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Playing Dress-Up

How to pick the perfect costume.

Looks like you were right about me, Old Man Abernathy, you toothless son of a bitch. I am no farmer. My potato gleaning yielded but ten sickly spuds; my wheat fields were disastrous. My innumerable rows of corn served not as a promising tract of bountiful maize, but as a hidden glebe of carnality, where my farmhand Manuel impregnated your teenage daughter.

I guess her fields were a bit more fecund than mine, eh, Abernathy?

You had me pegged the minute I bought that land off of you. I'm a city boy, and I was a fool to think otherwise. But if you think I'm going to walk away with my tail tucked between my legs, you've got another thing coming. I may have botched the harvest, but that doesn't mean that What's So Funny won't be throwing the rip-roaringest barn-burner of an All Hallow's Eve party the Western Slope has ever seen! When it comes to Halloween, nobody does it like the What's So Fizzle, as proved by this footnote.*

While I would love to invite every reader to the party, there's simply not room. But that doesn't mean you can't have a blast, too. Because much like real estate is all location, location, exploit-the-most-pathetic-housewife-agent-longing-to-prove-her-self-worth-by-selling-houses, Halloween is all about the costume. But how to pick the right one?

First, it's important to remember Halloween's history: Back before television, the Celts celebrated their new year on November 1, a day that marked both the end of summer and a commemoration of the dead. It was a dangerous time, when demons and spirits roamed the earth and ancient druids disguised themselves in costumes so the spirits would think they were one and the same.

So, ladies, dress up like whores.

Fellas, for us it's not so easy. Shedding layers and flossing the flesh won't impress anyone. But there is one ancient trick offered by the Irish immigrants who brought Halloween to America in the 1840s: alcohol.

Don't bust a synapse trying to make some political statement like dressing as a homeless person and holding a sign that reads "DPS Teacher." Wait till three in the afternoon, then slam a forty, and -- voilà! -- costume options abound! Suddenly you want to be Mike Seaver from Growing Pains? No problem. Find a lame sweater and some stone-washed jeans, and off you go! A few beers later, you may be feeling patriotic and offensive. Wrap a towel around your head; you're a terrorist! The FBI would certainly agree with you. And if you're worried about how others might respond, just keep drinking:

"I can't believe how offensive Jimmy's costume is."

"But look how drunk he is. I just saw him puke in a plant."

"Hilarious! Let's see if we can get him to jump off the roof!"

Foolproof.

So while What's So Funny may not know about farming, Old Man Abernathy, I know a thing or two about having a good time on Halloween. And that your daughter's a filthy, filthy whore.

* Nobody does Halloween like What's So Funny, or "Fizzle."

 
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