Hey adults, remember how Halloween was the best costume when you were a kid? Remember how you got to dress up as something awesome and then sprint around your neighborhood with your friends, gathering as much candy as possible and gorging on it until your poops looked like mortar shells for a week straight?
And then do you remember how for a strange period from when you were about twelve or thirteen until you were eighteen, Halloween sucked and you didn’t see the point of it whatsoever? And then do you remember how from college onward, Halloween was the best holiday, period?
Again you get to dress up in weird, wonderful costumes, only now women—which you have taken an unfathomably stronger interest in since you were twelve, an even stronger interest than candy—wear costumes that would make the Talibans’ heads explode.
Then instead of candy, you get to run around getting drunk, which, let’s face it, is like adult candy.
Halloween is by far and away the best holiday. It beats the expensive, over-rated New Year’s Eve by a mile, and Christmas or Thanksgiving? Please. Mostly these holidays are about food preparation, gift stress, and going comatose on turkey (I eat enough turkey to earn me the mantle of “the Joseph Stalin of the turkey community”; turkeys the world over cower at my name).
The only stressor with Halloween is costume choice. Being “good” at Halloween costumes is roughly a fifty-fifty proposition. Some people are great at it, and come up with inventive, creative outfits every year. Others, like myself, agonize and procrastinate until the last second when we end up being something that sucks and spend half the night explaining Keith Stone to people (“You know, the Keystone guy? From the Keystone Light commercials? Well, f*** you, what are you supposed to be? A sexy cat? Cats aren’t sexy.”)
There are couples who make this pitifully obvious. One half of the couple will show up to the bar/ party/ trolley dressed as a playful version of the latest pop culture or political reference, and everyone will be thoroughly impressed ,while his or her significant other will come as a tomato. A tomato.
Falling into the agonizing/procrastinating category has led to some awful costume choices. Most notably, one year I went as a pedophile. This involved affixing a Halloween bag full of candy to my crotch and wearing a T-shirt with an hour pointing down that said, “Take one”. If I have learned one thing in life it is this: never dress as a pedophile for Halloween. You will spend the entire first half of the party explaining yourself and receiving very off-putted looks. Then you’ll spend the second half with drunk guys cramming their hands into your crotch (I know, I know, that’s what I call “Tuesday”).
Therefore, I’ve decided the simple rules for Halloween costumes are 1) make sure you can get laid in it 2) make sure you don’t mind everything you’re wearing getting ruined 3) don’t go as a pedophile 4) if it’s an election year, such as this one, do not go as something political. I’m already anticipating about 400 of the “Paul Ryan lifting weights in backwards red hat” guys.
So I’m already overwhelmed by the angst. Another beer commercial reference, here I come.