My two least favorite holidays are Easter and Halloween, and they both have blood and chocolate in common. It’s not real blood, of course. In one, the blood is storebought, comes in a tube, probably tastes awful. In the other, the blood is metaphorical, comes from a book, certainly isn’t true. Both require expensive costuming choices for the children, whether it be some flimsy overpriced plastic shell of the latest superheromovie, or some pastel colored uncomfortable vision of what some pious relative wants to see sitting in her church’s front pew. The weather is always contentious. It’s either a chilly spring rain or a chilly fall drizzle, but we dare not bottle ourselves up inside from that dread. We are expected at <insert relative here>’s house by <appropriate time>. We suffer through them both at the risk of disappointing a blood relative, regardless of their age.
I will not live to see my society finally dispose of silly superstitions. Look under the bed for monsters. Do this in remembrance of me. A cross wards off vampires. A cross where our savior died. Hell, our society won’t make it until the end of my life at the rate it is going. Our mutual fear of monsters and of disappointing imaginary deities will lead to our demise. Send this drone in remembrance of me. Dress your kid like a heroic NSA agent. A reasonable God would never have let things get so out of hand, nor could an army of demons match up to the evil in our own government, our schools, in the hearts and brains of most men and women.
Enjoy the mutual fuckery, both now and in October. As for me, I’ll be devoting my brainpower to wondering how they are going to kill off Megan Calvet Draper.