No, no, not Tuesday afternoon, you insolent Jezebel.
I’m talking about Satan’s Day, dear. Something you’re probably too damn familiar with: Halloween. Pass Nana the tequila; she’s going to need something stronger than rosé to set your generation straight.
I’ve seen your newfangled store-bought costumes. It seems like Halloween these days is just like being Paris Hilton’s Career Advisor, you can be anything you want to be as long as you put dressing like a dirty whore first.
You can’t be Little Red Riding Hood, you have to be Little Red Whoring Whore.
You can’t be a classic favorite, the good ol’ banana, you have to be a Sexy Banana. I don’t even know what that is, but it’s going to make my breakfasts even more uncomfortable.
It’s not even good enough to be a Witch on Halloween these days. Now you have to be a Sexy Witch. You know what they did to witches back in the day? They burned them at the stake. Sexy Massive Burn Trauma just doesn’t quite have the same ring to it, now does it? Well, you had better find a way to make burn wounds attractive; you’ll need that skill where you’re headed.
In my day, we put sheets over our heads and called ourselves ghosts. We bobbed for apples and not the clap. We pinned tails on donkeys instead of trolling for them. We weren’t trampy billboards—we played innocent, see? We made the chase worthwhile back then. We made those boys work to see the goods under our sheets in order to get between the sheets.
You broads these days will flash your noo-noos to any man who bats an eye at your Sexy Crayon costume. You’re making it too easy. Gettin’ at the poonani should be like solving the Sphinx’s riddle to a man; one shot, one chance, and it ain’t gonna be simple.
If you’re going to put your bosom on display covered in ultra-flammable crushed velvet once a year, you should make it a worthwhile prize. Making whoopee can’t be like getting a participation trophy in Little League—you have to be the all-star to get the medal!
This year, take a long, hard look in the mirror and into your own morality before you head out the door. Is your cleavage line more than ½ an inch? Are you showing more than 4 inches of leg? Would you look right at home in one of those fancy Drag Shows with your makeup? If you say yes to any of those, you’re making it too damn easy.
Remember this simple phrase ‘round Halloween, gals—Nana says, “Good boy bait makes ‘em wait, but breezy crotches get VD splotches.”
Noa is a deliriously irreverent 20-something comedian who fears children, butterflies, and the death of Michael Bolton. Somehow, she managed to become one of the 2011 BlogHer Voices of the Year. When she’s not offending everyone who lives in her building, she’s writing at Oh, Noa, scouting for The League of Funny Bitches, and working with her sketch team, HorribleSketch.”