Another beer bong, another question for the Scanner team. Which costumes got you laid on Halloween? Boy, turns out, we didn't get laid much. We're signing off for the day, but we wish you a Happy Halloween. And we hope you have better luck than we did.

October 31, 1991 (pictured). I’ve had bad luck with Halloween. My mother made me a kick-ass Cinderella costume in kindergarten, and it’s pretty much been downhill from there. As a senior in high school, my boyfriend and I decided to dress like hippies — a costume that not only reflected our hardwon Southern liberalism but also our parents’ embarrassing closets. I’m not sure it got me laid, though frankly, a garbage bag would have gotten me laid in those days, because my boyfriend was just that awesome. But I do remember switching out my cute Limited Express casuals for that weird get-up and realizing I looked kinda, I dunno… hot? I still own this shirt (and the wide-flare cords I wore with it), and while it will take another Halloween costume to get me to tie a scarf around my hair (perhaps my “Christina Aguilera buying Starbucks in the pages of Us Weekly” costume), I think this is probably my best semi-adult costume. Because sometimes you need to dress like someone else to realize that, in real life, you dress kinda stupid. — Sarah Hepola

October 31, 2000. I have never gotten laid because of a Halloween costume. But in my first year of college, I dressed up as a football player (which was amazing because I am 5' 3'' and about 105 lbs) and for some mysterious, inexplicable reason my male friend I'd always assumed was gay chose that night to declare his love for me. On the couch in the lounge. After we'd watched a bunch of wiccans burn a giant papier mache head in effigy and then streaked across campus. Unsurprisingly, I dropped out of school about a month later. — Nicole Pasulka

October 28, 1995. My girlfriend had just broken up with me and, an hour before our friend’s big Halloween party, I decided I had to win her back. This meant a sexy costume.  I’d been something of a slightly reserved nerd up to this point and hadn’t been planning to dress up at all, but in my wretched lust I knew that I couldn’t allow her any time to think about anything other than all the hot getting-it-on we had done and that required a sexy costume. We could figure out the other stuff later.

So, at 9pm on Halloween Saturday, I grabbed a puffy open shirt from my closet (a blouse, really, that I had worn a dozen times in a production of an Elizabethan comedy and inexplicably kept afterwards) and made my way to the Halloween section of the biggest supermarket in spitting distance. In short order, I’d cobbled something together: with a plastic sword, a black Dracula cape, a slightly trimmed plastic robber mask, and that shirt, I would be Zorro. I drove to the party, parked down the street, threw everything over black jeans and boots in my car and, making sure to first puff my newly grown chest hair in my rearview mirror, joined some friends at the keg.

When I at last found my ex-, she didn’t recognize me. In that moment, I knew I had a shot, and a few hours later we left the party early and together. We spent the next year and a half making each other totally miserable. — Bryan Christian