There was a time when even muttering such a proposal would be grounds for burning at the stake. But with the current group of mooncalves, monkey buckets and lap droolers currently scampering about Congress and the White House on all fours, I could see it happen.
Years have gone by as I’ve contemplated how to simplify my life. The undeniable conclusion I’ve reached is that we need to come to grips that Halloween and Christmas are actually the same holiday, albeit with a very long half-time in between.
And, if that be so, why not combine Halloween with Christmas into the one, mega-hedonistic national holiday it is?
We’ll call it Masoween.
People who celebrate Masoween will be called, “Masoweenies.”
I declare it such.
Think of the carols. “On the first day of Masowe-eeeen my true love gave to me — so much sugar that I started weeping while I stabbed the shower curtain with a screwdriver I sharpened in metal shop … “
The meter thing. I know. It needs work. But it’s the spirit of bloodthirsty mayhem, gluttony and chocolate that counts.
The similarities between Christmas and Halloween are already, well — haunting. Both, for example, involve the wearing of false faces:
HALLOWEEN: (Trick-or-treater shows up at door with large, blown speaker sticking out of the neck hole of his three-piece suit.) “Hi. I’m Bob Livingston. Got any candy, and, if not, is your wife home?”
XMAS: “Oh. Ketchup packets! FROM McDONALD’S!! The gift that keeps on giving!! Stop! You shouldn’t have!”
Halloween. Christmas. Each in their own way give tribute to the walking dead:
HALLOWEEN: (male worker compliments fetching steno pool typist on the costume she wore to work.) “Hey. Congolium! Nice outfit!! I especially like the vampire theme you’ve brought together with the white make-up, blood coming out of those two small holes in your neck, the zombie-tart low-cut evening dress and the push-up brassiere. See you in church!”
XMAS: “December … 24th … Must … spend … very… last … penny. Must … send … giant … diseased … sausage … gift … packs … assembled … in … Mexico … to … people … I’ve … never … met … in … Rhode … Island … by … 10 … tomorrow … morning … or … God … will … punish … me.”
Sure. I see the religious message there. If you happen to worship Wodin.
Why not stop the pretenses? Why not just take December 25th in your right hand and October 31st in your left and just squeeze them to meet in the middle at around November 23rd.
Masoween Day.
Granted. Dangerously close to Thanksgiving in some years, but we could just get all this hectic bingeing over with one long weekend. Maybe we could have the Forces of Evil from the Halloween side face the Forces of Good from the Christmas side and have them fight.
It’s OK.
Grown men do it in cages.
If the Halloween people win, you shrug and say, “Well. It’s a bad year, isn’t it?” and go about your business. If the armies of Christmas win, maybe you’re a bit more upbeat and say, “Gosh. It’s a good year.” Or, down the line, “You know, we’ve had three good years in a row.”
I like the compactness of Masoween. You get Christmas over and the very same night, you can dole out unwanted Chia pet gifts, petrified fruit cakes and “The Babes of Bill Clinton” calendars to trick-or-treaters.
“Oooh!” says the mom, opening the door to the November 23rd tiny candy beggars. “Very scary! And what are YOU supposed to be?” she asks.
“I’m Santa’s vampire dwarf!” says one.
“I’m the werewolf who ate Rudolph,” yells another.
A third, dressed in Levi dockers, a white shirt with sleeves rolled up, tie and a bloody ax sticking out of his head says: “I’m a retailer who didn’t have a very good Christmas.”
“What do you say, children?” the soccer mom asks, June Cleaver-style.
“Gimme gimme gimme! Suspicious capitalist consumption!” they all chime in First Lady-like Michelle Obama unison.
The Mom stuffs their bags with unwanted aftershave and stale artichoke dip. “Merry Masoween!” she sing-songs out to the retreating herd.
You wonder what Moses would have done if he waited until 2009 to come down from the mountain and had to meet up with people worshipping a rodent instead of the golden calf.
“Stop dancing in front of that blankety-blank Mickey the Mouse,” Moses might have said.
And a maiden would have writhed in front of him, calling out, “Hey. Moses. Why the long face? Have some chocolate.”
“Lousy Masoweenies,” says Moses.
John Boston- commentary
John Boston, aka Mr. Santa Clarita Valley, was recently named Best Humor Writer in North America to go along with 117 other major writing awards. Visit his webpage, thebostonreport.net. Tune into his weekly radio show, “The Former Friends of John Boston” on KHTS AM 1220 every Monday at 2 p.m.