While Jillian, gorgeous in a Wonder Woman costume, flirted with some fit dude annoyingly dressed as Conan the Barbarian and smelling like Old Spice, I tried to act cool by the snack table. The cracker spiders looked bland, the oyster brains smelled nasty, so I tried an egg and black-olive eyeball.
A portly panda stood with his butt against the island and sipped a red-colored drink through a straw set in a tall glass. His costume covered everything but his face. The whites of his eyes were startling in the black makeup, which I guessed he’d applied himself without a mirror. As the only other person in the kitchen, he greeted me with a weird, black-lipped smile. “What’s up?”