The True Meaning of Halloween


Can we agree on the fact that the term “Halloween Party” is a grave misnomer. I think something along the lines of, “Dress-Like-a-Jackass-and-Get-Drunk-Party” is more like it. Let’s face it, you’re not going to the event to celebrate Halloween. How do I know this? Here’s how:

LP: Where did Halloween come from and why do we celebrate it?

Soon-to-be-drunk, full-body-condom-wearing interviewee: …Umm…keg?

Exactly. Dude, you can’t even spell Halloween right now much less speak coherently about its origins.
Why? Why not just call it for what it is? The holiday itself is still days away and if the ‘party’ were being held without any alcohol, guess how many people would actually be showing up? That’s right, Waldo, zero….knew I would find you!
You can do a beer bong as a giraffe, my friend, but at the end of the night, when you’re passed out in your own vomit on someone else’s couch, you still look like an asshole – only now you’ve been able to accomplish it as a furry. Bravo.

Here’s how this works, you’re in college, your single and if you’re a guy, you want to get drunk and take home something cuddly with amenable orifices….and somehow, you’ve convinced yourself that looking like a Richard Simmons zombie is gonna be the bait that no one else thought of. If you’re a girl, you’ve most likely decided to wear something that shows off your figure and hugs your cheeks, because “it’s cute”, but the real reason is because you want guys to notice. You’ve chosen to be a bunny, a cat, a genie, a fairy….or a sexy leather-wearing vampire killing bitch.
You’ve also most likely chosen to go with other girls because dressed like that by yourself, let’s face it, it’s slutty.

You all go to the ‘party’ (for the event’s true name, see above), and you start by mingling. Tee hee, mingle.
And a few hours in, you’re doing belly shots on the Buddah (who, on normal class days, you call Stanley; he’s the one in the back with the NASCAR farm hat who picks his nose).
Vikings are half-dressed and stumbling, Thor is on Iron Man’s shoulders beating his metallic fellow Avenger on the head with his hammer, and Catwoman’s other-than-fit midriff is exposed and a thin fresh yellow puke stain is slowly making its way down one of her pleather legs. Beer is being drunk, poured, and spilled and the Red Solo cups are on every flat surface in the venue.
Don’t worry about tomorrow, you can sleep it off. Make sure that you clean up your friend’s couch before you leave. At least I hope he’s your friend. Do you know this guy?

Stop bullshitting us. Just say it – “I’m going out to get drunk…and I just want to represent Ravenclaw when I do it.”

 

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