What Halloween Means To Me

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!! Halloween is like, totally my favorite holiday. Pumpkin-infused booze. Tons of candy. And, you can dress like a total slut and it’s acceptable because it’s like, Halloween.

I didn’t always slut it up on Halloween. Throughout my teenage years, I dressed like a slut every day but Halloween. Thanksgiving, Fourth of July, birthday parties—so much sluttiness! Halloween was my time to get away from that.

I eventually learned that you gain a certain power by withholding something great, in this case my slutty wardrobe. People began to realize how much they missed the slutty me.

Throughout my twenties I really let it rip every October 31. A partial list of my costumes from that decade—slutty pumpkin, slutty Santa, slutty teacher, slutty doctor, slutty angel, slutty devil, slutty Philip K. Dick, slutty male nurse, slutty ghost, slutty maid, slutty Jason. I was so slutty, I made myself sick!

It was very fun, but now that I’m officially a ‘thirty-something,’ the evolution must continue.

A certain maturity is expected of me now. A slutty, grown-up maturity.

Q: So, what is the sluttiest costume possible?

A: A slut, you’re probably thinking.

You’re wrong, though. A slutty slut is the correct answer.

I will be so slutty, right down to the slutty mannerisms, slutty dress, and slutty psyche of an actual slut, that I will believe I am no longer myself, but a slut with such low self esteem that slutting myself out is the only escape from my slutty life. I will even cry in the shower as I prepare to go out for the night, and wonder why people only call me when they’ve been drinking.

Ah! I can’t wait!

WOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!

 

 

 

 

 

A Late Halloween Story

I remember a few years back when I was at a costume store before Halloween. Some old guy started talking to me for some reason. He told me that he was going to stick a potato on his genitalia, and go to a Halloween party as a dictator. Then I left because he was weird.

A Dissertation on the Ramifications of Purchasing a Poorly Crafted Fake Moustache

When making a major purchase (house, car, electronics, etc.) the old cliché “you get what you pay for” rings true. But this past weekend, my fellow consumers, I found that in the sick and depraved universe of fake moustaches it rings even more truer than a big ol’ samurai looking guy pounding on a gong.

It started well – the man on the package was the very poster child of upper lip fertility. A crop of hair that was dark, thick, commanding. Everything that I wanted for my own face. A look that says “this man knows exactly who he is and what he wants out of life.” You can’t not buy something like that.

I’m not sure as to the exact price of the ‘stache – it was packaged with a wig – but if I had to guess using the ratio of the size of the wig to the size of the moustache, it would have been about forty, fifty cents. And a fifty-cent crumb-catcher it proved itself to be. Upon taking it out of the plastic bag, I could immediately tell something wasn’t right. The synthetic hair looked real enough, but instead of a steady downward flow, the strands stuck straight out, and in some places up, making the ‘stache appear as if it had an erection. Even worse was the performance of the application pad. The thin strip of paper covering the adhesive was nearly impossible to peel off, and a portion of the hair was half ripped off in the blind rage caused by the frustration.

You can imagine my vexation as I was now walking around with an upper lip that appeared to have erect hair hovering in front of it. The meat of the moustache eventually fell all the way off, leaving me with the sticky pad and a fraction of the bristle that I had started with. At this point it looked like someone had glued pubic hair to my face.

Wisdom to take away from this situation: if you are planning on buying a fake moustache, don’t skimp. Find a local artisan, and pay his/her price, no matter how ridiculous it may seem.

Here’s the Blong (Blog Song). Clubroot – Comedown. Kind of Halloween-y.