September 13, 2005:
I'm sure most of you had more Halloween traditions than just that one well known one; for me, at least as a kid, it was the annual Halloween party that took place after school, at the school.
I always looked forward to these parties. When you're young, anything that happens past dark is awesome. In retrospect, they were the worst shindigs ever thrown in the history of people having a good time. From kindergarten through the fifth grade, they'd have all the students (one grade per night) come to the school at 7 PM, herd them into the lunchroom and do absolutely nothing with them for two hours. We just stood there in this cramped room with our friends, happy to see them, but running out of conversational topics ten minutes into the ordeal. And we couldn't turn around to talk to someone else, because the place was too crowded to allow for any movement. Fucktards didn't even serve us punch.
But who cared? We got to wear zany costumes, score some pre-Halloween candy and make fun of all the kids who obviously had their disguises chosen by Mommy. Traditionally, I'd go to a closer friend's house after the "party" with other members of our inner circle. This was the good part. Shaving cream and the sweet, sweet intonations of Frankenstein and the Wolfman on some idiot kid's "Monster Mash" cassette from a 7-11. One year, I took the ride back with two friends who were brothers, and caught them playing with what I'd later learn were McDonald's Halloween gift certificates. Their aunt gave 'em to 'em, 'em 'em 'em. Right before my envying eyes were beautiful black gift certificates with some of the artsiest pictures of cheeseburgers the world has ever known.
The certificates pictured in this article (and featured again in the commercial download to follow) aren't from the same year, but the idea didn't change. McDonald's sells books of gift certificates year round, but only during the Halloween season can you get them with pictures of Grimace dressed up like Pirate Yo Ho on the backs. The certificates offer everything from free burgers to free sundaes, emphasis on whatever food it is being free, and I was just absolutely beside myself, gun to face, seething with jealousy that these two freaks who didn't even know how to play kickball right had tickets to free cheeseburgers. How come they got to have the cool aunt? Where was my cool aunt?
The hate didn't have a chance to really sink in before their family decided to make a side trip to McDonald's, soon handing me my own gift certificates and more or less filling a black sky with singing birds and I'll Kill You The Turtle clouds. We walked on in -- costumes not really being taken offensively because it was so close to Halloween -- and traded funny pieces of paper in for funny oily food, never once minding the smears of costume makeup on our burger buns as we downed those yummy slices of monster meat by the dozen. Best part was, we got to eat all the junk in character. I was Dracula, treating my cheeseburger like a cat would a mouse before finally biting into it and sucking the ketchup out. One of the brothers, presently a rock star with a glittery foil wig, used his as a drum before eating it in half and pretending it was a harmonica. If Halloween ever urged for a greater understanding of why it existed, this was it.
I'm pretty sure I've mentioned this before, I always do that, but the gift certificates were even better than cold hard cash for many kids, as it enabled them more frequent trips to the holy house that Ronald built. Homeowners that took the initiative to pick a few books up and give the certificates out to trick-or-treaters were raised to godlike status on Halloween night, free of the eggs and toilet paper that would surely adorn the homes of all who offered lesser prizes. The families in the know were like, bribing us to keep their post-Halloween front yard cleanup session to a minimum. Smart, sneaky bastards.
The version of the certificates seen in the commercial I've been haphazardly including pictures of is likely from 1989; the ad allocates more time to propping up McDonald's's's Roger Rabbit campaign than to anything spooky, but at least they've given the kids the kind of costumes only a multimillion dollar promo budget could afford. That year, a buck bought you ten certificates, but they were only good for ice cream. Lame.
So, the Roger Rabbit thing wenta like dees: By purchasing a book of stamps, I mean McDonald's Halloween gift certificates, you'd also get a form to send in for a free Roger Rabbit plush doll...assuming you had a receipt from when you bought the movie on VHS. Oh, those smart, sneaky bastards. The plush doll seemed unsuited for even a gas station-side quarter-fed claw machine, making fuzzy dice look like porcelain Dalmatians by comparison. Not to nitpick.
Go on, click here to download the commercial, in Windows Media format (YOU LOVE IT), weighing it at just over 2 MB. I don't know for sure if McDonald's still sells the gift certificates with the Halloween branding, but I do know for sure that I'm going to find out. Oh yes. Ain't no trick-or-treater gonna egg my car this year, nnn nmm.
