Buy your own fucking sweets, mate

There are many things that irritate me more than my chafing thighs, but this week’s focus, Halloween, gets more on my tits than Dr Eva Carneiro did on Jose Mourinho’s. From jack-o(ff)-lanterns, to shit-o’-treating, this hyper-popular Americanism grates on me more than a dry shave in the heat of summer, and here’s why.

Firstly, in my day, chomping choccie from ‘Uncle Ian’ up the road set alarm bells ringing. The stranger danger fear was real, but now, on the glorious Ocotber the 31st, kids are set lose on the streets, like dweebs at ASDA on Black Friday, to scavenge the best collection of teeth-rotting and insulin-spiking confections.

The logic behind this genuinely blows my mind. I mean, do all the creeps refrain from spiking their sweets on one day of the year or something? I THINK NOT. Yes, I am a massive cynic, and yes, this fear is synonymous with paranoia, but would you use Kanye’s music as medicine, just because he once said they were the same thing? No, unless you’ve got man-flu, in which case, only Yeezy can help you get over it, you pathetic, sniffily melt.

In any case, while I do struggle with the idea, I appreciate the sentiment and thus, I’m all set for handing out Haribo to an already hyperactive toddler in an Elsa-from-Frozen costume. But when a group of 17 year olds, ‘drunk’ on WKD and indecency, bang on my door, well that just adds insult to indignity. Go get a job and pay for your own fucking overpriced Maoams. Or at least, if you are going to scavenge for free food on a kid’s holiday, put some effort in. Drop the rapper/gangster excuse for a costume and stop mumbling trick-o-treat – enunciation can get you far in this world. That’s how the Queen’s managed to keep the throne for so long.

From the under-dressed to the over, Halloween may as well be renamed whore-oween, because my God do some lassies take the Mean Girls commandment of it being okay to dress slutty too far. While I appreciate that if you got it, flaunt it, being peng doesn’t mean displaying your red crotch from that brazillian you had earlier in that skimpy leopard print leotard.

You’ll look disgusting, but on purpose!

Seriously ladies, less is genuinely more, and leaving something for the imagination is totally empowering. In fact, my real respect is to those gals going ghoulish this year, and I don’t mean a cutesy bit of smudged lippy. I’m talking about the whole darn shebang. Go HAM with the fake blood, face paint and zombie contact lenses, because this is one night of the year, where looking terrifyingly fugly is a-okay. Make up on Halloween could not be more fun, because all that delicate contouring and cat-lining isn’t required. Hell, put your face on in the dark, or if you’re really ugly, don’t bother at all, cuz the end result will be frightful, and that’s what the night’s for; scaring away those cat-fishers. Plus, you won’t lose your self-esteem the next morning when you trawl through your snaps – you’ll look disgusting, but on purpose!

While I could rant ‘til the end of time, I’ll finish on one last issue; the true consequences of choosing trick over treat. Like, WTF will actually happen? I may have to try it this year when a BO laden post-GCSE mug dares to knock on my door.

Don’t bloody shout trick-or-treat in my face if you’ve not actually planned a chuckle-worthy prank, in case I choose the former, you cretin. Arrogance is up there in my top three pet hates, (along with full sized cup-cake shaped cakes and automatically flushing toilets) and if you don’t deliver, you have no right to expect me to.