "Who are these people??" I was thinking about this the other day and, in the immortal words of Mr. Ed: later that night, I got to thinking. I've decided we'll have a new Thanksgiving. A Gawker Thanksgiving. It's so corny! I know! But, I get sentimental this time of year.

So. How will this work? I think we'll start with the location. Naturally Laurel Touby, founder of MediaArby's, will be our "cyber hostess." (Ugh.) We'll all meet sometime around noon. Julia Allison will bring her darling dog Lilly and Jakob Lodwick will bring his darling fashion lenses. Tinsley Mortimer will arrive wearing an old, soiled Santa suit and just blink confusedly at everyone. (She'll disappear for much of the night, only to be found in the backyard, stuck in a bear trap.) Kristian Laliberte will arrive with his new boyfriend, Elijah Pollack. They'll be so in love! (Later, during dinner, Anna Wintour will lean in close, her breath reeking of gin and clamato juice, purring into your ear "Aren't they just divine together? They're like Paul Newman and Katherine Ross in Butch Cassidy. Except, you know, gay and, um, young.") John Fitzgerald Page will come crashing through the foyer in his Beemer, Eiffel 65's "Blue" blasting loudly, and shove a sweaty bucket of fried chicken into Laurel's hands. Then, just as we think all the guests have arrived, we'll hear a strange hum, a demonic orchestra tuning. As the whole house rumbles, Sean Hannity will shriek, jumping up and down and clapping his hands, "Rupey is here!" Mr. Murdoch will disembark his flaming humpback whale nuclear stagecoach and shove a sweaty Judith Regan into Laurel's feather boa.

James Lipton will utter a dinner bell clarion call from deep within his diaphragm, and all the guests will be seated at the long oak table. There will be a beautiful centerpiece fashioned out of the rawhide remains of Jocelyn Wildenstein's face. The feast will consist of many bottles of Coppola Vineyards wine, PinkBerry soufflés, and turducken. Robert Olen Butler will be the first to get drunk and hurl recriminations at people. "Elizabeth!!" he'll shout across the table at Jann Wenner, "No one poops in South America! It wasn't a sign! It was nature!!" Chris Crocker will defuse the awkward situation by stripping down to his skivvies and doing an old-style fan dance/Britney Spears hyper-sexual mash-up that erotically incorporates Janet Robinson's famous green bean casserole. ("It's the fried onions that really make it work," he'll say in a post-performance YouTube interview with himself.)

Once all are sated and sufficiently boozed up, plates will be cleared by Laurel's faithful butler, Neel Shah. Then, it's on to charades! Mandy Stadtmiller will start. She will pantomime long walks on beaches and summers spent murmuring on porch swings about the big, bright future. In mere seconds team partner Alyssa Shelasky will shriek "SuperPreppy!!" Commenter KarenUhOh, who has been quietly assessing the legal ramifications of all this, will dryly deadpan: "I thought the category was real people." Mandy will run out of the room weeping and farting, having had her hideous secret revealed. Graydon Carter will be next. He will act out a strange series of lilts and affectations, and Lizzie Grubman will yell with delight "Spike! Spike! It's your little fey creature of a son!" A few more rounds will come and go, and of course it will end in a tie and all will be smugly satisfied with their own accomplishments.

The rest of the evening will be devoted to that most revered and corny of Thanksgiving traditions, the actual giving of thanks. The list of thanks will be long and varied. Selected highlights will be:

Tionna Tee Smalls: The film Ishtar
NewToJezebel: Jewish people.
Jeffrey Epstein: Those High School Musical: The Ice Tour tickets he managed to score.
Christopher Hitchens: Religion and Bic razors.
Atoosa Rubenstein: The well-meaning gypsies who style her and, in a bold extension of an olive branch, the Omega Kitties.
Senator Larry Craig: Feet, and a willful spirit.
Josh Schwartz and the rest of the Gossip Girl team: Blacks and Asians.

And, finally, the yoga stick of thanks will be passed to yours truly. And your friend LolCait will say this:

"I find the word 'thanks' inadequate, or even inappropriate. 'Thanks' implies expectation, a resigned 'Phew! Of course these good things were coming after all.' So I'm not thankful, I'm grateful. Things of late seem pretty awful and, truth is, I've Done Nothing During The War, and yet some good things keep coming to me. Six months into my participation in this bizarre social experiment, it is quite baffling to have found both silly entertainment and keen insight on this most cold and unfeeling internet. So I am grateful for a strange new home, for precarious new friendships."

All will be quiet for a moment, and then I will fall down, completely drunk. I will be scooped up by the ever-friendly Josh Ferris (swoon!) and taken from the room.

The night will end as nights do, with sloppy hugs and prolonged, slurred goodbyes. Dear James Kurisunkal will be passed out in the broom closet, spooning a snoring Spencer Pratt, who will still be in his 'Vincent from the Beauty and the Beast television series' Halloween costume. (Or is it a costume??) Ira Glass will dejectedly try to coax Merry Miller into his cab. The Gawker editors will wander off into the night, a bottle of champagne shared between them (with a pour to the sidewalk, remembering Balks, Shafrirs, Spiers, Oxfelds, and others long gone.) Nick Denton will open his umbrella and float whimsically away into the purple night sky. And I will ramble off, thinking of puns and light bulb jokes for the next week. But, before I turn the corner, I will feel a tap on my shoulder. "Don't be alarmed," a voice will say. "It's only me, Douglas." I'll messily grin at him, this most famous of Queens landlords, and say "Oh Douglas. I'm not alarmed. I'm just grateful... Just wonderfully, queasily grateful."

Douglas will shrug his shoulders and walk away, headed off to yuk it up with Michelle and Emily, happy to have been included at all.

"Who are all those strange people?" Patrick Moberg will ask as he stands on the stoop and watches this all unfold. "I don't know," his new wife Camille will respond, robotically petting his arm.

"I've only just met them."

They run the gamut from first-person observations:"So unless he's gonna sue himself for defamation, I really don't think he's got a case. And you know what, I've actually ran into this joker a time or two at The Tavern at Phipps. He was repeatedly manhandling the female servers and completely unable to hold his liquor...."

To "deep thots":

"Wait a minute—I don't see any comments on the fact that the woman publicly posted a private email. How many of us have sent an email that doesn't necessarily reflect our best qualities? This seems to be an unfortunate side effect of the internet—nothing is private. Is this what we really want?"

But wat does JFP himself have to say about all this? Well, at press time, the AJC had been unable to secure an interview with the man himself! But why? "In an e-mail exchange with the AJC on Friday, Page declined to comment after he asked whether he would be compensated for the interview and was told no. In a follow-up, he said, "'Inside Edition' is offering me cash for an exclusive....'"

A Note From "THE WORST PERSON IN THE WORLD" [John Fitzgerald Page]