Nobody better lay a finger on my Butterfinger, bitch!
Halloween was always one of my favorite days growing up. What other holiday legally requires you to dress up in costume and extort homeowners into giving you candy in exchange for not committing acts of vandalism to their property, or forcing them to smell your feet? Easter, you say? Fair enough. But can you name another one?
As a young child, Halloween was all about the treat. I got to dress up as my favorite cartoon character, or superhero, or bed sheet and parade around the neighborhood at night, in the dark, way past my usually scheduled bedtime, scoring free candy just for being an adorable ragamuffin. That was a sweet deal.
But as a young lad matriculated into older boyhood, the trick portion of the equation becomes far more important. Running around a neighborhood at night with a mask on can be a powerful drug for a teenager. Give that junkie a can of shaving cream, a dozen eggs and a roll of toilet paper, and he becomes a god. Or at least a jerk.
Now listen, I’m all for terrorizing the general public in the name of Satan, like any little boy is. I did a fair amount of it myself in my formative years. Throwing eggs at houses because they didn’t come across with “the good stuff”. Trying to buy my civility with Good and Plenty when I know for a fact they got Mike and Ike’s up in this bitch. Don’t insult me like that. Or sometimes we would strong-arm some younger boys for their bags of loot. I’m not proud of that, but the candy was no less delicious due to the robbery. It was an easy heist to pull off too. “Hey kid, give me your bag, now”. They didn’t even fight back. It was as easy as taking free candy from a baby.
But that was then. Nowadays every kid is most likely packing heat, ready to throw down at a moments notice over their ill-gotten sack of sugar. Long gone are the days when that harmless looking kid in the ALF costume was truly an easy mark. He probably has a gun. Or some mace. Or a taser.
Even worse, he probably has an iPhone to call his older brother with.
And that dude’s a dick.
Bill McMorrow 
Oh Alf! I would be surprised to see any Alf’s wandering around. One comes to my door and I’ll give ’em cash for not being a Transformer/Thor/Ironman/etc. One Halloween when I was little, my brother (about 6 at the time) was the Marlboro Man. Ah, the good ol days!
I believe I might have been the Marlboro man a few times. Or I was just a boy who thought he was a man by smoking Marlboros. Either way, thanks for the read.
You’re lucky you stayed on Manatee, brother. You didn’t want to mess with Suwanee.
Manatee, Suwanee, Volusia, Welaka, I went everywhere, pal. My insatiable sweet tooth feared no road.
Ahhhh, the good ol days.
Hahaha, right?