You know what’s crazy? I’ll tell you what’s crazy.™
Trick or treaters in this new millennium.
Most of the kids who have come to my door just stand there like frogs on a hallucinogenic lilly pad.
I hear the door bell ring, I open the door and they glaze over like a donut on the bottom shelf of a Krispy Kreme.
Only occasionally tonight do I hear TRICK OR TREAT.
By and large, this assortment of candy mongrels stand there like entitled automatons and accept my charitable selection of delicious cookies n creme jumbo Hershey’s chocolate bars like I owe them something.
I don’t owe you nothing chump. I ain’t your daddy. At least I don’t think I am.
To be fair, I have heard a lot of “thank you’s” which I am pleased to report.
But come on new millennium trick or treaters, get with the damn program.
When a guy like me comes to the door and greets a bunch of goblins like you, there’s a process.
The sequence is initiated with a phrase as old as begging itself.
Instead of saying “hey mister can I have a dollar” You are suppose to say:
TRICK OR TREAT.
That’s my cue to say hey Darth Vadar with the high tops, nice force you got there.
Hey little Cowboy football player, what happened to Tony Romo last night. couldn’t hit the broadside of a barn.
Hey pink princess, don’t think all men are prince charming cause they ain’t.
In fact, right in the middle of this stream of consciousness Crazy Rant, I just took a break writing this sentence to answer the door bell.
DING DONG.
I mosey to the door and a horde of something young and full of angst is standing there.
I open the door. I wait.
Crickets.
It’s more quiet than a buffet at a funeral home.
Not one Trick or Treat.
I got two merry christmas’ and one happy Hanukkah.
Cute, but I felt taking the chocolate bars and scattering them across the lawn.
Here ya go Generation X.
Try finding this among the leaves and dog crap you smart ass trick or treating wise guys.
All I’m saying is tradition is tradition.
I’m home, my door is open, I’m paying to heat the neighborhood.
I have invested a percentage of an honest days wage on a
chuck wagon load of goodies and the kids can’t even hold up their end of the bargain.
It’s as if they learned their craft from a member of Congress.
And then there are the hustlers. These are the kids who are dressed like kids who just came home from school and didn’t have any creativity or passion so they didn’t dress as anything. They just show up with a plastic bag from Publix.
“What are you?”
They look around like a drug deal gone bad.
“Ahhhhh”
“Never mind,” I say just wanting them to leave my stoop.
At least that’s better than some kids who stand there and let the other members of the group do the heavy lifting and then when they get around to the front door, they don’t even have a bag.
Rule 1 of trick or treating. You need a damn bag kid. A pillow case, a sack, a trash bag. You don’t trick or treat with your bare hands. That’s like trying to catch sharks by holding bloody chum in the water. It’s just not FDA approved. It’s not only dangerous and non productive it’s stupid. I’m surprised your parents even let you leave the house on your own.
And the Bernie Madoff trick or treaters are starting to wear on my nerves. They arrive at my doorstep and begin their confectioner’s ponzi scheme.
“Ah, we got a late start,” a kid with a green face and non descript hoodie says. He looks like a leprechaun that got in a prostitution sting.
He opens his bag wide as I plop a candy bar into the midst of his somewhat barren sack. “Ah, so do you think you cold spare 2 candy bars,” he says, his pupils eyeing my candy bucket like a defensive back eyes a tipped ball at the line of scrimmage.
I stare at the kid. I want to knock him off my steps, but in a weird way I like his cojones and reward him with two candy bars.
“You don’t ask, you don’t get in life, Kid.”
He smiles knowing that he just smoked the old dude and is all ready planning on scamming old lady Jenkins down the street.
More stream of consciousness. I just gave candy to a little trick or treating derelict who didn’t have a bag. I didn’t know that till he stared at me silently, and simply turned around to show me his ass.
HUH?
that’s when I noticed he is wearing a half open back pack. He wants me to put the candy bar there.
I feel like shoving my milk chocolate where the son don’t shine.
No work. No effort. No creativity. What a tool. This kid is destined for prison.
This kid needed me to kick him in his back pack wearing ass.
He’s lucky his parents were standing on the sidewalk drinking Jameson liquor and dreaming about divorce or cheating with their co-workers or something bad might have taken place.
All I’m saying people is bring back Halloween. Bring it back with tradition and passion.
If you can’t say Trick or Treat, then, as Clint Eastwood would say, then get the hell off my lawn kid.
Back in the day, the idea was get as much candy as possible. We didn’t want to count it, we wanted to weigh it.
We scored early and scored often. The difference; we were always polite and we knew the rules.
Maybe these kids should trick or treat on Facebook.
See how much candy you get then.
I just asked a kid wearing a t shirt what he was.
He said he was a pillow case.
Honestly he was just another loser kid who didn’t bother to dress up, but at least he was polite and made up a nice timely lie.
Ok, then what are you, I say to his friend who is wearing a toboggan hat and some shorts.
He seems annoyed that I would ask. He takes my candy, as if he is entitled, turns his eyes away and mumbles under his breath in the rudest of ways.
“I’m with him.”
Oh great. you’re with the idiot who says he is a pillow case. Well at least he says he is something.
You my friend look like a refuge from Occupy Nashville. Next time bring a tent and crap on your own pants. Give it a little effort.
That would have been a better answer than being laconic, rude and essentially greedy.
Note to self. Next year I go to your toboggan house and egg your windows.
Happy Halloween America.
And that is crazy.