Halloween has always meant a great deal to me. Every year, my brethren and I meet at our secret altar atop Bloodskull Mountain to sacrifice goats and other assorted forest creatures in reverence to Satan and his various and sundry demons that walk the earth on All Hallow’s Eve. We curse the Sun and all things good and pure as we dance around a fire built from the timber of endangered redwoods, making sure to keep it lit with the oil from the pelts of only the most adorable sea otters and kittens, so that we may roast the freshly slaughtered meat of Mexican bobcats and Indus River dolphins.

This year will be no different — we have an amazing evening planned. After summoning the goddess Hecate, Queen of Ghosts, and beseeching her to allow the malevolent spirits of Hades to subject our enemies to eternal torment, we’ll then call upon our black magicks and instantly transport ourselves from the mountaintop to wreak havoc upon the earth.

First, we will travel to the home of Minuteman Project leader Jim Gilchrist and, by allowing the essence of Sumerian demon Pazuzu to inhabit our mortal shells, we’ll cause an entire camp of Mexican and Central American refugees to suddenly appear on his front lawn. He’ll be so overwhelmed by the unspeakable illegality of this event that he’ll surely take his own life. Mwahahaha.

Then, we will visit the luxurious estate of Britney Spears. Summoning the almighty Belberith from the Lake of Fire, we will hold the Mirror of Death up to the faces of the pop singer and her spouse, forcing them to realize what complete assholes they are for naming a child Jayden. Since both of them already lack any semblance of a soul, they’ll simply disintegrate into piles of Gucci threads and silicon breast implants. Bwahahaha.

Next, we’ll fly to the city of Los Angeles on the backs of winged serpents, landing upon Rodeo Drive, and call upon Agrat-bat-mahlaht, wife of Satan, who will replace all designer fashion with practical, reasonably priced clothes from Sears! The mass riots that will ensue as a result of “having nothing to wear” will start fires that shall burn for three millennia. Gwahahaha.

Next, we will pick up the evil spirit Vetis (Tempter of the Holy) from the Dairy Queen and make our way to the home of Pennsylvania Senator Rick Santorum. Vetis shall transform himself into a caricature of Brad Pitt and begin dancing a sexy dance. The Senator shall become so overwhelmed by the writhing, sweaty man-body before him that his deep-seeded issues with homosexuality will surface, thereby conflicting with the many hateful statements he has made in the past, thereby causing him to explode in a torrent of blood and feces. Dwaha … eww.

Finally, we’ll pay visits to Fidel Castro, Kim Jong II, Hugo Chavez, Than Shwe, Omar al-Bashir and Alexsandr Lukashenko, but not really to terrorize them. It’s more to remind them that Orientation for Hell is next weekend, and they won’t want to miss it.

Indeed, Halloween means a great deal to me, as it should to all of you. It’s a time for us to don masks and costumes and pretend we’re something we’re not — be that sexy, intimidating, interesting or funny. But sometimes, in the midst of all the drinking and promiscuity, we lose sight of what this day is really about: celebrating the Devil, and all the wonderful things he does for us. Hail Satan, everyone. Hail Satan.

Matthew McFadden is a senior English and Arabic major. No, you can’t come to the goat sacrifice tonight, so don’t even ask.