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It’s that time of year again. The weather has started cooling off, the basic bitches are wearing yoga pants and drinking 12-dollar pumpkin spice lattes, and the Halloweener is waking up inside each of us. If you’re anything like the rest of us shit heads, you have done absolutely nothing to prepare for it, except maybe buy a skeleton guy with your friend who’s in town from college.
Luckily, Halloween doesn’t require much prep. It is mostly harmless and revolves around getting fucked up and trying to sleep with girls who are dressed as slutty cats. Aside from the 4th of July and New Year’s Eve, Halloween is hands down the best holiday of the year. How many times do you get the chance to do cocaine off a gladiator sword, or drop molly with zombified Abraham Lincoln? That being said, each year some dipshit manages to screw it up for the rest of us by abandoning common sense.
The first pitfall to avoid is any kind of racial costume. It should be obvious at this point — racially stereotypical parties or costumes are literally the fastest way to get your ass reamed in the news. Whether it’s blackface, some kind of bandit with a dirty sanchez, a Native American, or a terrorist in a turban, leave that shit at home. Everyone knows you’re only allowed to dress up as white stereotypes. So put on your NASCAR hat, denim overalls, and throw in those hillbilly dentures. Just make sure you leave the sombrero behind.
On that same token, put some thought into your costume. Claiming to be a hobo or a jogger or a functioning alcoholic is whack. It’s Halloween. Drop some bread and get a bad ass, creative costume. Go ballsack to the train track. I’m talking dressing up as a giant box of Franzia complete with actual Franzia dispenser. I’m talking dressing up as Donald Trump’s hair. I’m talking about slapping on an Alabama visor, headset, and having a Tuscaloosa booster’s wife covering your crotch à la Lane Kiffin. Leave the vampire fangs and arrow-through-your-head at home, along with the sombrero and turban.
Ladies, you are not exempt, either. Let’s begin by clarifying that “Daddy Issues” is not a costume. Furthermore, lingerie and cat ears are not a costume either; it is what your mom puts on after a long night of cocktails with your dad at the Hyatt.
Ahh, costume props. This is one of the few times in your life where small is a good thing. The smaller they are, the less of a bumblefuck you are. If you can’t hold it in one hand or tape it to yourself, leave it at home. Same to you, ladies. Nobody wants your giant fairy wings knocking their drinks over. On the same subject, fuck glitter. Fuck the people who wear glitter, fuck the people who throw glitter, fuck the people who make glitter, and fuck waking up with glitterdick.
Yes, it’s Halloween. Yes, there will be party drugs everywhere. Yes, the punch will inevitably be spiked. Yes, cops will be everywhere, eager to arrest some wasted dude in a tampon costume. So when you feel that sudden urge to pull your dick out and spin it like a Twister arrow while singing The Addams Family theme song, make sure you’re on the safe side of the street.
Trick or treat, bitches..