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by Briannn McKenzie
To this day, I have not been able to muster up the ability to randomly
knock door to door in various neighborhoods and threaten unsuspecting
housewives with 'tricks' if they do not provide for me the food that
I cannot buy or bring myself to beg for. I save this tactic for my mom.
That being said, I have absolutely no respect for those scruffy young
tearaways who indulge themselves in just such activities every year for
fucking Halloween. So now that I am too old to kick the living fuck out
of every little shit-drawered lollypop-sucker that dares to trespass on
my property, I've been forced to think of less direct ways:
- Dap Lois in the neighbors' yard. These are simply shotgun shells set in a tube with the primer resting on a nail tip. Yeah!!! Bury a few of these around. Not only are you reducing the number of Kool Aid smile, bedwetting Batmans pounding on your door and begging for food, but you are also giving your neck of the woods a very bad rep. Thus assuring there will be even less the next year.
- Suggest to the parents of the diminutive Superman with his finger up his nose that they go on welfare instead of making their kids mooch shit off of you.
- Pass out rocks. This sure had a profound effect on Charlie Brown.
- Get really trashed on cheap rum and answer the door with your penis hanging out of your Cinderella costume . . . you won't be bothered next time around. Or hell, just invite a few friends over for a circle jerk in the front yard.
- Blow up the mail boxes at either end of your street around three in the afternoon. By three-thirty, the FBI, ATF, and every other moron with a car that has flashing doo-hickeys on or in it will have the block closed off for investigation and inspection. (Next issue I'll tell you how to deal with pot-bellied, donut-breathed, child molesters with guns knocking on your door.)
- Pass out little containers of your (or your favorite pet's) urine with Xerox copies of your last drug test attached.
- Attach a severed goat head to your dog and make it run around with a tape recorder on its back that sings over and over again "Satan loves you/I love you/Come closer and let me finger your entrails."
There are, of course, other ways of dealing with
loser-to-be children who practically dig into your pocket
for their own reward, but I hope at least this short list of
suggestions will provide you with better ways of handling the
stress incurred by these monsters from hell. And by the by . . . I will
be having a release party for my new book "101 Ways to Impale Children
Under Twelve". Look for it at a bookstore some great distance from you.
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