I have a confession to make. I’m a wuss. Not when it comes to roller coasters, thrill rides, or helicoptering around Hawaii with no doors, mind you. But try to get me into a haunted house and there’s an extremely good chance I’ll wind up clocking some 15-year-old “zombie” making minimum wage, while screaming at the top of my lungs and flinging metal props to aid in my escape.
And yet, I love Halloween. I love the colors, the fanfare, the ability to let yourself go and embrace some inner wild side. (So… the same reason your nice muffin-baking neighbor is reading 50 Shades of Grey… again.) What I don’t like is watching deranged psychopaths maim, torture, or murder people. The world has enough of that already, IMHO, so it isn’t fun for me. I get that other people can detach themselves and just enjoy the story, but… need I remind you about that poor 15-year-old “zombie” who now has to go to his Fall Fling wearing an eye patch? Continue reading












