Halloween Green on hand jobs and hope

Halloween always makes me think of Christmas. Practically speaking, this is because the former always, without fail, foreshadows the latter. But more importantly, I always felt that Ebenezer Scrooge’s canopied bed in “A Christmas Carol” was better suited to a horror film — granted, it would probably be one of those low-grade, soft-porn, sexy blood types.

I like to think of Halloween in terms of those three spirits: Past, Present and Yet to Come. (Had “future” not been invented?) My ghost of Hallows Eve Past, however, is unlike Dickens’ “white-robed, androgynous figure of indeterminate age.” This is because it is balloon lady. Or perhaps girl in fox suit.

Keep in mind, my mother is an artist not a crazy. Before I could really assert myself, I was at her mercy in terms of costumes. When I was three, she taped balloons to my outfit and covered me in glue so that when she tossed glitter, it would stick. My father, who is an engineer, described this costume as having “no character or identity.” Luckily my mom titled the piece “Woman with Balloons and Glitter.”

The next year, I insisted on wearing what I wanted to wear. I am told that this was a fox suit. My suit was very had very thick fur, a helmet and a foot-long nose. A few years later, perhaps uncomfortable with the implications of animal suits, I dressed as a president. I wore a nice pantsuit and a sign that read “First Woman President.” I hope that if Hillary wins, she will wear a similar sign. Although I guess that is what her tits are for.

Freshman year of college I wore a nightgown that read, “A book lover never goes to bed alone.” As I wandered clutching my copy of “Redwall,” I spotted what has remained the greatest costume since Vin Diesel: a mysterious man was wearing a giant hand suit, with a sign that said “job.” Where are you, mysterious handjob man? I never go to bed alone — but you are welcome to join me and Salman Rushdie.

These days, corporate doublespeak has taken over Halloween. Instead of dressing as mummies, we dress as a prostitute — who just happens to be posing as the undead. This hot, rotting corpse is my ghost of Halloween Present.

A freshman boy told me that he wished he could go home for Halloween, that girls here didn’t dress slutty enough. But one can only get to a certain point before just being naked. Maybe the difference in the skank ho-ification of Yale is that our dudes are doing it too — I saw plenty of tits and ass Wednesday night, but also a significant number of perfectly outlined testicles.

The Playboy Bunny must have been the starting point for hot animal costumes, leading eventually to a “sexy pig” at YSO. Before this revolution, the only people getting sexy with sheep were truckers. Jacqueline M. Bell, marketing director for the Women’s Museum, called the Bunny costume “one of the most significant representations of women in American culture in the 20th century.”

Ms. Bell got it right. Women’s Suffrage? Bah Humbug!

Halloween stores freak me out. They smell weird. And where they go in November? Those bagged slut suits remind me of astronaut food. Instead of adding water, you just cram your body sausage-style into a casing and presto — instant nurse!

Another Halloween phenomenon is the couple’s costume. You can really learn a lot about a couple by the symbolism in their outfit. We have the she-wears-the-pants couple (Jack and Rose), the when-it’s-good couple (Frodo and Samwise), the he-is-gay couple (made you wear drag, had great sex that night), and the-he-cheated-this-summer couple (Caesar and Brutus). I’ve been searching for the Dog to my Cat for a while, but it takes a strong man to share an intestinal tract and always walk backwards.

I like lame-os who dress as themselves. I always give them the benefit of the doubt and assume that they are dressed are the embodiment of some abstract concept, like “Pandora’s box.” Just on Wednesday I spotted “Hope” in the corner, in the form of a five dollar bill on the ground. But it doesn’t even have to be Halloween to dress as an emotion. For example, whenever I wear a bright color, people compliment me — because they have noticed that I am no longer the face of MISERY.

The ghost of Halloween Yet to Come will be a man, dressed as the Greek Goddess Aphrodite. And he will be known as Hermaphrodite.

I have no doubt Ebenezer himself would have gotten a bit freaky on Halloween. I picture him picking up a pre-packaged costume, “Queen of Pain” perhaps. As Dickens quoted, “Darkness is cheap, and Scrooge liked it.”

Molly Green is the Tiny Tim of Halloween.

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