I'm all shook up for Oct. 31

Resslin' Around, by Casey Ressler

Elvis has left the building, baby. At least the Elvis costumes that are for big guys like me. That's the message I've been clearly sent by the powers that control Halloween -- you know, children who are forced into sweat shops in the Orient who sew those ridiculous costumes every year.

You'd have to be smaller than a grain of rice to fit into one of these costumes, and believe me, I've tried. Ever since receiving an invitation to a costumes-only Halloween party, I've been searching for a costume to be The King, thankyaverymuch, but with no luck. I'm not slim by any means, but I'm surely not the largest man in the world, either.

So far, my left thigh could go as Elvis, because that's all that fits into the "one-size-fits-all" costume. I maybe, maybe could squeeze my right ankle into that costume, but that would be a stretch. And funny, I don't remember seeing any clips of Elvis as a tiny, skinny man. In fact, he has an official "Old Fat Elvis" time period in his life, but the costume makers don't take that into consideration.

Of course, I'm being cheap, and therein lies another problem. I know there are rental costumes out there that would fit perfectly, and there are much more expensive costumes that would be fine. But I'm not going to spend more than 50 bucks on a costume I'm going to wear once to a party. I may go to 55 bucks, but there better be some rhinestones and maybe an authentic Elvis sleeping pill to go with it.

Actually, I probably would wear the get-up a lot more than once, but my wife tires of my Elvis impersonation without the costume, so I doubt she'll let me get "All Shook Up" every day dressed up as The King.

Not being able to find an Elvis costume is almost as frustrating as finding one you want, and then talking to a customer service representative from the Lower 48 about where I live.

"Yeah, I want the plus-size Elvis costume, and I live in Alaska," I told her last weekend.

"Well, we can't guarantee delivery before Halloween because you live in remote Alaska, and we only ship next-day air to Alaska," she said. "That's fine. It'll definitely be here before I need it," I told her. "I don't exactly live in remote Alaska, anyway."

But then came the kicker. "And the shipping to remote Alaska is $28.99," she said. What? For a $43 costume that weighs next to nothing?

"That's the price you pay for living in remote Alaska," she said. "I DON'T LIVE IN REMOTE ALASKA," I yelled into the phone receiver, adding something about her area of the world not having good fishing, Mount McKinley or the northern lights, as if that was a sharp comeback that was going to persuade her into giving me cheaper shipping.

So now I'm looking for something else. I saw a Superman costume that was body-hugging, but thought better of it. Instead of a "6-pack" for abs, I've got roughly two 12-packs and half a bag of Dorito's down there.

I'm left with the wig, an Elvis shaking-hips clock and three framed Elvis posters in my closet, but no cheap, $50 polyester jumpsuit, sans rhinestones, that I can proudly call my own. What's the world coming to?

Now I'm left with a big dilemma. Either I've got to find another costume, none of which can compare to Elvis (can anybody, really?), or I've got to drop 143 pounds and lose at least five inches of height so I'm a one-size-fits-all kind of guy.

Anybody got a salad?

Casey Ressler (valleylife@frontiersman.com) is the Valley Life editor, baby. Thankya, Thankyavery much for reading his column and keeping him employed so he doesn't have to become an Elvis impersonator on the side.