I’ve wondered about celebrities and Halloween. If I was one, I’d go out on Halloween night. It would be the only time that people would think that you weren’t you. Of course, there are lots of other times throughout the year when I don’t feel like myself.
I thought about Elvis getting geeked up for Halloween. After all, he was like a little kid himself, eating junk and laying around all day watching TV. I wondered if the Presleys had little trick or treaters over to their place. Did they have to pay to get in to Graceland, too? “Trick or treat!” “Show us your ticket stub.”
I figured Priscilla, Elvis’ wife, would make him run down to the Piggly Wiggly a few days before Halloween and get a bunch of candy for the kiddies. When Elvis showed up at the checkout stand in his Vegas get-up, the cashier said, “Isn’t it a little early for that?” I wondered if Elvis sneered at her. When he wheeled the shopping cart out to his Cadillac, a man shouted, “Quit tryin’ to be Elvis, you idiot!”
A few minutes before the trick or treaters arrived, Elvis’ wife came in and bitched him out. “Elvis, you done ate up all the trick or treat candy!” “Ah, sorry baby,” said Elvis. “But I made some peanut butter and banana sandwiches for ‘em. Fried ‘em up real nice.”
Pretty soon, Elvis, bless his slowly degenerating heart, got hungry again. He left Graceland to do his own trick or treating. When he came to one house, a nice lady opened the door and squealed, “How cute!” Elvis grabbed a huge handful of candy and ran off. He said, “Thank you. Thankyouverymuch.” When Elvis got to the next house, there was a karaoke party going on. The man stopped Elvis at the door, “Burnin’ Love” blaring in the background. He told him, “You can’t come in, we got enough guys dressed like you in here already.” “Screw you, Houndog,” Elvis yelled.
Carloads of kids were driving up and down the neighborhood. When a bunch of them saw Elvis, they yelled, “Look at that old guy in the stupid costume!” If you want to know what really killed Elvis, it might have been Halloween. Michael Jackson called and said, “Let’s meet up and trick or treat together.” “Not a good idea, man,” said Elvis. “There’s lots of kids and stuff.” “I know!” exclaimed Michael Jackson.
When my own kids would trick or treat, I’d go through their treats and pick out the stuff I wanted. “Hey, that’s our candy!” they’d complain. “That’s called an ‘income tax,'” I’d tell them. When they went to bed, I’d put most of the candy away and use it later for their Christmas stockings.
These were some lean times at the Larson home. “Hey, this candy’s all orange and black colored,” they groaned. “Santa Claus has to trick or treat when he’s had some tough years, too,” I soothed. The jig was up when I tried to roll the remainder of it into Easter. “Now we know who Santa Claus is and the Easter Bunny!” cried my daughter. Happy. Happy Halloween.
Rick Larson, the Alumni Guy, is a 1981 graduate of SMU as well as a member Phi Gamma Delta fraternity. He has been a stockbroker/investment banker for 26 years. He can be reached for comment at [email protected]
