Holy crap, Jesusween is a real thing. For the past month I’ve been convinced that everyone I knew was a victim of Poe’s Law. But no—there really is a segment of the Christian population that lives to spread the good news about Jesus to unsuspecting souls, and for some reason they think Halloween is the perfect time for this.
Now don’t get me wrong. I love me some Jesus. He’s a great guy. Anyone who can come back from the dead and cause others to do the same is like family to me. And I like a lot of what he had to say about not judging others and loving one’s neighbors. I love all of my neighbors. They’re delicious.
But Jesus has his own holidays. Halloween belongs to us ghoulies and ghosties and long-legged beasties. It’s the one night of the year we can go out and roam around unnoticed, and when we knock on someone’s door they open it with smiles and candy instead of with screams and a shotgun.
Even though they don’t need to, my little shamblers love dressing up. Let’s face it, the only thing cooler than a ninja pirate is a zombie ninja pirate. And those silly superhero movies we were subjected to over the summer would have been a hundred times better had they been filmed with an all-zombie cast. My boys re-created a battle scene in our back yard while waiting for trick or treating to start, and I’m still finding fingers and toes everywhere.
And the Halloween parties—sheer perfection. The breather females are almost all scantily clad, which makes it easier to pick out the good ones and leave the skinny ones who would be more trouble than they’re worth. The males tend to be heavy drinkers at these parties, which makes them easier to catch. If you get one after he’s passed out, it’s like a gelatin shot.
Should anyone really be allowed to interfere with this kind of whimsical perfection? Do my shamblers need a pamphlet about Jesus and Satan instead of the expected Butterfinger? (Which was not at all what I expected the first time I tasted one, by the way. Talk about false advertising.)
My horde takes trick or treating very seriously. If you hand a breather child a religious tract, the worst that will happen is a few eggs on your house or strips of toilet paper in your trees. My children are more creative than that—and more openminded about what constitutes an edible treat.
Making a hungry undead teenager angry won’t bring her closer to God. But it might do the trick for you.