It has come to my attention that certain twenty-somethings (who may or may not be a masthead member) are not looking forward to Halloween — not because of caramel chocolate bars that trigger cellulite like a mofo, but because of the threat of spirits invading their bedrooms at the stroke of midnight.
Hence, I appointed myself the resident Ghostbuster to ease concerns and prevent that lil’ bastard Casper from interrupting peoples’ slumber. I won’t be strapping vaccuum cleaners to my back and I won’t be putting holy water into my Super Soaker anytime soon. Instead I have come up with a more permanent solution to eradicating your house of ghosts: Sarcasm.
If ghosts can suffer from eternal damnation, wrongful deaths, or broken hearts, then I’m sure that little extra push of emotional distress from you will get them running out of your house and into the nearest Ben and Jerry’s ice cream store.
Put yourself in this frame of mind: when someone dies, their spirit can go anywhere in the world, and I’m sure that they’re allowed a dimension of choice. But they chose to haunt your ass. What’s up with that? Are you really that interesting? Are you Britney Spears?
“What’s wrong with you? Don’t you have some better place to be? Float your ass over to Dominion and get me a gelato – my car’s broken.”
So, if a spirit comes up to you, ask them what makes them so fascinated with you that they must materialize in your shower mist every other Tuesday.
Not only will this bring up other travel destinations for them, but also they may have something flattering to say about you. Who knows? Maybe you remind the dead sea captain of his hot wife. That’s a pretty nice set-up, having an admirer telling you how beautiful you are even at seven in the morning with a toothbrush in your mouth.
On the other hand, if the ghost doesn’t play well with others, this is when you start humming the theme song to Ghostbusters. Think about it, they’re in YOUR home and aren’t boning up rent and utilities. You sit that undead, transparent ass down and level with them:
“Look, I totally understand that a bunch of villagers burnt you at the stake because you practiced witchcraft, but seriously, if you’re going to turn my TV on and off the entire night you need to pay for cable.”
Your calm demeanor and slight jab at the ghosts’ scaring abilities will get them to simmer down and learn to work with you since you’re both trapped in the house. For the ghost, it’s due to forces from the netherworld. For you, it’s a sociology paper due in five hours.
It’s like an odd-couple sitcom. Imagine, your parents are coming to town and you told them that you have a girlfriend even though you don’t. As a result, you dress your ghost up in an old sundress and introduce her as Cassandra. Hijinks and hilarity, indeed!
So the next time you find yourself alone at home with a paranormal pest, reason with them and embrace your newfound roommate who can spy on your neighbours or scare the hell out of your parents. And if that doesn’t work, break out the crucifix and fry that motherfucker into oblivion.
If all else fails, pull out the Ouija board and spell it out for them. Fuck off!
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