It’s almost time, kids. You can’t wait to get to Charlie’s and down enough booze to make that Silver Shamrock jingle sound like Metallica. But after three-and-a-half decades of the same old shit, maybe it’s time for a change.
Tell ya what, this year, skip getting hypnotized by that not-so magical jack o’lantern and instead focus on HorrorGeekLife’s interview with the one and only Dr. Dan Challis.
Before anyone downs a few silos of High Life and road trips for a weekend romp with a grieving daughter half their age thinking we scored Tom Atkins, press pause.
That didn’t happen. Partially because Mr. Atkins doesn’t like to do phone interviews, but mostly because staring at the ‘stache makes us weak in the knees. Even through the phone. Don’t ask.
So we secured the next best thing. Twitter’s Dr. Dan Challis has been entertaining fans of Halloween III: Season of the Witch for years, so we decided to toss some questions his way.
Can you blame us? Dude’s Twitter bio proclaims him to be a “Stud doctor. Lovable alcoholic. Father to two morons. Ex-husband to a ball-bustin succubus. Robot killer. Master of the mustache game.”
So yeah, we touched on Lucifer (that’s Linda to you and me), drinking and doctoring, that Conal Cochran might have two framed Asia posters (wait for it), and how to ensure your Halloween flirt thrusters are fully operational for your personal big giveaway at nine.
So put down the milk and cookies and get your hand off Agnes’ ass, because th…hey, will you please get your, ha…hey…STOP IT!
The doctor will see you now.
HorrorGeekLife: So why Twitter, Doc?
DR. CHALLIS: I “kick it old school,” as the kids would say. I still use a Gateway desktop computer that’s the size of a mini-fridge. I still have dial-up Internet. The only reason I have a cell phone now is because the hospital made me get one. Still, I have a hard line at the house, and I was never one of these hipster doofuses that camped out in front of the Apple Store for 32 days waiting for the new iPhone. I roll with a vintage, 1991 brick-style cell phone. You know, the kind Zack Morris had. So, you can guess that I had no interest in social media. That’s until I overheard Charlie talking about how he was able to secure a few dates with actual women. That changed my whole thinking on the subject. I started a MySpace page, but there were only about 84 other users. Most women I met there ended up looking like Marge Gutman…after the misfire. I certainly didn’t want to join Twitter. Just the name alone is ridiculous, but Charlie urged me to create an account. And hey, if you can’t trust your bartender, who can you trust? So, I joined. I was instantly blown away. What a wonderful tool. I can now meet women from across the world that are in their early 20s, have loose morals and a fetish for mustaches. That’s so much easier than my old method of picking up chicks—which was just waiting for their fathers to die under my care at the hospital.
HGL: Alright, enough softballs. Linda. Go.
CHALLIS: The woman is a menace. The sad thing is that when we first met, at a Meat Loaf concert back in ’72, she was quite the catch. She was beautiful, respected my ‘stache and even liked to partake in prolonged alcohol consumption. Then, her cousin Annie was murdered by Michael Myers. You might have read about it in the papers. After that, she turned into the ball-busting succubus you see today. She started dressing like an 81-year-old librarian and drunk-shaming me for my drinking and doctoring. I mean, come on, what are you, a communist? I thought a divorce would solve things, but she just got worse. And the thing is, she still wants me. She still uses my last name. She still calls me every morning. She still tells me to “go to hell” two to three times a day. I better have 72 virgins waiting for me in heaven after dealing with this shit for so many years.
HGL: Unrelated. When was the last time you saw your kids?
CHALLIS: I was stuck with them last weekend. Talk about harshed my buzz. I had a date set up with this 19-year-old yoga instructor that looks like a young Adrienne Barbeau, but here comes Linda calling me at the last minute and demanding that I take them. She claimed that I couldn’t even remember their names anymore. I tried to use the old “doctor’s conference” excuse that has gotten me out of countless jams in the past, but the woman’s like a district attorney. She tore into my story. I probably could have put up a better defense, but I was on the ass-end of a 36-hour bender that very few mortal men could survive. I reluctantly took the kids. Between hearing Willie babble on-and-on about fidget spinners (whatever the hell those are) and Bella blasting out One Direction, I was close to taking a tire iron to my own head.
HGL: Get ’em masks this year?
CHALLIS: What’s the point? Whatever I get them, Linda’s just going to try to top me. If I spring for some expensive, high quality masks, she would probably bring them some shit made by Rick Baker. To paraphrase Teddy, Sierra Mesa is still making me drink my ass off. But, at the end of the day, they’re my kids. I guess I’ll get them something. I’ll probably drop by the gas station the night before Halloween and pick them something up there. Best 92-cent masks in northern California.
HGL: How many tall boys deep are you right now?
CHALLIS: Aw hell, who’s keeping count? This is the Season of the Witch. My drink total automatically triples whenever this time of year comes rolling around. Hey, it’s five o’clock somewhere.
HGL: What does a random Thursday night at Charlie’s look like for Dr. Daniel Challis?
CHALLIS: Well, I’ll usually shuffle in there around 3:30 that afternoon to get loosened up for the hard drinking — which will usually come around 7. Charlie, he’ll be there wearing one of his many Hawaiian shirts and watching cartoons. On Thursday nights, it’s usually SpongeBob SquarePants. I’ll get visits from some of my best pals — Jack Daniels, Jim Beam, Captain Morgan and Jose Cuervo. By the end of the night, I’ll either end up hugging the porcelain in Charlie’s bathroom, or I’ll be at the foot of the bed of some hot Asian chick I met that was mesmerized by my mix of flannel and corduroy.
HGL: For those who don’t understand or appreciate the intricacies, give us the benefits of drinking and doctoring.
CHALLIS: Kids, don’t try this at home…or in your local emergency rooms. It has taken years for me to master that combination. I am what they call a “functional alcoholic.” Most people are total pussies when it comes to liquor. They pass out, or they get too melodramatic, or they want to get into fights, or they cry over loves lost in the past. I’m advancing modern medicine. I’m performing surgeries. I like living life on the edge. I mean, what can give you a better rush than performing a hernia operation 30 minutes removed from taking a triple shot of Jagermeister? These other established “doctors” can look down on my methods if they want. They’re not living. Anyone can perform a tracheotomy sober. All you have to do is watch Anaconda. BOOM, you’re an expert. Those guys are just a bunch of pretentious dipshits. It’s not rocket science here. Being a doctor is actually pretty easy. You eat cookies, take naps, and if any patients act up, just pump their asses up with Thorazine.
HGL: Conal Cochran. A great man. Seems a bit obsessed with you, though. What’s up with that guy?
CHALLIS: How long you got? Well, let me just give you the CliffNotes. Cochran is a 90-year-old virgin. That’s one of his biggest problems. I once red in Redbook that sexual experimentation is vital to the human psyche. I tend to agree. Look at Michael Myers and Jason Voorhees. Two virgins, two of the worst mass murderers in American history. Conal is of the same ilk. He was forced to go to his senior prom with that German robot of the old woman knitting. He didn’t have any friends, so he had to create a bunch of robots to hang out with him. The only “friend” he has in Rafferty. I truly think those two have something going on…not that there’s anything wrong with that. Rafferty has his head shoved so far up Cochran’s ass that he can perform Conal’s next colonoscopy, free of charge. Cochran is obsessed with me because I’m who he always wanted to be. He wants to live through me vicariously. You see, I was the big sports star that got all the girls in high school. I was the guy porking all the hot teachers under the gymnasium bleachers. I was the guy that was giving dorks like him swirlies in the bathroom.
HGL: Bigger Deutsche bag, Cochran or Trump?
CHALLIS: Cochran is worse. Trump is a loud-mouthed, moronic buffoon with thin skin and an oversized ego, but overall, he’s fairly harmless. Cochran puts on his act with that maniacal smile and that expensive three-piece suit. He goes around kissing babies and rambling out well-crafted speeches about Samhain, but it doesn’t hide who he really is. The guy’s not just a douche bag; he’s a Summer’s Eve special. If it wasn’t enough that he’s a creepy Irish bastard that dabbles in witchcraft, he created a gag involving a dead dwarf. Who does that? He killed his best salesman. What kind of business acumen is that? I don’t like kids. Hey, I don’t even like MY kids, but you don’t see me trying to murder all the children in the world. What a dick.
HGL: Decades later, the Silver Shamrock jingle is more popular than ever. What goes through your mind when you hear it?
CHALLIS: This place is a zoo!
HGL: We’d have to imagine that All Hallows Eve has been ruined for you, but can anything put you in the Halloween spirit? I mean, some lasses like to rock, shall we say, provocative costumes, so we’re guessing maybe that can bring you around?
CHALLIS: That’s the one thing Halloween has going for it. There is a little good to offset so much bad. Yes, I’ll have to hear that goddamn Silver Shamrock jingle on loop, and I’ll have to fight Cochran and his robot army once again, but at least we’ll all get to see half-naked women without having to carry a bundle of ones into the local titty bar. It’s the one day each year when women can dress as scandalously as possible without being labeled a “slut.” Fucking society, man. This year should be magical. The new Wonder Woman costumes have already given me half and quarter-chubs just thinking about them. I’ll give fair warning now, though. If I see any smartasses dressed as Pennywise as they try to lure me into the sewers with sixers of Miller Lite or fifths of Jack Daniels, I’m breaking out the handy tire iron.
HGL: Not everyone can simply say “I’m a doctor,” so for the fellas lookin’ to bring their flirt game to your level this Halloween, what’s the one thing they should know?
CHALLIS: First and foremost, grow a goddamn mustache. The only thing more powerful than those Stonehenge rocks is the mystical power of the ‘stache. Why do you think Teddy Roosevelt was one of the best presidents we ever had? By speaking softly and carrying a thick ‘stache under his nose. How did Carl Weathers make the character of Apollo Creed so iconic? Power of the ‘stache, my friend. How did Lando Calrissian help bring down the Empire? You get the picture. A fresh-ass pair of corduroy pants won’t hurt either. And when the time is right, always go with the “I can sleep in the car” line. Works every time.
HGL: Best advice to those brave enough to trick or treat in Santa Mira?
CHALLIS: Never trust the Irish. If you get to a house that has “O’Connell” or “O’Leary” on the mailbox, don’t go there looking for candy. Avoid houses that are playing U2. Don’t wear a Silver Shamrock mask. Their masks suck anyway. Just three varieties? Cochran’s such a cheap bastard. Finally, whatever you do, don’t watch the big giveaway at 9:00.
HGL: Which is tougher — the Marines or your ‘stache?
CHALLIS: As a guy that respects our men in service, I will give the nod to the Marines. Those “Devil Dogs” are some bad SOBs. Just imagine if they were all forced to grow mustaches. What army could possibly stop them? That’s why whenever shit gets real, I’m always quick to say, “I think it’s time for the Marines.” Even Challis plays second fiddle to them.
HGL: Who do you miss more — Ellie or Teddy? Why?
CHALLIS: Definitely Ellie. Very seldom do you find a woman that will invite a complete stranger on a weekend fling so soon after first meeting him, and also have the presence of mind to pack lingerie. My kind of woman. She was also a sexual powerhouse. I mean, she wore ME out. That never happens. The woman had the endurance of a Kenyan marathon runner. I still see Teddy from time-to-time. She has a metal plate in her head now, so she can’t be anywhere close to a microwave. She still has that….never mind. We’ve always enjoyed a friends-with-benefits type of relationship, so on occasion, we go back to my place and I show her MY lower-arm strength. But I can’t hang out with Teddy too often. There are just so many bad lab puns I can take, and she’s a bit of a stickler when it comes to these dinners. I currently owe her 12.
HGL: More notches, lifetime — you or Derek Jeter?
CHALLIS: That Derek Jeter is a good kid. They call him “The Captain” for good reason. But when it comes to muff, I’m The General.
HGL: Finally, back in the day there were only three channels. If we have another emergency on our hands this year, are you prepared to get shit done in the age of satellite television?
CHALLIS: Challis is prepared for anything. I put in lots of training to get ready for the Season of the Witch. I partake in a demanding regiment of working out, smoking cigarettes and drinking beer. I run. I run a lot. I practice tossing masks onto ceiling cameras with one flick of the wrist. I also train in vent excavation. You just never know when you’re going to have to escape through one. I do extensive research during the off-season, looking up phone numbers for all TV networks. I have them printed out on a huge laminated sheet, just like the NFL head coaches have. I continue to urge Walter Jones to pay his phone bill at his gas station. I’ll need to use it on Halloween night. Whether I have to make some bomb threats or not, I’ll stop that giveaway for the 35th straight year. That’s a promise. Other than that, it’s getting late and I could use a drink.