Welp, this year I misjudged the amount of candy I would need. Turns out, I should have brought two oversized king pillow cases. Then again, I came across a lot of cheap asses who only bought one bag of candy that was gone by the time I got there and the ones who got stingy because my handful is bigger than the average kid’s.
Slap my hand again bitch. I dare you.
Some people have some pretty crappy ideas on what’s ok to hand out on Halloween. For instance, candy corn. Yeah, it gets a bad rap… For good reson. Really, what is candy corn but yellow, orange and white colored sugar. Why don’t you just give me your diabetes. Or better yet, give me some Sweet N’ Low so I can get cancer.
And the fresh fruit people kill me. Yeah, I really want some fucking fruit my mom puts in my lunchbox for school.
A fucking coupon booklet? I’m 6 not 65.
A pack of pencils. Fuck off, Poindexter.
Somebody gave me a slice of American cheese. You know that processed shit that’s barely better than velveeta? Ok, it’s not actually better.
To the lady that gave me a penny taped to a religious card, here’s my thoughts (for your penny): a cent doesn’t go as far as it did when you were a kid. In fact, a penny can’t even buy me a piece of candy nowadays that your cheap ass was too “frugal” to buy.
Anything that doesn’t come in a wrapper. Keep it. I don’t want it. You wasted your money because it’s going in the trash. Mom is strict about this. And you just fucked up my Halloween because it’s going to be a week before I can even eat any of the shit I got. Thanks, ass hole.
One old couple even handed out pint-sized milk cartons like the ones you get in the school cafeteria. How do you like those broken windows you cheap bastards?! Have fun cleaning the spoiled milk stench in your house! Ok, I’m sorry Grandma, but like you always told me: Don’t cry over spilled milk.
And then there was the guy handing out a travel pack of Kleenex. Really, dude?! The least you could do is hand out free condoms. Next year, I’m skipping his house and going straight to Planned Parenthood. I hear the girls there are easy. Two birds, one stone. Actually, now that I think of it, that’s three birds, one stone — if need be. Gotta love Planned Parenthood.
I guess it wasn’t so bad. No razor blades in my caramel apples. At least it was a lesson learned for when I grow up not to be such a douche on Halloween.
P.S. – To the lady giving out D batteries, you probably should have saved them for your vibe.