This Halloween, I’m gonna go as a cynic.
People won’t get it because they couldn’t grasp sarcasm if it smiled them in the face (me included) so I’ll be the bore of the party.
There’s no such thing as Halloween in Europe. We’ve got shitloads of holidays, Christian ones stolen from the Islam, in turn stolen from Egyptian culture. In fact, we do have All Hallow’s Eve, which is today and about putting flowers on the graves of dead relatives. But Halloween? Copied from MTV. Like we need another reason to dress up and behave like idiots.
I can understand if you’re American, and Halloween is the hottest thing since the mass murder of the local indians. It’s because you don’t have any other kind of folklore, since you didn’t bother to preserve it before rallying the Aztecs in ghettos. From there, it was a matter of scooping up all that remained from whatever Irish heritage that wasn’t about getting shitfaced, dumping it into one holiday and blowing it up to proportions only Americans find entertaining.
This Halloween, I’m gonna go as Captain Obvious.
Under the motto “Get ‘em young,” the media found it a good idea to shove that shit down our throats and especially international music stations urged our children to go out at night and get stared at for asking candy at people’s doorsteps. “Candy or I’ll shoot” is our loose translation of the catchphrase, although most of them just prefer to try their luck in English, unwittingly emphasizing the bastard link to an already bastard idea.
So last night, I was sitting at home, minding my own business, until a brave few groups came to try my doorbell. I didn’t have any candy in the house so I tried some fruit, which they weren’t exactly enthusiastic about. Well excuse me you spoiled little pricks, in my days we’d get mandarins for Saint Nicholas and we fucking loved it. I bet you didn’t lose the custom of receiving free toys so readily, did you.
This Halloween, I’m gonna go as an asshole.
Yes, I do have candy, thanks for reminding me. Goodbye.
Anything that doesn’t shit in a toilet, is unwelcome in my house. I’ve had that rule forever and I don’t care if you’re a puppy with two broken front paws, if I catch you doing your thing outside the bathroom, you are disgusting and I’d rather not have you stay for any prolonged period of time, let alone under my responsibility.
Pets are a drag. They’re animals, they don’t belong in this synthesized world we created. They think we were created to produce food on the spot and feed it to them- That’s not how I see a mutually respectful relationship.
Dogs are cool, some breeds are awesome. They’re chick magnets too, until you’re chatting them up and the beast decides to find this spot convenient for defecating. And there you are, picking it up while that runt thinks you simply have some sick fetish for it. I’m not sure about you, but my urge to shake hands with someone holding shit in a bag is next to none.
Cats are… No seriously, what are cats? Miniature predators who seem to find everything annoying but are too stupid to learn that the kitchen counter is off limits. I could live with one around the house, but now we have two. Great.
I’ve always said that, if I ever intend to take over the world, I will do so with a well-trained army of kittens and bunnies and all sorts of that nonsense. It’s called a charm offensive, and it’s damn effective. In fact, when they first dropped off the black kitten and it crawled into a blanket and cried for its mom for two days, it even had me fooled.
Make no mistake however, these crawling little runts have no such thing as a conscience, and neither can they grasp concepts like thankfulness and love. They don’t actually think the shit you say out loud while watching them. They respond to the tone in your voice, not the words you say when you go on and on about whatever boring ideas you conceived today.
And still… It’s so hard to stay stressed when you flop down on the couch and one of those cretins sneaks up to you and begins to massage your back in preparation for sleeping on it. And no matter how alone I really am, I never feel lonely when watching a movie with a black pool of fur in my lap (do not quote this out of context please).
They sometimes come in handy, too. If you don’t know what to say to a friend who is going through a rough patch, you can always hunt down a kitten and dump it in their lap. It helps. And the kitten gets some titty cuddling, so it’s a win-win situation. For all three.
I hate to admit, I grow to like them. While they might not respect my superior ass one little bit, I’ve come to appreciate their company to the point where I “don’t mind it”. And when no one is looking, I too tend to steal a snuggle as they pass me by.
I don’t talk to them though. That’s just retarded.