The Professors Halloween Lecture

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.