Listen, I get it. You’ve been lurking in this creaky old house for centuries. It’s your time to shine—Halloween is your Super Bowl. But could we maybe hold off on the supernatural terror until after the election?
I’m barely keeping it together. You’ve been doing a stellar job with the whole “creepy footsteps in the hallway” routine and the bloodcurdling screams at 3 a.m. Chef’s kiss. But I live in a swing state, and between the ad blitz, campaign flyers, and the fifteen daily texts from Tommy with Democracy Matters, I just don’t have the emotional bandwidth for your spooky nonsense right now.


