Dear Emily Queue, how soon can I start stealing other people’s Jack-o’-lanterns to compost?

Is this really where we’re at? This is basic etiquette, people. As soon as the first candle is lit, that pumpkin is fair game. If you went 20 years back, I guarantee you that pumpkin was gone before the candle went out. That is a time-honored tradition going back dozens of years for pagans, Puritans, and people of all types. Everyone knows that we light the candles to speed up the composting process. If some noxious Nancy tries to bite your head off for it, defend yourself with the legacy of pumpkin-sloughing porches. This is your right for paying off those HOA dues, just the same as painting your house an acceptable blue. I personally go out with my pitchfork and torch to speed up the process — by the time I get home, I’m halfway to a peaty mulch.

Dear Emily Queue, what decorations can I reuse for Thanksgiving?

Thanksgiving is the easiest holiday transition of all — you just need to move your charmingly tacky Halloween decorations inside. However, if you’re going zero waste, you have to commit to the Hallowsgiving aesthetic. The best place for your boring, tired pumpkins is baked into that accursed pie. Get nonliteral! Get symbolic! Use plastic spiders to show that all are welcome in your home. Fog machines will add to the atmosphere of any gathering. Place skeletons around to remind everyone of your recently deceased family members. And, if you’re feeling brave, I have a wonderful recipe that incorporates fake blood and face paint, good for both walls and cranberry sauce. Your family will be wowed — and you will do your part to save the planet, one stylish holiday at a time.

Dear Emily Queue, I don’t want to buy a plastic machete; is it okay to bring a real one?

Let me tell you a story. A few years ago, I briefly attended a costume party dressed as Death, equipped with a real scythe with a real blade that I spent four hours sharpening. I walked in with my hood up, holding the scythe in a daunting manner right after I turned on the smoke machine I hid in the curtains and with a menacing march playing on the speaker attached to the smoke machine. To cut a fascinating story short, I was arrested on a variety of charges, and I spent the night in the county jail where I met a man whose real name I will not reveal. However, it rhymes with Clonathan-Clacob Clingleheimr-Kmith. Anyway, don’t buy some piece of junk. Invest in a machete and a memory that will serve you for years.

Dear Emily Queue, any edible costume ideas?

My hair is noodles. My shoulder is bread. My beating heart pumps wine, wine, wine. Do you understand now? EVERY idea is edible. See? Even your question is eating its own answer. It’s like an ouroboros, and it probably tastes divine. Like smoked salmon crostinis. The moment you cry out “Dear Emily!” you are consuming everything that graces my quill. It’s all you can subsist on now. You want this scoop. Soak up this pulp, drown in these words, tear it all apart! Anyway, remember that guy who ate the airplane? He’s dead now, but when you slip on the steel nose that you carved off that Cessna 150, it’s smooth sailing down my gullet, Captain. Steer clear of turbulence
and the cops.