We found ourselves at the small, white house that stood alone on the block. The porch light was off, and three painted pumpkins sat on the porch along with a bicycle with a broken chain. With the lack of streetlights nearby, it seemed appropriately haunting for the Halloween theme.
The celebration was not yet in full swing when we arrived. Buzz Lightyear, the hostess, stood at the centre of the room clad in skintight shorts, a crop top and a set of inflatable wings that inevitably hit someone every time she turned. We were invited into the kitchen, where there was an impressive selection of potato chips on the dining table, and a rack of clothes in the corner next to the oven.
While we stood by the chip table, trapped by the bodies packed in around us, we were introduced to a zombie, a dinosaur, Lady Gaga, and two pirates. The second pirate informed us of her dilemma—she had lost her sword on the way to the party.
“I made it for her. So if you see a sword made of cardboard and a trash bag on your walk home, that’s hers,” the dinosaur added. We promised to keep an eye out.
Sometime later, we saw Barak Obama and Mitt Romney stroll in, laughing together—a shocking sight just a few days before the presidential election. “Will you guys debate?” The request came from the zombie.
“Maybe after a few more,” Obama raised his plastic cup.
After an hour—and several more drinks out of the cauldron sitting on the kitchen counter—he and Romney were getting ready to face off. They were to have an arm-wrestling match facilitated by a unicorn and a moustachioed woman. The practice round was first; Obama was up against the zombie while Romney faced Lady Gaga. Both presidential candidates won their respective practice matches with little difficulty, and then it was time for the real contest.
“Arm wrestling debate!” Lady Gaga announced, and everyone tried to gather as close as possible to the coffee table in the living room. The second the unicorn said “Go,” the cheering started: “Let’s go, Barack!”; “U.S.A.! U.S.A.!”; “Hey! Elbows on the table!”; “You got this! Don’t let him beat you!”
It was a lengthy arm-wrestling match, but eventually, Romney’s hand landed on the table with a thud. Obama stood, with his arms raised in victory as the zombie, the dinosaur and various other creatures cheered.
By the time the match ended, it was late in the night, and with the satisfaction of having witnessed such a great contest, people began to head home. When we stepped outside, the house was still shrouded in darkness, and not a sound could be heard on the sidewalk out front. To a passer-by, it would have appeared as though nothing special was happening within.
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