Archive for October, 2012

Halloween For Kids: Then and Now

Posted: October 31, 2012 by kaostheory in Informative
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First off, all of our wonderful readers on Twitter need to follow @GrigorNR immediately. It’s an occasional dose of DECF compacted into 140 characters. Basically, it’s a free laugh. So…you know…do. Follow. The account. Yes.

…okay.

Halloween is a time for ghosts and ghouls, goblins and…um…gallavanting? I’m not sure where I was going with that. But the point is that it’s one of the most fun holidays of the year, particularly when you’re in college and drunk and all around you are just masses of dancing, writhing, walking slut-costumes. You could practically walk around a college frat party with your dick jutting proudly out like a royal sceptre and trip and fall into sex. You know…if you were so inclined.

But Halloween isn’t just for obscene amounts of alcohol consumption and promiscuity in the bathroom of a frat house with a ballerina. It’s also about the children. NOT making the children. The actual little crotch-spawns running around being all cute. But Halloween is different now than when old men like me were walking around in the cuteness. No, it has a…darker edge to it. Why don’t we just compare Halloween traditions from back when we were children to the way they are now, hm? Well…we’re going to do it anyways.
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Party Games
Then: Remember all the games that you would play at your school Halloween parties? You know, games like the spaghetti being brains and peeled grapes being eyeballs, bobbing for apples, cake walks…um…knife throwing. Maybe? The point is that they were all fun and could even be a little spooky. Which is nice.

Now: Yeah, spaghetti and grapes? Fuck that noise. When you put your hand into the bag and feel something cold and slimy and gross and you giggle because it’s fun to be grossed out but then you peer into the bag and, hey guess what, it’s actually a HUMAN BRAIN…welcome really fast to adulthood, kiddies.

Recess
Then: Hide and seek and tag and football with miniaturized sports stars and witches and the occasional Scream-face guy for those kids whose parents just didn’t really give a shit about them – you know the kid, the one that was allowed to watch any movie he wanted on TV, even the stuff on the dirty channels, so you went over to his house on weekends so you could glimpse just the occasional, first confusing attraction to softcore porno – all laughing and enjoying the cool, even cold, autumn air as the last vestiges of warmth are drawn away from the earth.

Now: Grim, silent plotting as the rival gangs of Princesses, Rap Stars, and Poor Kids divvy up the playground area into territories, laying down boundaries with Pixy Sticks and the corpses of kindergartners, clad in Power Rangers costumes, who ventured too far away from the safe area right next to the school. The further out the playground extends, the more lawless it becomes. The Outland is ruled by fifth-graders, surly and experimenting with the stolen bottle of apple schnapps one stole from his dad’s liquor cabinet. That way lies death for trespassers.

Costumes
Then: Adorable for girls, monstrous for boys. You would have pretty princesses, cute witches, little bunnies or puppies, fairies, and other forest creatures. You would have devils and knights and ghosts and spiders and that same weird kid with the Scream-mask and a muffled voice. It was tame.

Now: Slutty. Everything is slutty. Slutty princess. Slutty witch. Slutty bee. Slutty Michael Jackson. Slutty Twilight. Slutty Dora the Explorer. Slutty Iron Man. And no, I’m not talking at a frat party. I’m talking for kids. Once you’ve seen your third “Octomom’s Masturbation Video” costume, that’s the time to turn the lights off and drink.

Abuses
Then: Urban legends about razor blades shoved into apples or pixie sticks laced with poison. Parental caution to burgeon childhood fears just enough to make sure that the children remain safe and lusting over the chocolate until they can get home and have their parents check to make sure everything is safe (while taking their ten percent candy tax, the lazy criminal fucks).

Now: A child puts his hand into a candy bowl. Boom. Three days later they find his Master Chief helmet on the side of a highway in New Mexico, his head still in the helmet, the body about a mile away, raped and mutilated beyond recognition. Do not choose “trick”, kids. Don’t ever choose “trick”.

Trick or Treating
Then: Going door to door, knocking on the houses that have lights on. A kindly elderly couple answers the door and coos and gushes over how cute you are or how fearsome you are (depending on girl or boy). Then they would hand you a few pieces of bite-sized candy, you would thank them, and you’d be on your way. You would repeat this a few dozen times or more, depending on the size of your neighborhood. Your parents would be back on the street, keeping a watchful eye…or they would be drunk as a lord, depending on how long a day your dad had at work.

Now: Your parents carry you up to the door, knock sharply and, when the neighbor comes out, holds out the bucket, tells you to say trick or treat, then demands they drop it in and close the door. Halfway down the sidewalk, they start crying and hold you tight, commenting on how close they were to losing you and how much they hate this night. That’s when you smell the vodka on Daddy’s breath.

Scary Stories
Then: The hook in the car door. The lipstick message on the mirror. The ghostly passenger in the car. The monster in the woods. The weird neighbor next door. The disappearing naughty children. You know, all the crap that’s scary when you’re little but makes you laugh now. Like Large Marge. Okay, maybe not that because I still piss myself every time I hear that name.

Now: Student loans coming due. Mommy and Daddy are taking a break from each other. The babysitter with the roaming hands. The gym teacher that plays Tickle Monster at Penn State. The neighbor that you think is scary as hell because he’s quiet and bearded but then you find out he’s alright because he knocks out two home invaders that are going to cut you apart but then, oh wait, he fucks you and buries you in a shallow grave anyways. Womp womp.

Decorations
Then: Fake spider webs all over. Cute and funny (to old people) posters and cutout witches and Frankenstein’s monsters and vampires. Maybe a skull or two. The pumpkin out front, obviously. Maybe those fake gravestones and some spooky lighting if they’re a fucking overachiever, CATHY.

Now: The neighbor that, upon finding his wife cheating on him with his business partner, his son having sex with the left tackle of the football team, his daughter fucking the rest of the offensive line, his job being eliminated due to “cutbacks in fuck you, you’re fired”, his Nissan Sentra having been egged with the tires slashed, windows broken, and CD player stolen, and his dog dead of choking on a squirrel, hangs himself from the big fir tree in his front yard the afternoon of Halloween.

Carving Pumpkins
Then: A family affair, making silly faces (Mom), scary faces (Dad), a clown face (other Dad), a kitty face (Sis), a monster face (Bro), and a penis (You).

Now: All of them are penises, except for Other Dad, who makes the clown face still…just with a penis in its mouth. And Dad’s in his. Womp womp again.

Parade/March
Then: A joyous celebration of the Halloween spirit. All the kids at school would dress up in their best costumes and dance and cheer their way down Main Street. Parents and volunteers would toss candy at them, trying to reach their plastic pumpkin buckets. That one poor opportunistic kid acting as a street sweeper and grabbing ALL the candy that doesn’t quite make it to the buckets, biting the parents that try to get him to share.

Now: Seven hundred painted Jokers, Hulks, and Ice Queens marching in silent, determined, perfect lockstep down a barren Main Street, the joy of the holiday being lost as the inexorable Bataan Death March to oblivion commences with the size 7 children’s boots tramping down the faces of those volunteers pleading for mercy, though mercy will not come.
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(Holy. Shit. THIS was a little dark, wouldn’t you say? – ed.)

Maybe.

(And what’s with all the child abuse jokes this time? – ed.)

What do you expect? It’s Halloween!

(Good point. – ed.)

Happy Halloween everyone! May your night be warm, your skies be clear, and may you not experience a naked dude coming to the door holding a bottle of whiskey and a ragged, sexually violated clown puppet!