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Apple bobbing! Swedish meatballs! Soul pizza! Find out what happened at Michael’s big Halloween bash.

Happy Election Day everybody! What, you didn’t vote? Me neither. Honestly I rarely do because those machines just seem kind of confusing. Plus, being locked up for 8 years is enough to make a guy never want to close himself off in such a tiny space ever again.

But you probably knew I wasn’t going to talk about voting. If you’re like me, you might still be recovering from Halloween. As I told you last week, I put my knife in storage for the big night and threw a house party instead. There were highs (no, not like a Freddy vs. Jason caterpillar pipe) and there were lows (although nowhere near the depths of Freddy and Jason’s Part’s V) but in the end, a good time was had by some.

Things started off on a pretty awkward note. Norman Bates was the first to arrive and he seemed kinda embarrassed about it, especially since he decided to dress up like a little old lady for the optional costume option. Instead of just drinking some punch and admiring my crepe paper streamers, all he could do was twitch and worry about how he would have to leave early because Mother set a curfew.

Look: I get that the guy has some issues, but why come to a party if all you want to do is complain? I mean, there’s cheese dip and super pretzels sitting on the table.

I’d hired a few entertainers for the evening and they carpooled, which I and the environment appreciate a bunch. I don’t know how energy efficient a Green Goblin Truck that drives on its own is, but I like to think the best of my friends. The Crypt Keeper stormed in without even saying hi. In addition to his trunk full of costume changes, he brought his own sound system complete with a karaoke microphone and all I could think was if he breaks out Ghouls Just Wanna Have Fun, I will tear every crusty limb from his body and feed it to Cujo. Pennywise the Clown scanned the room for the kids but since none had arrived yet, he fixed himself a plate of little smokies and sat in the corner with a weird glint in his eyes. I had previously been talked into—quite reluctantly, I assure you—inviting a few, um, female performers for the night. The Zombie Strippers had already booked a few gigs, so next on the list was the staff from the Titty Twister. Honestly, I was kind of relieved that they transformed into gooey vampires on their way. They caught sight of a few teenage hoodlums and sprang off to make their own plans. I doubt I’ll get my deposit back, but its still a huge relief. Losing a few hundreds is ten times better than cleaning up after carnivorous monsters and a million times better than cleaning up after your friends at a home strip joint.

Anyway, Jason showed up next which was cool. We click pretty well. You know how some guys are together. You don’t need to make small talk about last night’s game or this morning’s kill just to be friends. We just like to hang sometimes, chilling on the couch while sharpening our blades. I was thankful he came out, especially since parties usually aren’t his thing. He even got into the spirit by wearing a Gretzky jersey. I appreciate small touches like that.

So Jay and I popped open our bottles of Snapple (Fun Fact:snails have four noses!) and Norman nibbled on a sleeve of low sodium crackers.Cryptie was getting his spin on. At least, that’s what he called it and trust me: it’s worse than it sounds. Of course, that was music to my covered-in-rubbered masked ears compared to the cacophony made by the Lee Rays as they barreled in.

Now I know I’m not supposed to insult little people in this day and age, but if you’re only 2 feet tall, is it really necessary to drive a full-sized car? Isn’t that what those Power Wheels were made for? Leprechaun’s insurance bill is paid in gold for a reason. Dude’s premiums are through the roof, which is why he had to work a birthday party in the Hamptons tonight and couldn’t make it.

So Chucky was driving and apparently, dolls are shitty parkers. He rammed into Norman’s Cadillac which shouldn’t have been a big deal since a Mini Couper can barely dent that tank. Norman freaked out because, whaddya know, it’s his mother’s car and she’ll be furious and blah blah blah. Tiffany started screaming because Glenn was in the backseat and could have dented his head or something which is a big deal since that brings on his alternative psychopathic personality. I didn’t mind that the accident spurred Norman to speed away back home, but I wasn’t crazy about the fact that he crashed into Christine on his way. I don’t know how automobiles hold their grudges, so now I have one more potential wants-to-kill-me enemy to add to the list.

Then she came.

I’d told Carrie she didn’t have to dress up, but she came drenched in blood anyway, which I thought was super sweet. Her strawberry blond hair shined under my blacklight as drops of red corn syrup dripped on my shag carpet. It was the moment I knew I had fallen in love.

The only problem was her plus one. I don’t blame Carrie for bringing her mother because I’m sure it wasn’t her choice. I tried to explain to Mrs. White that there were adult chaperons present, but that’s a hard sell when your oldest guests resemble Cabbage Patch Kids that had been put through a garbage disposal then glued back together by satan worshipping bikers.

I asked the Whites to sit on a couch so I could bring over some snacks like a gentleman. They did sit down, but Carrie used her powers to float the tray of mini-quiches over to us which threw me for a loop. I admire a strong woman and all, but it’s just so hard to know how to woo her when she may possess the powers to drop a pumpkin or piano on your head. At least it’s easy to know if she likes you, I guess.

Anyway, the three of us settled in and tried to find some sort of conversation point. Mrs. White kept asking about my religious upbringing which I knew was a sensitive issue for her. I tried to downplay the whole Druid cult phase of my life—I usually do, since it’s a time period nobody, including my agent, is too proud of—but she thought it necessary to get on her knees and pray for my soul anyway. It worked actually. While she was flogging herself, Carrie and I bonded over how much we both love the pumpkins in my Autumn Mix bag of candy corn.

Things were going great until the next guest arrived. (Stone faced stare.) I like Leslie Vernon and all. We play b-ball from time to time and we make a pretty good team, what with his speed and my strength. Still, he’s the kind of guy that makes or breaks a party. Quite a polarizing type-A personality.

It didn’t take him long to commandeer the festivities. He insisted on a costume contest just so he could take the prize. Seriously. And he dressed like Michael Jackson circa Thriller. Like nobody else thought to do that this year. The Cenobites were basing their whole party theme around it, right down to inviting John Landis to guest direct their big choreographed midnight performance.

No, I wasn’t invited and yes, I don’t want to talk about.

So Leslie tries to smooth talk Carrie into being his queen for the night which was not cool. I don’t like when a guy tries to take advantage of an insecure female. It’s skeevy. Luckily, Leslie’s own issues did him in. Carrie got pretty turned off when he refused to take part in the apple bobbing. Well, I don’t think it was the no bobbing as much as it was the fact that he started crying like an undead colic baby. I guess he hasn’t quite gotten over that whole cider press incident. Softee. You don’t see me quivering like the blob just cause someone takes a wire hanger out of the closet.

The biggest issue of the night was the food situation. I’m no Emeril Lagase, so I just stalked my way to Costco and bought a couple of mega packs of pizza bagels, bacon-wrapped pineapples, and whatever else was in those frozen boxes. Big no-no.

All anyone could talk about was where’s the man beef? I didn’t realize that not serving human to a party of horror icons is like ordering lo mein on Thanksgiving, but you do learn something new every day. Freddy showed up just in time with a victim-topped pizza, sating a few of the guests but anybody that’s ever been to any midnight mash knows there’s never enough slices to go around. At least I was able to convince Jay to not start something though.

Thankfully, Leatherface barreled through the door just in time, fully revved and readily to slice. I’m not gonna say that I bumped Mrs. White into his path and conveniently couldn’t reach her outstretched hand to help her up, but…okay. Yes I most certainly did. Before you get all Emily Post on me about not allowing one’s party guests to be served for dinner, please remember that letting one non virginal woman perish is like, a huge record for me. I haven’t been responsible for this low a number since that season of the witch.

Carrie wasn’t even mad. I don’t even think she needed the handkerchief that floated to her eyes from Cryptie’s tux pocket. True, she didn’t touch the main course, but most teenage girls get really self conscious about eating in front of dudes.

The party ended without too much disaster. Once Glen turned to Glenda, Pennywise lost all interest and cut out early so I saved a few bucks on his tip. Cryptie wasn’t too annoying, and it was really cool of him to teach Leatherface how to dance the watoosie. Jay played it cool and waited till the party ended to call out Freddy, but Krueger was so wasted that Jay let it go. The worst part was dealing with Chucky and Tiffany’s public shouting match. Talk about awkward. Tiffany hurled every expletive in the English language at her husband and I would have let it go if she didn’t cross a line with her “redheads are reminders of God’s accidents” insult. I could see Carrie’s pale cheeks turn pink and so I calmly asked her to leave. You’d think Chucky would appreciate it, but apparently it’s not cool to talk that way to another doll’s wife and the next thing I know, my ankles are being torn up by six tiny hands wielding the toothpicks previously spiking Tiff’s Swedish meatballs.

So after all this, you’d think this night sucked, right? Boy are you wrong. I did need a few stitches (75 is defined as ‘a few,’ yes?) but it was all worth it. I guess I must have looked slightly helpless, since Carrie used her telekinetic powers to pull that plastic family off me and stuff them all in Cryptie’s wardrobe trunk. She even cleaned the wounds with some flying Neosporin. I was kinda embarrassed, not just because I had to get saved by a girl but more because I hadn’t shaved my legs. Chicks care about that, right?

Okay, so my first foray into the social sphere wasn’t without its bumps in the night. I still have a lot to learn, but maybe my new redheaded steady can help me. I’ll find out next week, when I take her to the Haddonfield Veteran’s Day Dance. It’s a date!

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