Meet the ol’ ball ‘n’ chain. Cheap too.

Dracula’s Garlicky Brain in a bowl.

Not often you get the opportunity to view it. Partiers at the Halloween bash Saturday night did.

Begins quite simply with four heads of garlic. You read correctly. Heads. Not cloves. Roasted. Set the heads on foil. Drizzle with oil. Seal into a pouch. Bake 30 minutes at 350. Let cool. Easily pop cloves out of papery skins and monster mash.

Make mashed potatoes. I used about 8 pounds of boiled red potatoes, unpeeled; the peels lend a tissuey touch, you see. Add about half a cup of butter and between half a cup and cup of milk (I used half-and-half). Eyeball the liquid to create a soft consistency that’ll hold its shape when piped through a bag.

Take a large Ziploc bag and slice the corner. Fill with potatoes and pipe into the shape of a brain, rounding and building potato as tissue. Dig in!

It’s the blue bouncing ball that’s the lifesaver.

As readers know, the inmate costume featured in a prior posting was a last-minute decision. Come Saturday afternoon, I’m still left scratching my head on how to create a ball and chain on the uber cheap and quick for the party hours away.

Something round, something round I contemplate while scouring and sifting through piles and shelves of stuff. It ain’t pretty. This Goodwill’s pretty trashy.

Then off to the side, out of the aisles, in a corner next to the restroom door an object catches my eye. My Halloween savior. The rest is history.

Halloween makings

Begin with a kid’s ball.

Add a bag of shower curtain rings unearthed at the Goodwill.

Toss in a discount remnant of black stretchy polyester from the fabric store.

Throw in a couple rubber bands and twine.

Voila! A ball and chain that’d make any prisoner growl. And grin. Meets an inmate’s budget: $3 in total.

I’m a prisoner!

Correction: I’m Willy. With black eyeshadow as 5 o’clock shadow and a stick-on black mustache with the curl at the ends, I look positively down and out. Out of prison and on the lam.

Compliments on the ball and chain pour in! On my night of freedom, I’ve the pleasure of telling the story of how it came to be many times over. My real name’s never leaked. I’m Willy. “I’m a pansy prisoner,” I moan, pointing to pink rings in the chain.

Some 60-plus folks are in attendance. Of them, there’s one I steer clear of like he’s live plutonium. Shoot him steely cold looks from beneath furrowed brow. He’s the reveler in the cop uniform.

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