Thursday, November 1, 2007

Happy Slutty Halloween, You Halloween Sluts!

Halloween comes from the ancient Celtic festival Samhain, which celebrated the day when the boundaries between the living world and the underworld overlapped and when ghosts could walk the earth. These ghosts would cause sickness, damage crops and partake of any number of mischievous poltergeist-like activities. The ancient Celts used to disguise themselves as ghouls and witches in order to blend in with the other nasty paranormal creatures roaming around on Halloween night and so avoid becoming a target for mischief.

Living in an area of the city where there is a high concentration of bars that serve specialty margaritas, long island ice teas and cheap Old Style cans, I have come to the conclusion that there must be a disproportionately large amount of slutty ghosts, male and female, haunting the streets of Chicago.

Oh sure; to anyone else this might look like a bunch of bar-hopping twenty-something women looking to get free drinks and possibly engage in consensual anonymous intercourse with the various slutty Draculas or slutty dead-firemen who are also wandering the streets. But I know about ghosts because I've seen the movies on the TV and I know that they aren't all slutty Caspers. I know the true origins of Halloween. Even if only ten percent of the slutty costumed persons running the streets were otherworldly, that's still one out of every ten horny costumed persons.

And last night they were running around in droves.

So instead of subjecting myself to potential illness or any crop ruination, I resolved to hole myself up in my tiny studio apartment and wait it out. I placed garlic bulbs near the entrances to the apartment. I had a jar of holy water within arms reach at all time. I loaded my Glock with the best silver bullets I could buy and kept it by my bedside. I placed a crucifix on every window sill. I was ready. And I waited with a bottle of Jim Beam until the dawn just to be sure that no slutty zombies would try to break in and eat my delicious brains.

To my surprise and - I admit - disappointment, I only had one run-in with a potential ghoul last night. At about 10:45 I received a knock at my door and, being half drunk at the time, I jumped to the obvious conclusion and opened fire with my Glock. I suppose, looking back on it today, that the pizza delivery guy may not have been a ghost. I had, after all, ordered a small deep dish pepperoni pizza that night (there was no way in hell I was going out). In all fairness, though, the pizza delivery guy did look just a tad bit slutty.

Oh, and the pizza was delicious.