Thursday, October 29, 2015

A Christmas Story vs. Halloween

(Editor's Note: Welcome to a special entry, contributed by my buddy Mark McD.  Mark is a talented stand-up comic and he's composed a special Halloween story for your enjoyment, entitled A Christmas Story vs. Halloween.  Check it out.  Mark can be seen at the Limelight Comedy Club in Boston every Wednesday night - check him out on November 4th!)

A Christmas Story vs Halloween 

Ralph Parker's Journal
October 1st, 2003

I was sitting next to the radio, frantically changing the stations looking for something listenable. The days where you could find a decent story on there were dead. The sounds erupting from it were loud and unfriendly, meant for a generation I wanted nothing to do with. The signal and my anger were pierced and shut out by the sound of my telephone ringing in the adjacent room.

One thing I did love about modern technology was caller ID; it helped me keep shitheads at bay.

I looked at the screen shocked, for "Farkus" was a surname I hadn't read in a very long time.

Scut and I sure had some battles when we were kids, but he turned out to be a decent guy. I just had to kick the shit out of him a few times to get him that way.

His voice was frantic.

"Ralphie.... How are you doing old friend?"

"I'm good, Scut. I'm good. Let's cut to the chase though, okay, old pal? My cleaning lady is coming over pretty soon and we've been having a ton of sex lately."

"Ya, sure thing Ralphie, sure thing..... Jeez, I don't know when the last time we talked... But you see I moved to Illinois a few years back. Haddonfield, to be exact."

Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, I wanted to reach through the phone and smack him.

"Why the hell would you go and do something stupid like that?"

"Property value. I got a house real cheap. Things ain't as good for me as they usedta be."

I wanted to hang up the phone right then and there but I didn't. Maybe some part of me longed for a connection to my past. Maybe I'm just a moron.

"We'll get on with it, Scut."

"It's Michael Myers. They think he's back. And I can't think of anyone better for the job than you."

It's true. I was the best. I took out more psychos and killers than any agency ever did. But even I gave pause at the thought of Michael Myers.
The big issue was the money.   I didn't do anything unless it was for cash or sex.

My moment of hesitation led Scut to overstep his bounds.

"I know you're not as young as you used to be..."

"Listen here, you bag of dirt. I'm as spry at 72 as a lesser man is at 30, and I beat up adolescents in my neighborhood every week to prove it. I'll be there by morning. Make sure they have the money. It'll be two hundred and fifty dollars."

I made a quick call to my maid and told her there'd be no sex that afternoon. I had to get the Red Ryder ready.


October 2nd, 2003

I drove three and a half hours to Illinois, passing every nothing happening town you could think of on the way. People with no style, no substance, and no real reason to be alive... Yet, I felt obligated to protect them. Guess that's just the old sap that I am.

I pulled up to Scut's house and saw him waiting anxiously on the front porch. His infuriating red hair had given way to locks white as the eyes of a little kid right before I beat them up.

"How are you old friend?"

"I'm good, Scut. How's Schwartz?"

You see, Scut and Schwartz lived together and had sex with each other for years. They were gay guys. Everyone that grew up in the 40's was gay. Except me. I'm evenly bi.

"Oh... Ralphie.... He passed away a few years ago."

"Sex accident?"

"Sex accident."

Those two were always having crazy sex.

"How's Flick, Ralph?"

"He died.....Sex accident."

It was true. My own baby brother died the same way.
Scut dropped his head in reverence of the deceased.

"Well, Scut there's no point sitting here reminiscing all day."

"I guess not... I guess not."

He explained the situation in more detail than I thought possible from a Farkus. Apparently in the year prior they had set up a reality TV show in Michael Myer's childhood home. Busta Rhymes was able to fend him off with karate, but he escaped. It was all making sense now.

Scut hopped in my car and we drove over to the Myers’ home. Scut was shaking in the car next me as we approached.

No one in Haddonfield had been murdered yet, but a construction worker had been killed and stripped in the adjacent town and neighbors reported shapes moving in this abandoned house. In this town where there was smoke, there was usually Michael. That's a play on the phrase "where there's smoke, there's fire" except I made "fire" "Michael" 'cause it was cool.

We took a look inside but there was nothing much in there besides a bloody knife, a bloody construction workers outfit, and some blood. No sign of him.


October 9th, 2003

I had been in this god forsaken town a week, today, and was about to pack up and leave when red and blue lights went flashing by the windows. I assumed the sirens were off because people in Haddonfield scared easily, and rightfully so.

I turned on my police scanner and heard them say that two bodies had been found.

The news spread quickly from there. Mostly because I kept putting my head out the window and screaming "the police found two dead bodies!"

Further details came in quickly. Apparently a couple of teenagers had been fooling around on top of a dead cat in the Myers' old place. Someone had stumbled upon them and stabbed them with a sharp object. No further evidence was found at the scene except a bloody butcher's knife and Judith Myers' head stone.

Most people at this point were speculating Michael Myers was back, but you couldn't be too sure.

What was very concerning however, was how attractive both of the teenagers had been. According to one police officer the female was a "blonde with melons" and according to another the male was as hot as "’97 J.T.T." I was even more upset when someone explained to me later that J.T.T. meant Jonathan Taylor Thomas. Kids that good-looking just shouldn't die.

I decided I would take action before one more sexy teenager had to die. I guess I’m just a great and watchful protector even if I am an old sap.

I strapped on Red and my hunting knife, “Miss Shields”. Whenever I caught a criminal I would say “now I’ll be the one cutting class”. It didn’t make much sense and almost gave them enough time to evade my attack but it was worth it.

Only thing left to do was drink a fifth of whiskey and hop behind the wheel of my car.

I parked on someone’s front lawn and walked right through the front door. Not a police officer on the street had the balls to challenge my authority. It turns out I walked into the wrong person’s house, but as most things I do, it turned out for the best.

While all the pigs were poking their snouts around the “crime scene” I came, gun blazing into the exact place I needed to be. Michael Myers, or someone dressed like him, had a teenage girl by the throat when one of my stray BB’s hit him in the head. It bounced off the mask and left him relatively unscathed but it was enough to startle him. He dropped the girl and vanished into the dark as some cops piled in behind me.

I saved a young woman’s life today, and that’s a pretty good start.


October 20th, 2003

They threw a parade for me when they found out I shot Michael Myers in the head. I left out the details of what kind of gun I used because people have a bias towards BB guns. This has always been a bigoted country.

They threw a parade for me and I hated it. Every day I got a wreath or a medal, I grew weaker. Every day Michael was out there eating house pets for lunch he grew stronger.

I was hunting him and I thought the trail had run cold. But I had a new lead which meant Mike was in deep shit. I loved the smell of vengeance in the morning.

I saw Apocalypse Now at a pretty pivotal time in my life. It was very similar to my experiences. I was never in war myself, but I bullied Flick into joining and it ruined his life.

I digress.... It was drawing closer to Halloween night and the rest of the police force had stopped searching for his body. They were under the impression that I had killed him.

I knew better. He was still out there, but he was being quiet. Until earlier this evening.

A local kid had allegedly been pissing on Judith Myers' recently replanted head stone. Someone, potentially the same man I was chasing, had slit the poor bastard from gut to gullet.

After I found out, I went home and got 14 hours of sleep. It's a common misconception that you're supposed to be ready at any moment. You only have to be ready at the most important moment and you'll be no good if you're tired. I slept 14 hours every day, especially when I was seeking out a creep that could strike at any moment.


October 30th, 2003
All Hallows’ Eve Eve
Hell Night
The night before Halloween night

Haven't wrote in this thing in a few days 'cause Scut hid it on me. I originally thought it was so no one could gather information on my secrets and methods, but I found out he wasn't happy with me hurling it off his head every time I finished an entry.

Well, jokes on him ‘cause I sat on him and punched him until he told me where it was.

Anyways, you haven't missed much in the interim. Four teenagers were brutally murdered, but it all happened when I was sound asleep.

You should have seen how angry I was when I found out the girls' bra sizes.

I shouted out the window "I'll get you for this!" which I often do anyways but this time it had a direct purpose.

You might ask if I'm afraid that I'm going to be the next victim. The answer is that you don't need to be afraid when you prepare ahead. I bought a life-size cut out of Michael Jordan and put it on a train track in Scut's house and played music very loudly so if whoever the killer was happened to stop by he'd be confused into thinking there was a party going on.

Anyways, tomorrow is Halloween. I’ll be saying a lot of prayers tonight. Not for me, but for anyone that is on the wrong side of a BB to the knuckle.


October 31st, 2003
All Hallow’s Eve
The Night After Hell Night

I used up most of the ink of my pen drawing cocks on Scut’s face while he was sleeping, so I’ll have to keep this is as brief as possible.

I exited my house at about 10:30 PM and heard the unfortunate news that some teenagers had been killed while they were setting Judith Myers’ headstone on fire. What kind of neighborhood is this when kids can’t even be kids anymore?

Scut then walky-talkied me with urgent screams that he was trapped in the Myers’ old house with Michael on the loose. I walked as slowly as I could to conserve energy, and reached the estate about 25 minutes later.

I came through the door guns blazing as always and watched my BB’s ricochet off of the old wall paper. I may have missed this time and used up the entirety of my ammo, but it was worth it.

After I cleared the first floor and well lit areas of the house, I finally made my way upstairs to where the screams had been originating from.

When I reached Michael’s sister’s old bedroom I finally came face to face with the killer. I was finally looking into that soulless white mask as the moonlight reflected off the knife in his hand.

I through my BB gun at him which distracted him long enough to take out the bowling ball I always carried with me and launch it at his nuts. I hit him right in the nuts.

As he was laying on the floor in agony, I moved swiftly to unmask him to make sure this was indeed the man I was looking for.

I was not surprised that when the spray-painted William Shatner mask was removed, it was not the face of Michael Myers that I saw. It was the hideous countenance of one Scut Farkus. He still had the blotchy ink stains from the cocks I drew on his forehead.

I punched him in the face to death, because no one will ever take revenge on me!

I walked proudly out of that house knowing that no judge in his right mind would blame me for punching him in the face to death.

I also happened to notice a teenage couple struggling to survive an attack from what appeared to be the real Michael Myers in his parents’ bedroom, but that was honestly none of my business.

I spent the rest of my Halloween spending two-hundred and fifty dollars on booze and women. Maybe it’s just ‘cause I’m an old sap, but this holiday always makes me sentimental.

-Peace my dudes,

Ralph Parker

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