My Boo Heaven!

Being October, it's only appropriate that I touch on the subject that "haunts" most people's minds this time of year (see how I did that? That's schooling): ghosts.

I've mentioned before how ghosts can't exist because of the fact that there are no retarded ghosts. But, let's say that somebody did manage to meet a retarded ghost and my theory is disproven. Well, then it's time to do something for them--namely, MAKEOVER!

Every time you ever hear somebody describe a ghost encounter, it's always the same. Man or woman (or little girl--there are no little boy ghosts), they're all dressed the same way: in Victorian clothing.

"It was an old woman, she was right over there. She was in all white and a corset and she was carrying a victrola and she was rubbing Dr. Goodbody's One in a Million Lucky Fortune Juice on her elbows."

"All I know is that he was standing on those stairs. He had a long, handlebar mustache, a stovepipe hat and was on one of those fat burning machines with the belt that just kind of violently jerks you around. It made his monocle fall out."

What the hell did ghosts look like IN the Victorian era?

"I say, I believe I saw a phantasm, Clarence. She was adorned in black clothing with buckles all about. In fact, she had a buckle on her hat as though it were going to fall off if it wasn't fastened on. Oh, and she was handing an Injun a blanket covered in small pox and yelling in a very scary tone, 'Happy Thanksgiving!'"

If I ever meet a ghost, I'm taking it to Abercrombie & Fitch. If I'm going to be haunted, I'm going to be haunted by the gayest ghost in existence. He won't even say, "Boo." He'll just hiss and make catty comments.

"Nice hair. Oh, nothing. Don't mind me. Did I say that out loud? I just couldn't help it. Umm, hello? 1984 called and the bad guy from Karate Kid wants his feather back. Ugh. Are you scared yet? My legs are tired."