OMG I married the right man. I totally did. Male or female, it was a tossup - and the universe finally threw me a fuckin' bone (hur hur) and gave me The Bejewelled Beast! Who is a biker. My husband. With a dick. Keep up.
OK so this year out of nowhere he decided that he was Gonna. Do. Halloween. Bitch.
I stood back and let him work his fucked up imagination like a dastardly machine made to warp the minds of hapless youth and disgust their elders. He thought this shit up and bought all the supplies, and I, the former Mrs. 'Do All The Holidays Or Not - Nah, Let's Not' just let him go where the Spirit (Mephisto Q. Kimchee) lead him. And I am absolutely worshipping the layers of subtle and not so subtle fucked-up-ness he put into this.
First, he put together a costume for work. They held a contest competition, and he won second place, because 1. He is awesome, and 2. He growled and drooled. I present to you....DR. DEATH!
Why is he wearing Grandma Shanaynay's weave? Because he STOLE IT OFF HER CORPSE.
There he is. My Bejewelled Beast. Labcoat spattered with the blood of surgery indifferently performed, in Grandma Shanaynay's weave.
Now here we have his concept for our lil' Welcome Halloween Host:
Lil' Baby Gourdie died of an unfortunate fungal disease, which enlivined his lil' baby corpse and caused it to rise again to wear the onesie of the living! The message on Zombaby's onesie? As befits a baby hungry for brains - 'Gobble 'til You Wobble'. My husband is a GENIUS.
And here is our porch display. As night falls, our porchlight gleams off this horrifying vignette - lil' baby Gourdie, his buddy Scully, and his best friend Up-Chuck:
Stop on by! Knock on the door! We have Covid-friendly treats in plastic bags - and not bullshit like Smarties or Jolly Ranchers, either. We have CHOCOLATE. Come on by!
...unless you're too scared.