Break out your freaky pumpkins you sons of bitches because it’s time to scare the fuck out of people and eat shitloads of candy. And I don’t know about you, but this year I’m going make some fuckers crap their pants. In fact, I’m about to head to the morgue to borrow a body or two for my lawn – none of that fake fucking dummy shit for me. Hell, maybe I’ll get lucky and they’ll have a decapitation and I’ll take the headless body, put it on a horse and let that fucker run wild around my property all Sleepy Hollow-like. Man, my shit is going to be terrifying. When trick or treaters roll up they’re gonna be like, “Holy shitballs this place is fucking freaky as Hell”. Then when they approach my porch and have to step over a dead body they’ll be all like, “What’s that smell?” and I’m gonna be like, “Check your pants.”
I may even hit up the blood bank and get some of that real shit so I can smear it on my door frame or leave bloody footprints on the sidewalk. Then kids will be touching that stuff and they’ll taste it because they think its corn syrup with food colouring. But guess what? You’re wrong fuckers. You just ate blood. People are probably going to be like, “That’s irresponsible and hazardous to your health.” And I’ll just give them a handful of candy and quietly reply, “You can swallow a pint of blood before you get sick. Haven’t you seen Fight Club, bitch?”
When it comes to sound effects you’re probably wondering if I’m going to pussy out and use my iPod. And the answer is fuck yeah. What else would I do? Hire a bunch of mental patients, dig a hole in my lawn, throw them down it then cage that shit up and let them scream the night away? Hell no. That’s just fucking cruel. (I must admit, I’m considering buying a shitload of lobsters, tossing those bitches in a pot and slow-cooking them. It seems like a more realistic way to have some freaky fucking screaming throughout the night. Plus, I can have lobster omlettes for breakfast the morning after.)
Next thing I’m going to do is buy more goddamn candy than Willy Wonka can shake a fucking Oompa Loompa at. Then I’m going to call up Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band and that little Japanese bastard who eats all the hot dogs and we’re going to chow down on that shit until we puke. Why? Because it’s not bloody Easter, it’s not fucking Thanksgiving, and it’s definitely not Christmas. It’s Halloween, fuckers.
Question: Do you consider dressing up and wearing make-up to be not-so-manly? I thought so. That’s why I don’t take part in that bullshit. Me, I’m straight up about the realism. So what do I do? Hold on to your fucking hats folks because this shit is about to get real. And I don’t mean real like a felony rap for possession of marijuana. I mean real like going to the doctor for your first prostate exam. I cut myself. That’s right bitches. I slice my shit up. Maybe a little nick on the neck or a slice on the stomach. Then I throw on a white shirt and let that fucker bleed out. Do people get all pale and worry about the blood pulsing from my body? Fuck yeah they do. And do you know what that means? I’m scaring those bastards silly. Best part is, the cuts are what the medical world refers to as “artificial wounds”. So I come out of the night with a scar that chicks dig and having succeeded in scaring the crap out of people – and into their pants. And that’s what the business world refers to as a “win-win” situation.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go carve some fucking pumpkins into repelling shit that looks like Whoopi Goldberg’s face.
Happy motherfuckin’ Halloween assholes!