Halloween is still more then a month away, and I haven’t seen a single person in costume, or even stepped into a single costume shop. I have no idea what’s even bing made available. That said, I can state with every ounce of my most sure fire conviction that I’m already sick of Joker costumes. I can already see the glut in my head. Little faces caked in a white foundation, with black smears over the eyes, and lipstick induced Glasgow grins. They’re everywhere, crawling over leaf piles on freshly mowed lawns, holding fast to plastic bags and pillow cases, wearing their ugly little purple suits, and their slimy green wigs.
I can hear them butchering their worst Heath Ledger impersonations. “It’s aaaaaaaallllll part of the plan.” Vomit. It’s like a thousand nails screaming across a thousand chalk boards. Jesus, how many of these guys are going to say “And here. We…Go!” when they leave the house, then repeat themselves, just in case their friends, who are also dressed as the Joker, missed their wit.
I’m not going to give any candy to any kid, or, God help me, adult in a Joker costume this year. I’m going to eat a piece of candy right in front of them, lick my fingers, then tell them to get the hell off my lawn. Even if there’s just one in a crowd. Let’s see, that’s one Snickers for the cute little ghost, one Milky Way for scary ogre, and a lollipop for that irreproachable Leatherface getup. I’m even gonna give your dad a Baby Ruth, kid, and he isn’t even wearing a costume. But you get nothing. Not even a Dum Dum, or a pack of Smarties. I’d rather put my pennies in a ‘Take a Penny’ plate then support you and your stupid costume. I wouldn’t even waste a single, solitary, half-eaten candy corn on you.
Now get the hell off of my lawn.
Did you just ask my why I was so serious?
That’s it, I’m getting the hose.
