Just my usual, orange skull t-shirt (the black one bit the dust last year because I mysteriously got a chocolate stain on it), too much makeup (Onyx eyeshadow and Currant lipstick), and my witchy hair, which is sunbleached and too reddish by now to be scary. Unlike my eyebrows, variously characterized as “like Frida Kahlo” and “like a serial killer.”
TRICK-OR-TREATERS AT MY HOUSE
–a wizard and Pikachu. Unknown in what universe these two would coexist.
–a ninja and a knight. Or whatever has a silver knight helmet and a red scarf over its face, I don’t know.
–a man and his son who apparently dressed up as each other. I was drunk by then, so I’m not sure. And I was distracted by the fact that the grown man also had a trick-or-treat bag, so he could get as much candy as his son.
What I’m getting at here is, I ended up eating most of the Kit-Kats myself.
IN OTHER KIT-KAT-RELATED NEWS…
Bet you never thought you’d read those words!
I read a story on Facebook in which a man left a Kit-Kat in the drink cup in his car. He came back to his parked vehicle and found the Kit-Kat gone and a note which read: “I love Kit-Kats, and I tried your door and it was unlocked, so I took it. I didn’t take anything else. I’m sorry, and hungry.” The comments on this story included The Two People Who Comment On Every Internet Story:
- “He obviously made this story up just to get his 15 minutes of fame,”
- and, “How can all you people think this is funny? What’s funny about a hungry person reduced to stealing a candy bar?
CRISIS IN PROGRESS–THERE’S A FIRST TIME FOR EVERYTHING
“Caller said his neighbor threatened him with a crossbow. Other party also called and said the original caller threatened him with a golf club.” You know what they say about bringing a golf club to a crossbow fight.
MORE COMPLAINING ABOUT STUFF
There is now a spring-loaded glitter bomb. I am opposed to glitter because I don’t like texture. Everything should be smooth and soft.
AND STILL MORE
I clicked on the wrong thing and deleted my entire post. This is rewritten from memory, so if it doesn’t meet your expectations, that’s my excuse. Now my hand hurts from typing. (You know, the one I slammed on the concrete back in May.) Life is hard.