Category: Halloween

When people say sleep is overrated, who’s doing the rating?
Exactly what rating did sleep get?
And what rating should it get?
Are they saying that all sleep should be rated X?
Or NC-17, which is what X is now?
You can give a film X for sex, or for violence.
I hope they’re talking about sex, because nobody wants violence in the bed.
Because it’s a lot easier to wash sex stains out of the sheets than bloodstains.
Assuming that you survive the violence, of course.
Or you’ll end up wrapped in the sheets and buried in the woods.

Before you tie the yellow ribbon around the old oak tree, remember to soak it in the potion that the Enchantress made for the summoning ceremony.
We don’t want the spirits of our missing soldiers to come home with any demonic baggage this time.
Remember ten years ago, when we forgot to imbue the yellow ribbon with the protection and binding agent?
Of course you don’t. We had the Enchantress work up a forgetting spell for the children after we drove back the demon horde.
Sadly, it only works on children. We elders have to live with the horrible memory.

By the time we tie your hands behind your back and pull the black bag over your head, you’re already dead.
Oh, you’re still breathing. Your heart still beats.
But it doesn’t matter. We’ve scanned your ID chip, and your records are already canceled.
We already have your blood type, DNA, and tissue profiles.
Every organ in your body is up for auction. To pay for your crimes.
You feel the needle in the back of your neck.
Lie still. Don’t move.
Don’t damage state property.
We can make it worse. Much worse.
Do you want to feel the knives?

It’s not correct to call the creature Frankenstein.
Nor is it correct to call the creature Frankenstein’s Monster.
The truth is, the creature measured exactly one on The Frankenstein Scale.
Dr. Frankenstein created a unit of measurement.
With zero representing something completely harmless and one representing something that was as scary and dangerous as that creature.
Now, if you had two identical creatures, they would not necessarily measure two on The Frankenstein Scale.
There may be some inefficiencies and overlap, resulting in a score less than two.
Or, they may cleverly work together, resulting in a score greater than two.

Jeff and his friends built a haunted house every Halloween.
They challenged themselves to make it creepier and scarier every year.
One year, an evangelical Christian group built a “Christian” haunted house.
Instead of ghosts and goblins, they showed the evils of abortion, divorce, drug use, and gay marriage.
So, Jeff and his friends built a new haunted house that showed the evils of Christianity: child molestation, fringe cults, denial of women’s access to health care, and protesting the funerals of solders.
Across the street, Abdul Mohammed laughed and PayPalled another hundred bucks to his friends in ISIS and Hamas.

You know the tale of the boy who cried “Wolf!”
It was written by Aesop after he was found with the mutilated corpse of a shepherd boy.
“He was torn apart by wolves,” he told the police. “He’d jokingly cried wolf once too many times, nobody believed him, and so nobody came to his aid when he was beset by wolves for real.”
The police wrote this down, and sent Aesop on his way.
Aesop walked down the road, stomach full of the boy’s blood.
His story had worked.
And it would work again the next time he grew hungry.

Want to be famous for a little while?
I’m a casting agent.
No, I don’t work for the studios.
I work for Dr. Midas Goldman.
He’s a magician with dead celebrities, making up their ravaged corpses for their last performance.
But sometimes, they’re too far gone, even for him.
That’s where I come in.
I bring in body doubles, he dresses them up.
You get the spotlight and a thousand bucks.
We need to knock you out, though, but we’ll bring you back.
Haven’t lost one yet.
Just don’t put it on your resume.
Or we bury you for real.

The next full moon is on February 14th.
Valentine’s Day.
John’s got a choice to make.
Tell his girlfriend that he’s a werewolf, or miss the most important night of the year.
Well, that and Christmas.
Oh, and her birthday.
He’s been a werewolf for years, and he’s never come up with a solution for this.
“I gotta work late.” doesn’t quite cut it on the weekend.
So, he picks the lonely ones. The ones without family.
The ones who won’t be missed when they vanish.
He buys the flowers, the card.
And knocks on her door.
“Hello there!”

My brothers made the best Halloween props.
They started with amazing costumes and haunted houses.
But one year, they built a little brother in a wheelchair.
It was so lifelike. But they made it developmentally challenged, like Timmy on that South Park show.
Big head, crippled spastic body. Only barking out a few words.
They took it Trick or Treating in a Batman mask.
“BA-MA!” the thing slurred.
Parents humored it, said how cute how special. Gave it candy.
It was humiliating!
This year, they’re re-engineering me into an animatronic Wolfman.
When they’re done, I’ll tear their throats out.