HALLOWEEN, and thoughts turn to costumes. All Hallow’s Eve began on January 20 this year as the Beast of Mar-o-Lago laid his hand on Abraham Lincoln's Bible and became President Chump, first Tweeter of the United States. Life has become steadily more gruesome since as we quaked through Brexit and sobbed with fear as Theresa The Maybot won the UK Election.
Such nightmare fodder means this year's Guisers have no need of the supernatural for costume inspiration. The most fearsome disguises lie in politics...
THE MAYBOT
Programmed to repeat, ad nauseum, "strong and stable, strong and stable", the Maybot moved among us undetected as Ash moved among the crew of the Nostromo in Alien, finally malfunctioning and trying to kill off the film's hero in the most inefficient manner possible.
Only someone with circuit boards for organs could whir and click their way through a critical time for the humans they have been appointed to lead. Is there a chance of reprogramming, or is humanity doomed to destruction by its automaton overlord? Like Ash, the Maybot claims to be acting on behalf of us all but is working only for corporate interest.
As the automaton lies decapitated on the floor, spewing milk blood and malevolent warnings, he becomes more sinister as his demise draws ever nearer. Let that be a warning, eh?
THE TRUMPENSTEIN
Adhering strictly to genre, the Trumpenstein is not the monster but the creator of the monster. In this case, the electorate.
This costume risks offending vast swathes of the American public, should you share your efforts on Twitter, so make sure it's the best, the bigliest, the most intelligent costume. The best costume ever.
Make a Mexican pay for it.
BOZO JOHNSON
Jovial packaging, malevolent interior. We discovered this week that, on being told difficult news, Britain's clown politician will cover his ears and sing the national anthem until the bearer of such beggars off.
Picture that, now, with a clown mask under the hot blonde fright wig and a squirting flowing on the lapel of his Savile Row suit. You'll give fellow party guests nightmares.
Picture it ringing a bell and incanting Kipling. They'll never sleep again.
COUNT REES-MOGG
A looming figure, droning in Latin, here is Count Rees-Mogg. Look closely, those are fangs. Look again at that photograph of him aged 12, reclining with the Financial Times and checking his shares. Now, 35 years later, he remains frozen in time. Good genes, or undead?
You can see him in a cape now, can't you? Just this week he told Radio 5 Live that women who terminate a pregnancy after rape were committing a "second wrong". His views have not modified since the 19th century. Perhaps he honed them in a Romanian castle.
Find a child to dress in matching suit, as Rees-Mogg does with his son Peter, for full bone chilling effect.
THE WERERUTH
A shape shifting, acceptable face of the Conservatives. Here she is, astride a cannon. Here again with a pint, there with an ice cream and back again with a puppy. And now, blowing a skirl of the pipes.
Yes, acceptable superficially, charming, certainly. But perhaps containing more sinister innards. Future Prime Minister? "I honestly can’t see it," she said earlier this month.
Give it time. Even a woman pure in heart maybe become a wolf when the autumn moon is bright.
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