The sun is going down and I spotted a few people with bags across the block, so I guess I have to stop whatever I want to be doing now, sit down in the living room — I’ve already locked the frustrated cats behind closed doors to prevent ninja escapes — and wait for the troops of little assholes that I don’t know from Adam to knock on my door extorting candy.
Every year someone tells me “you could just go out.” Where? This is my house. I would like to enjoy spending time in it. There is nothing to enjoy about having to jump up every five or ten minutes to give cheap crappy candy to kids you don’t know, because I am pretty careful not to know any kids, when you are hungry for dinner and would just like to read your book afterward. And fake enthusiasm for their costumes, maybe two of which in an evening actually amount to something. You are stuck with this, because you don’t want to get eggs thrown at your house for refusing to play the stupid game. Trust me, you never want to have to get dried egg out of a porch screen. It takes weeks.
How did this get so out of control? The time change — which is nonsense in itself — has now been orchestrated around it. God forbid any of the littlest maggots should have to go out in the dark.
I think I am out of politics for good, but if I ever run for anything myself — back when I was managing the campaign of an all American whack job, people used to suggest the idea — I am running on a platform that includes the abolition of Trick Or Treating. There will also be condign penalties for using quotation marks for emphasis and the incorrect placement of apostrophes, but unlike the goddam candy raiders, offenders will be eligible for parole.