Last night, Rob and I went to a Halloween party hosted by a Sexy Hobo, a Sexy Grizzly Bear, and some sort of Reptile that I never saw clearly but was more than likely Sexy, as well. The fourth host was Fur, who spent hours getting the disco ball just so. Even though we left home an hour after the party was supposed to begin, we were the first guests to arrive. Later, Dorothy Parker showed up and I got bitten by a black cat.
In case you’re wondering, my costume was Guy in a Cirque du Soleil Souvenir Shirt and Brown Hoodie who Ate Half of the Jack o’ Lantern Cookies before the Other Guests Got There. I have been saving this costume for just the right occasion.
Speaking of Halloween, I saw some Christmas trees for sale yesterday and felt so sorry for the poor the red-headed stepchild of the holiday family, always overshadowed. I remember when I was a kid and they had a special Halloween mass at the church. I can’t imagine why, but those people will congregate at the drop of a hat. It was a Jack o’ Lantern mass, and everyone was supposed to bring a pumpkin carved in the likeness of a saint. At home, my pumpkin was named Luke Skywalker, but at church, he transformed into the mighty Saint Luke. My brother’s Darth Vader pumpkin didn’t weather the transition as well, and the monsignor denounced it from the pulpit. Heretic pumpkin! By now, I’m used to being denounced from the pulpit, but I’m sure it was a stinging indictment at the time.
Speaking of indictments, I feel so sorry for I. Lewis “Scooter” Libby, the highly placed White House official who was indicted yesterday on five counts. It must be horrible to be the public scapegoat for a cabal of evil monsters and then be forced to explain ad nauseum why perjury in a case of leaking classified information to our enemies in a time of war—endangering the lives and careers of hundreds of our agents and their families around the world in an attempt to smear and discredit the one person who had evidence that the current war in Iraq is based entirely upon lies and two thousand of our soldiers have died needlessly—is so not a big deal, whereas perjury in a case of getting a blowjob is the worst thing that can ever happen in the history of the universe. Luckily Mr. Libby just can’t seem to recall what actually happened, and was probably out of the loop to boot, because these crimes for which people used to be executed in the good old days are now just business as usual in the Bush White House (motto: “A Watergate Every Day!”).
But mostly, I feel sorry that the Sexy Hobo seems to have misplaced her pants.
