Boo, Inc.

Chapter 36

Photo: Lana in a babydoll dress, sucking her thumb and winking at the camera. Caption: Goo goo ga ga, bitches. We didn't have AS much time as we wanted to try on different looks this year, but the main event here is a WINNER, amiright? Happy Halloween, Boo Incers! -Lana

"Are you seriously trying to do Darth Vader again, Boo?"

Lana puts her hands on her hips, tosses her pigtails with a sprightly little laugh like a sparrow that just got firsties on the new bird-feeder.

"You bomb it like every time."

"First of all." Boo spins from the mirror in his black robes. "My Vader kicked ass."

"Nobody understood it." JT sighs from the floor, applying Crayola-red lip paint in the mirror propped up against Katelyn's bed. He makes a kissy-face at himself and nods. Mirror JT agrees with the observation; he typically does.

"Now you've done it, Lana," I say.

"The first time I did Vader was at my Mom's 70's party and I was like 13, okay? The second time was in 2019 and that's before the fanbase started kissing Ewan MacGregor and Hayden Christenson's asses to come back for the Obi-Wan series this year. The prequels were imperative to the sequels and all those fat fuck Star Wars clowns didn't understand the rift in that the sequels needed to adapt to the character presentation of the prequels, not the other way around."

"Fat acceptance, Boo," JT says. "The Star Wars fans."

"You know what I mean. I'm not literally saying they're fat, like...but, yeah, it's why nobody complained about JT's portrayal of The Emperor, because Ian McDiarmid played him in all the movies and the ass hat neckbeard Star Wars clowns didn't have anything to hold in a comparative shadow, or they would have gone after the prequel Emperor, too. Then the fanbase got woke to that hard reality of Obi-Wan and Vader kicking ass in the prequels."

"Obi-Wan and Anakin," JT says. "Anakin Skywalker had yet to become Darth Vader."

"But everyone already knew he was going to..." Boo trails off. "You know what, I'm not getting into it."

"Okay, okay." Lana holds her hands up innocently. "And only like two people said you didn't pull it off in high school. I'm just fucking with ya'."

"They're both dead now," JT reminds us.

"Second of all." Boo pulls the classic ghostly mask on. "I'm Ghostface from Scream, alright?"

"Ooh, minimalist horror," Lana coos. "Classic-slashic. I like it."

"I told him to go minimal for the party," I say. "It'll be an easily forgettable subliminal suggestion and there's bound to be more than one Ghostface there. It's a college party."

"And you, Boozy?" Lana asks. "What's so forgettable about a Babydoll? I mean...look at us. We're not exactly subtle people."

"That we're both going as one. Besides, everyone will know I'm there, anyway. The wheelchair crowd ain't exactly gigantic at Inca."

"True." Lana adjusts her raven pigtails. "And I know I'm only an actress tonight, but can I pretty please have at least a little fun?"

I roll my eyes, cast my sister an astringent glare. She turns down her lip into a full-metal Lana pout. She's going to do it, throw a mini-tirade with me about her participation. Her strategy here is to keep it short and sweet, but make sure that it resonates with everyone for the entirety of the event, riding our backs with her nuanced hissy fit.

"Oh, come on, Boozy, you gotta let me. Besides, if you do this with only Boo-A, it's only going to reinforce Uncle Sal's rhetoric that you two are an item."