Halloweenie

Well, it's Halloween again and that means three things: I get to see hundreds of girls with no personalities of their own dress up like bunnies or cowgirls, I eat way too many Peeps and don't regret it afterwards even though I should, and I remember how much better life was when I was a kid.

Ah, the Halloweens of old, how I miss ye. I miss the joy of planning a great costume for 5 months only to have the joy wear off 30 minutes into the adventure when I realize I can't breathe through the Darth Vader mask and now must carry it in my hand along with my broken lightsaber and torn cape that keeps choking me. I loved being able to take candy from strangers and only worry about what flavor filling was inside rather than what kind of razor blade or coma-inducing opiate. Wasn't it the best the first time you walked up to a house that had a scarecrow on the porch that turned out to be your neighbor waiting to scare the shit out of you and every other little snot on the block? Good times, good times.

As a child, nothing could deter you from vacating your abode of safety and ravenously pillaging the porches of slight acquaintances. The excitement lay in the idea of being someone other and better than yourself for at least one night and being rewarded handsomely for it. But as the world moves on and time forceably drags you along into the future, something changes. Scratch that, everything changes. As a child, on October 31 between 5 and 8 p.m. you were not yourself as Dick Tracy, or yourself posing as Cinderella; you were Dick Tracy, and you were Cinderella. You emboddied them body and soul and your mission was to go out and obtain candy for your new-found ability to morph. But as you grow older, you lose the ability to embody and only remember how to pose. You become Jeff as The Marlboro Man or Sandy as Lois Griffin and you go get drunk and forget about the problems of being "grown up." It's a shame.

On a side note, it has come to my view that for the past many years, Halloween has become an excuse for high school and college girls to not dress in a costume, but rather dress as a slutty version of themselves. Slutty nurse, slutty cowgirl, slutty Mona Lisa. Now, don't get me wrong, I think beauty in all its forms should be respected and viewed, but view it sensibly; from a tree branch outside their windows with binoculars and baby oil, like a good adult. Halloween should not be an excuse to promote the fact that the only personality you have hangs in a pair between your armpits and cost you $1500. I just sat and listened to a 20 minute conversation about how some girl wanted to be a peacock for Halloween but all she had was a neon blue, skin-tight jumpsuit she found at a thrift store, but she thought that was good enough. No. I hate you. die.

Also, to the rap population of the world. Today is the only day you should be able to use the word "Boo" in casual conversation and not get shot in the dick. That is all.

This post is getting quite long and if you are still reading it I applaud you. I will end by simply saying that I love Halloween, if for no other reason than the nocturnal nostalgia it brings and the opportunity to watch Garfield's Halloween Adventure with the Pirate ghosts with a bucket of Peeps. Ok, now I bid ye farewell, 'fore I must get into my scarecrow outfit and go sit on the porch and wait for all those little snots to try and take herion-filled Reece's from my bowl. I'm going to make that Anderson boy shit his pants this year, I just know it.

HAPPY HALLOWEEN!


P. S. (Boo!)