Dear Halloween,

You used to be my favourite of all the holidays, with your zombies, ghosts, candy, and the anticipation of all those things... but now? Like Christmas, you disappoint. Big time. Not because of severe family dysfunction leading to binge drinking, not like your holiday brethren, but because you have a long record of missing the point.

You, with your never-ending Saw franchise, over-reliance on tabloid-persona-costumes and recent lack of actual pumpkins.
You are supposed to be about pumpkin carving, about white-sheets your grandma stole from the hospital (because she's thrifty like that) turned into phantoms, about gypsies and hobos, skeletons and little red riding hoods, about eating candy until you shake from dangerous sugar levels.
But how things have changed... sad head shake tonight I went for a walk... and maybe it's me, maybe it's King Street, but I was shocked and SCANDALIZED. What in the sluttyhell is going on? Come on, slutty pirate, slutty nun, slutty cat-nurse... (for the love of god, pick one), slutty maid, and slutty Pocahontas (slutty and offensive!)...
All of you, PUT SOME PANTS ON.
None of you are embodying the spirit of the holiday, if you want to be slutty, at least be scary! Here are some suggestions:

-A slutty Revenue Agent with a notice that you are in arears. NOOOOO!!!!
-A slutty dentist covered in blood who tells you all sultry-like that the painful but medically-necessary procedure won't be covered by insurance. AHHHHHH!
-A slutty zombie! Spooky, easy and... easy!
-A slutty H1N1 microbe! TERRIFYING, TOPICAL and quite possibly TOOSOON!!

This is not my fatty bitterness, you better believe I will Ho it up like no one's business when the situation calls for it... or I'm at work... or at school, whatever, so I am not here to judge you on your morals. Go on, be slutty and ridiculous, but for the love of pants, KNOW that you are being slutty and ridiculous and be clever about it or I am calling your mother!
And it's not like the men fared any better in terms of imagination, I'm talking to you guy with plate of pasta in lap with genitalia as meat. Clever? A little. Begging to be seasoned with pepper spray? Yes. And you, guy on line at Spice Route dressed as Edward Cullen? This qualifies you to be on some registry.
Not to mention the guy in the business suit with a black mask over his eyes who I am sure is already on at least one of those registries.

What I'm saying is, Halloween, you are about fright, and childish glee. One or both of the elements has to be present or this is just some Brett Easton Ellis-ian exercise in hedonism... scary in a bad way. Scary like Vh-1 is scary. So if you can't have fun and be childish, leave Halloween to the children.


_{(and with that, I go back to watching 28 days later and researching my political economy of culture paper... which explains why I didn't go out as Hot Lips Houlihan complete with Frank Burns dummy. There's always next year!)}