Minerva McKrakraven Welcomes You to the Cursed Halloween Cruise Liner

Greetings everyone, and welcome to a cruise ship fully devoted to a year-round Halloween experience. God help us all.

My name is Minerva McKrakraven, your hostess for this evening and unfortunately for the next seven to fifteen days, depending on your itinerary. I’ll admit up front that I’m sick of you already.

I’m a trained singer and actor, but due to unfortunate and entirely predictable circumstances, my talents are being wasted on this oceanic monstrosity.

Behold my long, jet-black wig parted in the center, dark lipstick, plunging neckline, and onyx dress encasing my body like the innards of a sausage. Yes, mother, this opportunity is much better than being in Company.

Like me, the actors hired to portray the ghouls and ghosts on this disgusting desecration of the seven seas wish deeply to be somewhere else. Once her shift ends, the wart-faced witch who cackles in your ear returns to her cabin and screams into her pointy hat.

Besides the attractions, there is a multitude of Halloween candy on this chum bucket of chumps. Indulge your sweet tooth! There will be no judgement from me on this matter, because I remember the fat-shaming I endured in my youth. No one can slice through flesh with a single phrase quite like a child. The scars remain from Cindy Troutmeister, wretched eight-year-old sack of bile from school bus 72.

Also, a reminder that all cruise ships, including this water-logged, mold harvesting beacon of humanity’s idiocy, are equipped with a morgue. Should you perish aboard this most abysmal idea of floating entertainment, your sad carcass will be tucked into a metal cubby death hole, where you and any other morons foolish enough to expire here will occupy slots in a room-sized filing cabinet of the dead. It’s my favorite place on the ship.

And with that, my orientation has ended. Please exit the ballroom, but whatever you do, don’t talk to me. If you should suggest that I smile, the skin that stretches over your skull may be swiped in one swift slice.

And for the love of whatever remains holy in this godforsaken world, I hope I don’t see any of you back in a few months, as I wear a pointy red hat and elf ears on the Christmas Cruise.

How I long for the sweet release of death.