God! It’s October again. That means Halloween is bearing down on me like freight train full of Candy Corn as I stand on the track like a dumbstruck deer awaiting the inevitable impact. Come October 31, it's going to be deer to eternity.
I’m not going to sit here and type another “The Meaning of Halloween,” because you’ve heard it a million times before. And because, frankly, I don’t care.
I’m just going to ask why, during this time of the year, do people lose all sense of style and class and fill their yards with the most tasteless objects they can buy? They get the 15-foot tall inflatable ghost, the scarecrow, the gigantic Jack-o-Lantern. Then they dust off the inflatable Santa Claus, reindeer, the angels or whatever, because these go up November first. Why?
Why? Why? Why?
Yeah. It’s October now. I get it. Why advertise? So you can read a calendar. So can I. I mean, I’ve got a blow-up doll, too, but I don’t put it out on my lawn!
(Actually, I can see the value of a well-lit, 20-foot long inflatable reindeer to draw fire in case Ms. Palin flies over on her way to another debate.)
And the round-headed ghosts made of bedsheets hanging from trees like some ectoplasmic lynching. What’s that all about? That’s some strange fruit, alright.
Holidays should be happy occasions shared with family. Inside the house. Not an excuse to put your vulgarity on public display. I guess some people feel they must participate in this unpleasant pageantry or they will bear the stigma of being without “holiday spirit.”
Definitely a Kitsch-22.
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