Corona has made me realize a lot of things – that it IS possible to masturbate too much, that I really did peak in high school, and that I don’t really have a social life to miss. One thing I didn’t see coming however, is how much the most sacred holiday of the year would fucking suck. Every annual Halloween activity I slog through 10 months for is cancelled, from joining the neighbors in eating out of the communal candy corn trough each morning to the nightly routine of going down to my local cemetery and celebrating the dead by licking all the deadstones. Just to really kick me in the nuts, supply chain shortages means I can’t even buy a jack-o-lantern and fuck its eyehole to sooth my worries – the only thing available are bumpy squashes, which everybody knows are only good for anal fun. I will say, however, that the yard decorations are great this year – it’s really hard to tell if the corpses are real or not.

Even the costumes are lackluster, the easiest source of Halloween joy. The masks everybody’s wearing this season just aren’t scary – the people who don’t wear them are actually more frightening. You can’t even resort to the classic ghost outfit, because wearing white sheets just makes you look like a Trump supporter. Even if you try to buy a proper costume, every Spirit Halloween store has cleared inventory and are only selling costumes of you! The costumes make your dick really small, and if you’re under the age of 10 or a woman they only come in slutty versions. If you really want your life to further descend into an unending existential nightmare, they even sell costumes of yourself for your pet. Just think of watching yourself shit on the carpet and eat dead mouse carcasses off the floor – usually I only do that stuff after I’ve turned all the mirrors around. 

This virus has taken everything from me, from my last shreds of sanity to my beloved grandpappy, but this is the worst blow yet. At this point, Nightmare on Elm Street feels like pleasant escapism. Don’t get me wrong; I’ll still be there when the day comes, standing on my porch pelting small children with Almond Joys and Dots from a distance trying to eke out any sense of joy I can, but know that next Halloween I’m going to tear this neighborhood a new asshole with spooky spirit. 

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