Skyblade (skyblade) wrote in not_that_potc,

Happy Halloween: Next Year, Go As a Lime

While other Halloween-themed Tracts denounce Halloween as a pagan ritual practiced by the soulless and bloodthirsty, here, Halloween only serves as an indirect demolisher of salvation, and merely an unwitting device of Stan's claiming us for its own. We don't see any candy apple blood sacrifices or the red guy blowing out birthday candles, but we do see the celebration of All Hallow's Eve as something that makes the devil's afterlife much easier.

See, sometimes Halloween makes us forget the most important thing of all. That no matter how good we try to be, we’re still for crap, and the only way to escape from the horrific images we celebrate on October 31st is to bend down over and admit. Because let’s face, it things get too scary in Hell, there’s no light switch.

Do you dare set foot in the haunted hooooouuuuuse? See, Egghead's mommy only wants him to visit real haunted houses, not tacky plastic versions thereof. It seems he runs in with a rough crowd, or at least a crowd rough enough to visit cheesy funhouses. If they were more well behaved, they'd be tp'ing houses. I'm telling you, no satanic images found in the quicker picker upper.

The kids are offended by the aesthetics of a house otherwise featuring monsters and murderers. Dude, come the fuck on. You're in a "haunted house". Spider-webs are just filler until they make you reach into a bowl of eyeballs. And really. judging by how old that house is, you could be dealing with the spooooky threat of asbestos insulation or lead paint. Spider-webs are merely disturbing, but real spiders are friggin's creepy. They might look like pansies for freaking out, but the really scary part about spiders is, it's hard to tell if they're fake or not, because if you see a string attached, it doesn't prove a thing, because real spiders are held up by strings. With the atmosphere of the night, the dim lights of the house, and the raging teenage hormones, they don't have time to rationalize the authenticity of their arachnid adversary.

Spiders eve as a great ice-breaker, but the timid one of the group has already had enough. Glasses has never been so scared before in his entire life. With his own shadow, and legos with detailed faces, that's some stiff competition. What does one have to fear from a witch anyways? They're women, and in Jack Chick's world, that means they're very incompetent as long as they're above the age of a precocious seven. And she‘s not pretty enough to seduce them with her feminine wiles. A real haunted house would include a pretty young woman who makes eye contact and wants to make as much as a man.

What's that skull for anyways? I have to tell you, as a card carrying ghoul/freak or monster, that Witch is quite thrilled looking, considering the trio of jolly boys pretty much dismissed her sole vocation. (Unless she freelances as a hex contractor for hire. But really, ever since pizza delivery, and the opportunity to prank people with it, sprang up, business there has been slow) Am I seeing rings of Saturn on those robes, by the way? Not too scary, unless you're afraid of exploding in the vacuum of space. Otherwise, the outfit looks like it was sewn together from some kid's bedspread. Well, it appears Witchy-Poo isn't letting the boys' indifference to her potion-brewing get to her, this is is only phase one. Aww man, we never got trap doors when I was a kid. This house is going all out.

I don't know where the lever came from, but luckily, these kids have a nice padded landing. On, what, pray tell? Dirty laundry? Hay? Fish? Frankly, it couldn't have worked to well, because the kids landed on it with a rather decisive "thud". You'd better get someone on that, oh architects of ye old haunted estate. You could totally get your young in' terrifying license revoked if the safety inspector declares it a thud! hazard. He'll get your joint shut down faster than you can say "ugh".

Aww no, the kids got damned to Hell. All the hoary hosts of the Netherworld are there to greet them. Like the Devil and...Mr. Skullface...there's that Shemp from the Three Stooges? And how many of these guys are holding tridents anyways? Isn't Lucifer, the lord and master of forsaken pretty much issued one and that's it? Because we could see a serious pissing match with that many pitchforks. Too many tridents spoil the hell broth. However, why are they in Hell? I guess this proves my theory right. The kid in the sweater and the kid with the glasses are clearly fucking. The guy with the greasy hair? Could be wrong place, wrong time. But I think he's a fishy sort. Seriously, that's do looks like a three dollar toupee fried with bacon.

Beelzebub invites the kids over...for eternity! So let that be lesson to you--steer clear of trap doors, otherwise you'll be trapped...for eternity! The sweater guy, who I now conclude to be the "brains" of the operation, defies the unholy master of sinners and dinners with a pretty clear "no way!" I can't wait until I'm sent to the deepest bowels of Hell, and when my eternal punishment is meted out, I'll shrug it off with an affirmative "No way!" Or perhaps "Nuh uh!" Or "Naaaah". The kids run away, because if they rea;lly were in Hell, there'd clearly be a backdoor exit they could get out of in no time. Gotta love that chuckling man at the controls. Laugh it up, buddy. When you get the heating bill for simulating Hades, you are going to be running away even faster than those kids,

The ringleader is named Timmy. Such an innocent name, one that should protect him from all the world's evils and...oh no. Oh no Timmy, this is why Jaywalking is considered illegal, buddy. I have to say, that's a pretty hard on collision. I've seen less disturbing child murders in Mystic River. Look at the poor bastard. Really though, what's the message? Haunted houses are bad? Is it an indictment against automobiles? Really, it's Halloween night, you should probably keep an eye out at least for all the kids who are going as Darth Vader. Or a member of Evanescence. And by that I mean someone dressed as them. If an actual member of Evanescence is crossing the street, keep on trucking, fool. And is it me, or is that some kind of skeleton at the wheel? Can't really bring him in for DUI--he doesn't have a liver, where's the liquor supposed to go?

The medics play a game of bobbing for vital signs, and come up short. The entire town is watching possibly wondering if this is part of the show. That gives me an idea. Fake a car accident on Halloween night, then, when everyone thinks I'm dead, jump back up. Scar innocent kids for life and take their candy. Remind myself it may be an awful thing to do, but writing these reviews is sending me to Hell anyways. Greasy remarks it could have been any of them. You wish buddy, Timmy there had a good block on you he. He keeps in shape. Well, he kept in shape. He's definitely the least healthy of the trio now, but barely. Eddie Furlong there looks like death's warming over, if not exactly inviting him to his place.

Timmy gawks at the roadburger that used to be him, while shadowy figures lead him off. It seems only one of them is doing any work. The others are just hanging around, gawking. Seriously guys, make yourself useful. There's probably a kid eating a candy-apple laced with turpentine. Somewhere. Timmy is now in the Abyss...again. How ironic that fleeing from the abyss sent him there. It sort of gives you a "There's no way to win" feeling. More Lovecraftian despair than anything Christian. What happens if Timmy runs again? Will he get hit by a Hellcar and sent to double-Hell? Will it keep going on and on in a loop of running and Satanic greeting? My head hurts.

See kids, if you go to haunted houses, you're just going to die, and make your nerdy friends feel like shit Wow, hold the weight of the world on your shoulders much, kid? Doesn't Jack know how it works? It's always the reluctant kid that ends up paying the price for his chums' arrogance. Greasy pulls the "at least he's in a better place" line, generally trying to find some semblance of non-horror in what must be the worst night of his life. If there's something we can count on from our moms, it's the sugarcoating of reality into a form we can easily digest without having to worry about nightmares. Go ahead mom, alleviate that childhood trauma in the way only mothers can...and...okay. Timmy's in a better place. If by better, you mean "demon-filled" and "very eternal".

She cried all night mourning the boy she loved so much. But if tears were deers, we'd all have a nice venison supper, and hey, it's time to move on. She goes into the sordid past of a kid who was, oddly enough one of her "favorites". He quit Sunday School, and with it, all his Sunday prospects. No Sunday University would accept him, and he ended up having to take menial Sunday Jobs for meager Sunday Pay, his wife leaving him for a Sunday Doctor, and leaving Timmy with nothing more than his one room Sunday Apartment, and paying Sunday Alimony. It appears Timmy fell in with the wrong crowd--a crowd of 30 year old bikers, who was drawn to his dorky chuckles and Charlie Brown T-Shirt. Timmy died as he lived, it seems. Totally hadrcore.

God that Timmy is a smart-aleck. With his arms crossed and one eyebrow cocked higher than the other. he thinks he knows everything. Well you don't, Timmy. You don't even know how to stand up without the support of wall! "I don't want to even think about Jesus right now." Methinks Timmy got burnt on some old time religion, and needs time to breath. Otherwise, Christianity will be nothing more than a rebound religion, and really, Christianity deserves better. Either that, or Mom's stories about little boys writhing in the fires of Hell basically cases Timmy to pull a "I'm not sure if I'm emotionally ready for this religion, and if I do practice it, it'll have to be with a parent or guardian." Apparently, he laughed at his teacher and called her names, and he was one of her favorites. I guess he was the milder sort of dissenter--the other students in the class must have thrown garbage or something.

Sloth is the deadliest sin of them all, and Timmy's procrastination sealed his fate. You know we're led to believe Timmy was a good kid over and over, but really, we see no evidence of why he was one. No making the beds. No walking old ladies across the street. (Though, given Timmy's track record, perhaps it was better for the old ladies.) But hey, evidence of Timmy's innate goodness is immaterial, because being good is immaterial. The devil likes to spread lies that good people go to Heaven and bad people go to Hell. And why not? With this plan, his kingdom of Hades will be filled with reasonable, competent folk with a sense of law-abiding and willingness to be team players. While Heaven's army will people who can comb their hair straight. But very straight.

The Sunday School teacher pull out the guilt trip. So we all deserve to go to Hell. But isn't it nice that there's a way to get in, and surprise, it involves giving praise to the hypothetical benefactor.

A panel from story that would make a great horror movie. Guy gets disemboweled, goes to Hell, comes back to life, and makes all of us earthly mortals his servants. Somebody get me God on the phone, I have a feeling this concept is money in the bank. It talks about how Jesus took our punishment for us on the cross. Except, I don't think crucifixion is going to happen in hell. ironically, it's the one thing that doesn't seem to happen.

Blah blah blah, believe or else. God's ready to give a high five, but I'd watch out, those things hurt. I love that picture of the angel throwing the guy down. It's totally like a bouncer ejecting Tom Sizemore from a club. Head first too, as those angels really like to mess with you.

Bobby's a little slow on the uptake, so he wants to make it clear. For the record folks, being a good person will not get you into Heaven. Nada, nothing, zip. No matter how many times Timmy and his biker friends read to the homeless or pulled kittens from burning building, he's basically now a small ingredient in a piping hot bowl of maggot soup now. And they basically go in circles over Timmy’s big mistake. These folks really like to speak ill of the dead. Leni Riefenstahl got less smack about her before the grave turned cold. At least weight until he plummets to the second circle before you go on and on about what a "good kid" (which becomes more and more the backhanded compliment as time goes on) he was.

Bobby's just not getting it. It'll put it for you nice and simple; This God isn't a nice God. He's not going give anyone a second chance. If he gave one to Bobby, he'd have to give a second chance to everybody, and then he doesn't care if he's immortal, God just doesn't have the time. Cheer up, it's not so bad, Bobb. At least Timmy's warm enough so he won't have to wear those lame sweaters anymore. Turn away from your sins Bobby. Sin one to turn away from? That damn haircut! That thing has got to be a sin. I'm telling you, it looks like a half-assed combover from someone who has a lot less hair than Bobby does.

Now the kid is filled with the feeling of safety and joy. He's totally ready for when he dies, whenever that is. I'll tell you what you won't die of. Slipping in the shower and hitting the floor. This is the best Halloween EVER! Except for the part where his best friend died, and went to Hell. But now's not the time to dwell in past tragedies. Now's the time to be happy over being saved. Timmy would have wanted it that way. Well, perhaps he wouldn't have wanted you to be too happy--maybe save the grinning from ear to ear until after services are held.

So there you have it, folks, the best Halloween you can have is getting down on your knees and crying. Oh man, I miss frathouse Halloween parties. *Ahem* in any case, Be sure to be sorry for your sins. Like, really sorry. Which is totally easier than it sounds. And remember folks, don't make the same mistake Timmy did. Look both ways before you cross the street.
  • Post a new comment


    default userpic
    When you submit the form an invisible reCAPTCHA check will be performed.
    You must follow the Privacy Policy and Google Terms of use.