It’s Halloween - Don’t Forget the Razorblades!

I was never much for Halloween. Yeah, I know.. you’re shocked and awed.

Much like Christmas, I enjoy it in the most crassly commercial sense. Stated another way, I’m only in it for the candy.

My wife loves Halloween. I have no idea why. I also have no idea why she tolerates certain sports either, but one of the secrets of a long, happy marriage may be simply not mentioning things. Besides - it would only make my head hurt.

I eat a lot of candy, year round. It’s not that I mind a holiday almost entirely devoted to candy, but I prefer to worship chocolate daily in my own private ceremony (or with a friend, but we won’t go there now).

There are one or two other things about Halloween that I don’t really enjoy [kids]. There’s the noise [kids], which seems to be the worst part. Because of the time change, the little buggers tend to show up even earlier. This is because everybody knows [kids] that it’s much safer to trick or treat from five-thirty to six then later. How everybody knows this and why this is, I have no idea [kids].

Marshall, the cocker who runs the house (see above), doesn’t fare well at Halloween. Know how some dogs bark and go nuts when somebody knocks at the door? Imagine that all night long. Even though my wife now sits on the step and gives out candy, Marshall takes it upon himself to protect us by going batshit whenever he hears anybody walking by or talking. And heaven forbid a dog walks by. Have you ever heard a dog whine like a spoiled child? That’s my son.

Down the street is a church. Somebody once asked me what kind of church it was. I told them one-story. Apparently that wasn’t what they were looking for. Might be Protestant but I’ve only lived down the street for about fifteen years now, so how can I be expected to know? It must be a real swinging place though, because instead of Halloween, they have some sort of Alternate Celebration<tm>. I just quietly giggle as I go by when the signs are out. One day I walked past and some older lady asked if I rode a motorcycle. The question confused me a bit (perhaps because I’m not Protestant?) but I told her the truth (no). There was a sign over the door that stated Wednesday was Biker Night. Yes, I too am a victim of prejudice. Just because I have long hair does not mean I ride a bike. It was the worst kind of hair-ism I have ever experienced.

Well, not really.

Allegedly for fun, the place where I work has a Christmas party and everybody votes in advance on certain questions. When the time came for the `awards’, I found myself runner-up for Most Tattoos. I was between a highly visibly tattooed female and a male with no visible tattoos. Later on I asked the people running things who played the joke on me. They looked at me, more strangely than normal, and said there was no joke… the results were from everybody’s answers. Once again, long hair and guitar playing do not equal tattoos. Bloody hair-ism. It’s because I’m white, isn’t it?

So there I was, knee-deep in computer parts, due to my main computer flatly refusing to power up, and the Crazy Cocker is woofing, squeaking, whining, and doing everything but banging his head on the door. It was not entirely conducive to computer repair. Or even random porn-watching.

Between dropping screws and yelling SHUT UP at the dog, I had a few scanners running. I figured it would be amusing to hear what’s happening on Halloween. Here are the highlights:

• “….chasing after kids with a real chainsaw.”
• “….pleasuring himself in the back seat of the car.”
• “….she believes that trick or treaters were trying to kidnap her because they looked frightening.”
• “….had a Glock in his waistband, in the restaurant.

What, exactly, is wrong with chasing after kids with a real chainsaw? What kind of Halloween Experience do you think you’re going to provide with some sort of fake chainsaw? Don’t we owe our kids the best? What sort of message are we sending them…. that we don’t care enough to use the real thing? Plus the fake chainsaws don’t go through bone. Don’t ask me how I know.