I’m done. I’m so fucking done. Once I got to Duke I thought my nightmare would finally be over. I could finally get away from being the funny character for Halloween. I would finally be taken seriously as the burning-hot sex symbol that I am, instead of the group jester.
And yet, here we are. Another Halloween that’s supposed to be full of sexy Playboy bunnies and Hugh Hefners spent with a dumbass costume that somehow requires more effort and will get me less play. Last year, I was Mater from “Cars.” How on earth am I supposed to make that one smokin’ hot? This year, it’s even worse. I’m Fear from “Inside Out.” Joy can be made hot, Anger is a slam dunk, and even Sadness and Disgust aren’t especially tough. But no. I have to be Fear.
How am I supposed to make Fear hot? It is a decidedly un-sexy emotion to have, no matter the context. This is getting ridiculous. I just want to go as angels and devils or some stupid shit where you just wear lingerie and some horns or wings.
The worst part is that my degenerate friends are already planning for next year. Their genius idea? The Avengers. I’m Fat Thor.
