I'm no dummy. I work in the city, and I know a man pretending to be a woman when I see one, and I see three right in front of me. This is not that kind of establishment. –Wait a minute. –Girl. –God may have blessed you with Barbies, a backyard with a pony, and a boyfriend named Jake, and an unwanted pregnancy that your father paid to terminate so you could go to college and major in being a Basic Bitch. None of these things make you a woman. –Clear your throat. –Lubricate. Now read that bitch. –Your uniform of ill-fitting J. Crew culottes, fake pearls, and fifty-cent scrunchies cannot conceal the fact that you do not know who you are. I know our presence threatens you. We fought for our place at this table, and that has made us stronger than you will ever be. Now pick your jaw up off the floor and go back to your clam chowder and shallow conversations. My girlfriends and I aren't going anywhere.
Guys, Halloween isn't a date on the calendar. –Yeah, it is. It's the 31st. –No, Halloween is in your hearts. Every time a little kid cries in fear, that's Halloween. Every time something repulsive ends up in a mailbox, that is Halloween. As long as you carry the spirit of destruction and vandalism in your hearts, every day is Halloween. –No, look. It is the 31st.