Gladstone
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I recently purchased three bags of apples, five packs of caramel wrap, and 100 razor blades, which can mean only one thing: it's Halloween time! A time when millions of children are at risk. Oh, not just those trick or treating at my door, but around the world. I'm talking about the mentally traumatizing affects of certain children's costumes. Seemingly innocent, merry disguises that lead to years of psychotherapy. Can purchasing the wrong costume for your child really cause mental illness? Can you easily slip Rohphynol into a packet of Skittles? (Sure can!)
So here's a heads up on the top 8 Halloween costumes for causing psychological scars, replete with the faulty logic that leads to the parental purchase and the inevitable psychiatric opinion to follow years later.
"Hmm, my little girl is growing, and while I can see a
WHAT A PSYCHIATRIST WILL TELL THEM ABOUT THEIR CHILD YEARS LATER
"Although the kids in your daughter's high school have labeled her "easy," "slutty," and "awesome," medically speaking your daughter suffers from what we call nymphomania or, more appropriately,
"Aw, fuck it. Why not? It's cute I guess, right? What is it, a smurf or something? And what's this bullshit about liquor stores being closed on Sunday?"
WHAT A PSYCHIATRIST WILL TELL THEM ABOUT THEIR CHILD YEARS LATER
"At first I was ready to blame your son's crippling social anxiety disorder on the shame and embarrassment your public drunkenness caused him during formative years. But, in truth, the answer is much simpler. Y'see, how we process social situations is based on some of our first formative interactive experiences with the outside world. And for children, a big one is certainly Halloween. Now while babies dressed as bumblebees, daisies, and kittens are typically greeted by comforting oohs and ahhs, the photographic record I've been able to piece together appears to indicate that your son's first Halloween was filled with horrified screams, finger-pointing, and --if I'm interpreting this one picture correctly-- a priest dousing him with holy water. The hat seems, in a word, evil, and, really, those eyebrows only made it worse."
"Oh, look! Its one of those Nabu creatures from Avatar. Becky loves that movie. Oh and it comes with a bag of dice. No wait, a mud flap? An eye patch! But for the crotch. Well whatever, I'm sure that leotard gives camel toe something fierce so whatever it is, I'm sure the Nabu know what they're doing."
WHAT A PSYCHIATRIST WILL TELL THEM ABOUT THEIR CHILD YEARS LATER
"It's never easy to explain to a parent that their child is a furry, but I'm afraid that's what we're dealing with here. Now understand, being a fur does not necessarily mean your daughter enjoys zoophilia (sex with animals) and/or plushophilia (sex with stuffed animals) but in this case, both are true. Had this costume been a little more accurate and contained something approximating a full leather loin cloth, I think Becky might have reacted differently. Instead, it came with a little pleather satchel of shame directly over her hoohah. And I think that filled Becky with feelings of discomfort about her genitalia. The only part of her sexually ambiguous blue zebra self that needed to be hidden. And all of this happened just as her hormones were kicking it. The synchronization of her new sexual feelings coupled with the animalistic appeal of the Nabu and the fear of her human sexuality had the unfortunate consequence of leading little Becky to Furry Fandom conventions since her late teens, along with hours of anonymous online sex with Teddy Ruxpin.
"Oh, I remember when I was 12 in 1984 and all the boys at my Halloween party dressed like this. It was so cute. Hey, what's changed in 26 years? This will be great for my boy!"
WHAT A PSYCHIATRIST WILL TELL THEM ABOUT THEIR CHILD YEARS LATER
"Good news, I've figured out why your 10 year old son keeps molesting himself. (Allegedly)"
"Oh, look at this! Perfect. My daughter's not going to be one of those goody-two-shoes, shallow, blondie-blonde cheerleader types who tormented me in school. No way. She's fierce and independent. And who cares about that midrift? Ha, I bet it'll send those other moms into a tizzy. Those goody-two-shoes, blondie-blonde moms, but not me. I'm fierce and independent. Just like my girl. Like me!"
WHAT A PSYCHIATRIST WILL TELL THEM ABOUT THEIR CHILD YEARS LATER
"Well, I know why your daughter keeps cutting herself. Typically, I'd say the condition comes from years of low self-esteem. From depression that numbs an individual until feeling anything --even pain-- is a welcome relief from that numbness. And surely all that's true in this case, but if I had to blame just one thing, it would have to be that goth cheerleader costume. You realize she was just a kid, right? You don't really need to go to psychiatry school to know there might be something wrong with the symbolic gesture of dressing up your daughter as a soldier against cheer. Little girls are allowed to be happy, y'know? Couldn't you wait like at least ten more years before you filled her with bitterness and anger? Raising a daughter and holding a seminar on how to be a Suicide Girl shouldn't be the same thing.
"So what if I just suffered a traumatic brain injury, who says I shouldn't be out shopping for a kid's costume? OK, so what are kids into today? Well, let's see by the check of my watch the year would appear to be 1938 so, right, Popeye! A Sweet Pea costume will be all the rage!"
WHAT A PSYCHIATRIST WILL TELL THEM ABOUT THEIR CHILD YEARS LATER
"Your son's hemophobia or "blood phobia" is the result of lingering memories stemming from his first Halloween, or more specifically, the photos of it he saw in the years that followed. I'm sure if he knew who Sweet Pea was, it would have been less traumatic, but, seriously, no one knows. I mean, thank goodness I took that elective on antiquated, tangentially important cartoon characters in med school, or even I would have missed it. So yeah, long story short, he's all phobic because he's been convinced for years that you'd dressed him up as a drop of blood on his first Halloween. But y'know what? Even if your son draped the cloth differently or if Sweet Pea's baby gown were blue, why would you buy this? What is the store even charging you for? The hat? You could have saved your money and just taped a sign to his head reading "anyone under 70 need not try to guess who I'm supposed to be."
"Ha!!! I LOVE this! Baby Lady Gaga outfit. That is too much. What will they think of next? The most talented singing performer in the last 20 years, and now in child size? Oh, and its perfect for my baby, because that fashionably outrageous crown will divert focus from my daughter's missing limb."
WHAT A PSYCHIATRIST WILL TELL THEM ABOUT THEIR CHILD YEARS LATER
"Um, at your request, I've examined your daughter and I can't find anything wrong with her - aside from the missing arm-but that's not a psychiatric problem. I think she just doesn't like Lady Gaga as much as you. You have to understand that when people say "you'd have to be crazy not to like Lady Gaga," they don't mean that literally. Also, no one says that."
"Oh, fuck. Why did I wait til the last second to buy a costume for my baby? And since when did the homeless guy in the alley outside my apartment start selling baby costumes? Oh well, this is all he has, what's the worst that could happen?"
WHAT A PSYCHIATRIST WILL TELL THEM ABOUT THEIR CHILD YEARS LATER
In a word, your son is suffering from coprophilia, - sometimes known as fecalphilia, but for our purposes, let's just call it, "poo crazy." He enjoys the taste, smells, and sensations of poo. Even deriving pleasure from it sexually. It's a somewhat rare condition and usually no one can say why someone's synapses hard-wire in this particularly way. But this is not one of those times. Did you actually dress your son up as whoopee cushion? You thought that amusing, did you? What can I put my baby in? Oh, I know. A fake fart generator! I figure at some point, he crapped his diaper. So you had a baby, covered in poo, wrapped inside a device designed to deliver poo sounds. That's just a lot of poo for a young mind to process. Good job. I hope you're reincarnated as port-o-potty at a Motorhead outdoor concert, you sick bastard.
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