Cutting the cheese since 1996

Mr. Fangs strikes back

Sunday, November 1, 2009

Mr. Fangs strikes back Once again we procrastinated regarding our jack-o-lantern, but not content to procrastinate as in Halloweens past, we waited until Halloween day to carve that gourd. Nothing gets you in the spirit of Halloween like driving around town hoping to God to find a store or produce stand that still has pumpkins in stock. Nada. Well, mostly. There was one stand that still had a few. By the way, all the carving kits were sold out too. I had to use a dull steak knife. Does it show?

I lied about Halloween spirit. It's more like nothing pisses you off more and makes you rue not only Halloween but your insane yet inexplicably driven desire to participate in increasingly frustrating holiday activities like driving around town hoping to God to find a store or produce stand that still has pumpkins in stock.

Okay, pumpkin done. Check. What's next? Haunted houses.

The missus was fortunate enough to win two tickets to a pair of haunted houses here in town. Fortunate thing, 'cause tickets are twenty bucks apiece. So we took the younger kid (the older, being grounded for reasons I'll not go into here, was not eligible to participate) who repeatedly exclaimed both his excitement and his anticipation of the "scare of his life." The missus and I weren't really into this, but he was really looking forward to it.

So we get there, and Michael Myers (read: some teenager in a mask) gets in our face, my son tellin' the foo' he better step off. This is where I start getting into it, 'cause I know it's all in fun and, well, it was starting to be fun.

We get to the ticket window, claim her prize tickets, and fork over $20 for a third. Adrenaline is pumping. We run into Freddy Krueger. We walk in the door, get accosted by another kid swinging a power saw and—

That's as far as we got. Kiddo got scared, begged to leave, and we walked out the front door. Dammit. Twenty bucks down the drain.

Informing him the twenty was coming out of his allowance for the next couple weeks, we agreed to take him trick-or-treating. In the cold. With my wife wearing high heel boots (part of her costume) and I in boots (part of my costume) that, while not particularly uncomfortable, don't really bend at the ankles and actually make my ankles hurt if worn too long. They were. We trekked through dark streets with few porch lights on. At houses that don't answer the door. (Um, hello. If you're not passing out candy, don't leave your porch light on on Halloween, brainiacs.)

So by now the missus and I are both in relatively foul moods. Halloween sucks. But we did confiscate a portion of the kid's candy (payment for making us walk in the cold in our boots) so it wasn't a total loss, but that's doesn't really make up for it.

Speaking of candy, the most disturbing new trend we witnessed this year was neighborhood kids trick-or-treating. No big deal, right? In broad daylight. Still no biggie, right? How about at one-fucking-o-clock-in-the-afternoon. Yep. And as if that weren't enough, they don't even bother to wear a costume. They just come to your door and say, "Got any candy?" Maybe I should point out that by "neighborhood kids" I mean "kids on welfare and figure they can get something for nothing." These are kids that obviously have no pride left. Probably like their parents. I do so love my neighborhood.

So Halloween spirit? Nah. Worst. Halloween. Ever.