Halloween season officially begins somewhere below the armpit and above the breasts of August. Not long after that the candy aisle in the supermarket is ovulating. Before you know it the world is percolating with costume fetuses. Gestating for the short period of only Sepetember and then flamboyantly bursting forth from the spread legs of early Octoboer a little bit messy to say the least.
In the months prior, TV and movie themed sperm sputter and gouge their way toward as yet unfertilized theories in disguise. Millions of potential profits dauntingly struggle through the thin urethra of corporate America. In search of that distant egg. And the secret passage inside it that from one microscopic, stupid idea is born a million stupid ideas. Each one more profitable than the next.
That's what I don't get about people. How they're so ready to be what the world asks of them. Even when it's only asking because it wants their money.
I've seen countless costumes born from the dubious coupling of creativity and greed. Reminds me of oil. And war. And politicians. Oddly enough.
If you're young enough, it really doesn't matter. The candy will taste the same no matter what you wore begging for it.
But if you're too old to go door to door. If you're old enough that you have to buy your own candy at the supermarket. Wouldn't you prefer a hero that isn't always trying to sell you something.
Not Potter. Not Vader. Not Skywalker. Just someone who doesn't need a mask or a wand to be a hero.
Perhaps this:
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