The Professor's Halloween Lecture

Harry Potter's not the first

To feel the righteous idiot wrath
Of Christians who hate science, math
And evolution, but sex most.

They may have fled the Inquisition

To come and steal the native lands,
But they learned something at its hands:
Kill sex, kill thought, kill joy's the mission.

There was a time when Halloweens

Were something unAmerican,
Or rather, not quite Puritan--
Like Easter, Christmas, dance: obscene.

But when Conquistadors from Spain

Stole gold from Aztecs and from Incas,
The also brought back some potatoes,
Favorite ice cream flavors, corn...

And when the great Armada sailed

To crush the English Virgin Queen,
The winds ignored the Spanish plan,
And off the Irish coast, they stalled.

Ships burned and sunk by Ralegh's boat,

Some of their food rations still floated,
And some potatoes were then noted
Amid the salvaged flotsam loot.

Turns out the Irish love potatoes:

Corned beef and cabbage need them boiled,
Colcannons needs them mashed, well oiled,
And they're required for Irish stews.

Potatoes fed the Irish poor,

Until the blight left Ireland starving.
America began receiving
The Irish with their Irish lore.

And so two holidays came with:

St. Patrick's Day, when everyone
Is Irish, and the beer is green
And snakes are cowed by Christian myth.

But paganism's here to stay:

In Irish blarney, there walk ghosts
On bloody Halloween, which boasts
The annual slaughter—it's that day.

So that's the source of trick-or-treat:

A shortage of potatoes, priests
Who compromise and bless the feasts,
And butchery, the source of all our meat.

But there's a bit of sex appeal

In how you dress up and pretend
To be something you're not, my friend.
And I'm the same, and it's all real.

So when the knocking of the demon

Upon your door begins, it's me.
Let's rip off costumes, masks, and see
Your tricks—I've given out all my semen.

Perhaps you'll have me bob my head

For apples, as it were, and tongue
The sweet cake round the ring,
Then hit the hay for one more ride.

And when the midnight hour is past,

The sugar's done but still we spoon,
And all your fearful dreams are blown
Into the darkness and the mist.