Boog-o-ween

A small hurrah to say that I got my first porn spam comment this week. That's right, people, I've hit the big time! Nasty folks are trying to get at my reader base, which means it's substantial enough to notice, woohoo (or I've just commented on enough other blogs to become visible...hush now, let Mama enjoy this one...).

And now to our topic of the day. In honor of Halloween I'm opening up my blog to a guest poster who will explain to us his version of the perfect Halloween. Without further ado, I present the Boog and his Boog-o-ween:

Hi guys. It's the Boog. Thanks for reading my mom's blog. I'm still kind of miffed at her for changing the name of the blog from The Boog Abides to Megcentric (um, egotistical much, Mom?), but I guess she had her reasons...

Anyway, I need to talk to all you crazy people about all this Halloween nonsense you're so excited about. Those of you not on the spectrum of awesomeness seem to become afflicted this time each year with a mania for pretending you're NOT my teachers, friends, and neighbors (um, I can see you under that zombie mask) and inviting me to your door only to not let me come inside but rather handing me a piece of candy and sending me on my way. It's tiresome. I'm a live and let live kinda fella, though, so I propose a compromise: I'll let you keep the inexplicable madness that is this holiday if you make the following changes:

1. Rename it Boog-o-ween. Why? Because the Boog is clearly awesomer than whatever the heck Hall-o is.

2. Dispense with the carving of pumpkins. In case you haven't heard, the Boog is allergic to squash. Forcing me to sit through a ritual in which I not only have to touch icky squishy pumpkin guts but have to do it while becoming increasingly itchy is just cruel. Instead, parents may search all over creation for an out-of-season hothouse watermelon. It shall not be carved (gross creepy watermelon innards are not in any way preferable to icky squishy pumpkin guts), but you may leave it in the yard where I will kick it about as a makeshift ball. Watermelon soccer anyone?

3. Costumes. Really?

Explain to me how this is fun. I'm wearing a monkey carcass like a creepy monkey serial killer.

Sigh...if you must have your costumes, fine. I have some stipulations, though: they must never contain a component that goes over the head or face (oh my God, I mean, really you guys, how can you stand having something touching your head all night?!) and they must consist entirely of clothes a normal person would actually wear. Monkey carcass? No way. Doctor's coat? I'll allow it. Oh, also, to the parents of my friends on the spectrum of awesomeness who need to wear the same clothes on the same days every week: for God's sake, let them incorporate their Wednesday shirt into their costume. Just...you guys...there's an order to things...we're living in a society here!

4. All creepy-fantastic Halloween music is fantastic and creepy and may be played at any time, and very loudly so I can't hear my sister babbling away at me.

5. Trick-or-treating can stay but y'all need to make some major changes. First of all, as far as I understand your archaic "manners", it is the height of rudeness not to invite someone in when they come to your door. Come on guys, play by your own rules here. So, if I come to your house on Halloween, invite me in. Let me watch your TV and stim on your mini blinds a little. Let's be hospitable, shall we? Also, cut it out with the candy. That crap is full of dairy and dairy can send a Boog to the ER. I am so over that place. The stuff that is dairy-free is troublesomely crunchy or chewy or hard. I will never understand why you people voluntarily torture your palates with those sugary balls of mouth death. Instead, you may offer me one of the following: a date (the fruit not the social outing, although...I am single, ladies), a Larabar, a piece of raw vegan chocolate pie, a dairy-free gluten-free cupcake, or a dairy-free gluten-free sugar cookie. And I am not an animal: please offer the aforementioned treats on a plate at the table (I can't believe I even have to say these things...).

Oky doky, well that about covers my rules for Boog-o-ween. Peace out, Megcentrists, I'll catch you again when it's time for Christmas (a fat, bearded intruder breaks in and leaves you piles of boxes you have to unwrap? Really?).