Now, More Than Ever, We Must Get Fucked Up on Halloween

It has been a difficult year.

Consider all that has happened. Actually, don’t, it’s upsetting. Remember the impeachment? Yeesh. Remember Kobe? FUCK. Let’s not talk about it.

We still have two months left of 2020, most of which will surely be spent dealing with the fallout of the 2020 election (you’re kidding yourself if you think that hellrodeo will be settled on Tuesday night). And we still have to get through almost half of a semester that is probably––and I’m going out on a limb here–– not our best ever with Kenyon College. 

So what can we hold onto, at this moment when the world threatens to fly off of its hinges?

Halloween.

Armchair psychologists all agree that it is crucial to build a sense of normalcy into our lives wherever possible. So what would we, as irresponsible college students, normally be doing on Halloweekend? We’d be getting fucked up.

We must observe this Halloween with the customary Bacchanalian fervor. To eschew that tradition would be to eschew our truest selves.

Let me be perfectly clear: We must also observe public health guidelines. Now is not the year for huge Halloween parties, or even small Halloween “gatherings” all you sophomores are going to have in your NCAs. Stay in your pods. Wear your dang masks. Show off your costumes on Instagram, not under blacklights in a sweaty living room. Get fucked up in a way that Anthony Fauci would be proud of. (Especially since so many of you will be going as a last-minute Anthony Fauci.)

I myself will be concocting three different kinds of themed cocktails (dry ice is on sale at Meijer!), plus a batch of candy corn Jell-O shots, for my boyfriend and I to throw back while we dance to a six-hour cut of Monster Mash. It isn’t PEEPS, but it’s an effective way to take our minds off the virus.

My poor choices aside, you don’t have to drink to have fun this weekend, and actually the Thrill does not condone underage drinking don’t get it twisted!!! Getting fucked up is a state of mind, and if you can achieve it sober, more power to you. If you can’t, let’s be grateful for that extra hour of sleep Sunday morning.

We will get through this year. By “we,” I mean the human race–– I can’t make promises about your or my personal fortunes. But humanity will persevere, like humanity did through the black plague, two World Wars, and 536 C.E. which historians believe was the worst year ever to be alive due to volcanic eruptions that blanketed large parts of the world in ash and darkness for 24 hours a day for almost two years.

This Halloweekend, let’s party like it’s 536: locked up in our homes, drinking fermented grain, raving about the witches and demons who stole the sun.

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