Write me:
skot AT izzlepfaff DOT com

Tuesday, 01 November
Black Celebration

Hey, happy Halloween! And by that I mean, fuck this Halloween, right in the feet, or some other unfuckable place. (Please don't send me footjob links.) Halloween on a Monday? Sucko, man. Halloween on a completely intolerable Monday, replete with various (boring) work-related nonsense to test my limited amount of mettle? With lots of phone calls, and people wandering around at work dressed as a school crossing? (Yeah.) It's enough to make a guy . . . not go to the office party and instead sit in his office in a snit, trading venemous IMs with distant friends! Because that's how I know I am All Man.

The weekend didn't start this way. This weekend was the wife's BIRTHDAY WEEKEND! And I had to--it's a condition of our exhaustive pre-nup--show her a good time. On Saturday, then, I romantically keyed in the "unlock" code on her electronic restraints, massaged the feeling back into her atrophied legs, and wheeled the old gal to the cheapest ginmill in town! (They make their own gin, right in the urinals! If anyone goes blind, hey, free round.)

It was a cool night, really--lots of pals showed up, and we had a grand time, after I threw the wife into the coat closet for excessive mewling. GIN THIS! and BLIND THAT! I don't even know. People did bring presents, though! Our friend V. got the wife a really lovely pair of pinking shears, which the wife clutched happily amongst all those coats. She loves to pink. And she went to town on those coats! She pinked the hell out of them, and by the time the evening was through and we pulled her out of the closet, she was thoroughly covered in bits of wool and mohair, and was distractedly singing that Liz Phair song, "Mohair Bride."

On Sunday I don't really remember what happened. I just woke up in the tub, naked, with a bunch of blood and bone in my hair--I should get a drain trap. Those bone fragments are going to really fuck up the pipes. (And can I just say? L'Oreal is just hopeless with this shit.) I eventually wandered out to watch some football games, and at one point spotted Ray Lewis on the Ravens' sidelines. He gave me a wink and a covert thumbs-up. Fuckin' A, Ray! I raised my bottle of cough syrup at him as a salute.

The sink garbage disposal has been grinding for three days. I'm not gonna look. It's freaking me out.

Anyway, that gets us to the lousy fucking Halloween.

You know, I tried to get into the spirit. It's for the kids, after all. Even after such a lousy day. I stopped at the store and got a big fucking four-pound bag of candy. Four pounds! I figured I was going to get raided by these little animals--better be prepared! I also got an X-Acto knife and a shitload of bug spray, and spent a really long fucking time carefully opening all the little fucking candy wrappers and liberally dousing everything with the bug spray. It was a real project! I carefully re-wrapped all the candy, except for a few boxes of Dots, which I used to devour as a kid. Those fuckers really stick to your teeth!

And I waited. I clapped my hands gleefully in anticipation. I mean, not "my" hands, technically--I have an extensive collection of hands. I clapped some of the really meaty ones, and got a nice rhythm out of some of them, kind of a Bobby Brown sort of feel. I put on my "I [HEART] CHOLINESTERASE INHIBITORS!" t-shirt and borrowed the pinking shears from the wife, who didn't seem to mind once I snapped the fuckers viciously at her eyes a few times.

Boy, did I wait. And wouldn't you know it? Not ONE FUCKING KID showed up to knock at the door. Not one! I can't get over it. It's a little sickening, really, how some faint rumors about things like "pending indictments" and "horrible snipping noises" can poison one's neighbors against you. It's . . . disappointing. Not one kid.

It really bummed me out. The worst end to the worst Halloween ever. I listlessly dug into the candy bowl eventually, grabbing for some Dots to cheer me up, and gnawed on them with an absent kind of hunger. They tasted funny, but I ate three boxes of the fuckers. Now I'm sort of vibrating, and my pores feel full of liquid, somehow. My asshole is doing funny things. It feels like fucking George Carlin routine down there. Shut up, crazy asshole!

Oh, son of a bitch. The bug spray. That's right! How embarrassing. The bug spray. Man, these Dots sure get all the fuck up into your gums. I can barely claw this stuff out, even if I go through my face! I didn't even realize how easy it was to tear through cheek meat! Flimsy. Especially if you have a nice new set of pinking shears. Snip snip! Smile wide! No problem!

I just wanted to have fun. With the children. What a lousy Halloween this turned out to be.

I hope this candy doesn't go to waste.

Note: Comments are closed on old entries.


I almost would have preferred no kids to the bunch of lame-o "costumes" that showed up at my door, demanding candy. I wish I had some of your specially-prepared candy to give those losers.

The first two that came to my door were carrying skateboards. That was their costume-- carrying skateboards. I asked what kind of costume that was, what were they supposed to be, and they didn't even TRY to come up with anything easy like Tony Hawk. They stood there like idiots and said "Well...uh... we have skateboards." I snarled "Yeah, and I'm sure that doesn't happen everyday," and defeatedly gave them candy anyway.

Then a kid showed up with a hooded Iowa sweatshirt and khakis. When I asked him what he was supposed to be, he said "A gangster." I guess Iowa is running wild with khaki-wearing gangsters. Who knew?

A few moments later, two more kids showed up, one of whom was wearing an actual costume, although I can't for the life of me tell what it was she was supposed to be. I was just so thrilled someone actually put some effort into dressing up in something. When I cheered "Yay! Finally real costumes!" the little kid with her piped up "I'm a gangster." Apparently they were with the Iowa gangster, whose parents were with them, as well. Why would parents knowingly allow their children wear everyday clothes and say they're gangsters to extort candy from kind-hearted strangers? I guess the mother could tell I thought it was totally pathetic, because she muttered something about there having been a mask somewhere along the line. WHATEVER!!

Another kid came by, dressed in black, and when I asked him what he was supposed to be, he said he was just going as himself this year. I asked him if he really thought I should give him candy for that, seeing as how I, too, was going as myself, perhaps he should give me his candy, instead.

Eventually, I stopped answering the door.

Comment number: 006103   Posted by: S on November 1, 2005 01:22 AM from IP:

This post made me happy.

Comment number: 006104   Posted by: Broz on November 1, 2005 08:05 AM from IP:

I love reading your stuff, I really do. This post was...really vividly disturbing, if that is what you were going for! The phrase 'cheek meat' will be in my mind for a very long time.

Comment number: 006105   Posted by: Jera/Jenn on November 1, 2005 09:21 AM from IP:

We had only 4 trick-or-treaters at home, all but one of whom had tacky costumes, but I was blessed with a small troup at work. A duck, a ladybug, a dalmation, a witch & Darth Vader. Thankfully they all came at once and they were the only ones ... all that lovely chocolate for meeeeeeeeeee!

Comment number: 006106   Posted by: Katee on November 1, 2005 10:31 AM from IP:

I had 238 trick or treaters and a FANTASTIC Halloween!

Comment number: 006107   Posted by: on November 8, 2005 10:39 AM from IP:

Post a comment