The Cyclic Pattern of Halloween



For all he knows, this is his everyday wear

For all he knows, this is his everyday wear


As a baby you could care less. Simple fact, Halloween means nothing to you until you’ve got teeth. You’re basically a living decoration. You’re folks dress you up, you don’t know why and you don’t care so long as they keep spoon feeding you slop and letting you shit up a diaper.

Ages 4-11:


This little Misfit knows what's up

This little Misfit knows what's up


Halloween at this point is basically the purest it’s ever going to be. You love it, you get to dress up, eat a lot of candy, see your friends and peek into houses you’ve only seen from the outside. There’s nothing scarier than the thought of an apple with a razor blade in it, but then again you never realized that an apple is the last fucking thing you’d ever eat on Halloween. His sole mission is candy; ding-dong bitch, feed me!

Age 12:

"I have an art project to finish anyway..."

Being twelve is the black hole of Halloween. You’re too old for trick or treating, but too young to run with the big dogs of destruction. This is the year you do nothing but sit around your house, pray for death, watch The Simpsons Halloween Special and curse the outside world for leaving you behind. Ironically enough this sentiment is usually repeated the year AFTER you graduate college.

Teenage Years:


Shit's about to be ON!

Shit is about to be ON


Candy is a forethought, extreme vandalism and violence is your only goal. Hell a costume is straight up OPTIONAL at this stage. The only thing you need is a good pair of shoes, a weapon of some kind and 20 or 30 of your closest friends to wreak havoc with.

Early Twenties:


Halloween is good

Halloween is good


Drunken violence turns into straight up drunkness, period. Candy be damned, vandalism be damned, it’s all about partying all night and having sex with your partner while they’re dressed like a skanked up superhero.

Late Twenties:


You people make me sick

You people make me sick


The sex and booze has run its course and surprisingly you ACTUALLY care about your costume all over again. Hell even candy is welcomed.




Why was I born with a penis?


You’re broke and lonely and wondering if you’ll ever get married. Halloween is the last thing on your heartbroken depressed mind.

Late Thirties-Early Forties:


Enjoy it, pretty soon those kids will be in jail

Enjoy it, pretty soon those kids will be in jail


You’ve got kids of you’re own and now it’s their turn. You’re back on the beat, walking those oh so familiar streets. Keeping note of the time. After school til an hour after sunset is basically innocent children making the rounds. Around 8:00 PM is when the vandals come out and the whole area turns into the night the Angel of Death killed all the first born Egyptian males (see “Teenage Years“).

50’s, 60’s, 70’s, DEATH:

Once again you’re toothless, smelly and disgusting. No one wants anything to do with you. You’re basically a baby once more. If you weren’t suffering from Alzheimer’s disease this would probably remind you of the first time. Halloween, much like Christmas and the Fourth of July, is no longer important. It’s just another day you sit around watching The Price is Right and hoping that one of your bastard kids picks up a telephone. They won’t. Sorry, you’re old and crusty.

What I’m saying people is enjoy Halloween while you got it! And have a very happy Devil’s Night! Which is tonight! Fire it up! Fire it up!

– Mike James (boo!)

Published in: on October 30, 2008 at 4:27 pm  Comments (3)  

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3 CommentsLeave a comment

  1. Mike, you nailed it…perfectly. Except I’m in my twenties and have been dressing up most of my life. Except between 13-17. Then I was old enough and got a slutty costume (see my myspace picture). I’m still dressing slutty 🙂 Thank god!

  2. I love this post.

    During the teenage years it’s important to have a BIG entourage. It’s just like The Road where you have to avoid the bad guys. I clearly remember roaming the streets during Halloween — no matter how much fun we were having, in the back of our heads we always a knew a bigger crew could be out there, armed with not just eggs, but flour socks and pellet guns. Trust me you don’t want to get walloped in the nuts with a flour sock. Those were the days!

    Now I’m in the late 20s stage, but I’m a little conflicted. I still want to get drunk, I care (somewhat) about my costume, but I’m also broke and want to off myself.

  3. Oh, Michael! You’re that little skeleton kid aren’t you? And watch out for those old people you’re making fun of. They’ll go all Dawn of the Dead on your ass. They’re the REAL scary part about Halloween.

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