But of course my mom is the one in the neighborhood who bought boxes of raisins to hand out to the poor trick-or-treaters tomorrow. I told you about her new health kick, right? Now, even though I hate kids, and I especially hate costumed kids, I still tried my best to convince Mom that no one — absolutely no one — likes getting raisins for Halloween. I don't get what's so tough to understand about this. Personally, I'll never forget that disappointment and swelling resentment rushing through me each Halloween, getting all dressed up, trudging through the cold rain up to some stranger's house, expecting a bite-size 3 Musketeers or Plain M&M's or I'd even settle for a Kit Kat bar, but instead they'd come out with a fucking bowl full of those little red boxes and you just wanted to beat the living crap out of them right then and there. I can't believe Mom doesn't sympathize — she was a kid once, too.

Anyway, I won't be handing out candy or raisins or anything else for that matter to kids, because kids suck. But if I were to hand out candy to kids, here's what I'd do.... Most of the kids would get candy, but I'd give the portly kids raisins, because they don't need any more candy. Then I'd castigate them in front of their parents: "Here you go, I've giving you a box of raisins cause you're a fat little piggy and it looks like you've been eating too much candy and chocolate already. I mean, you look like you could eat your little fakey Harry Potter friend there... Oh, you want a Snickers bar like I gave your healthier-looking friends? Well, there's always next year, Fatty. Probably without Dracula there, he's obviously more popular and he'll probably be dating by next year while you'll be eating a carton of mint chocolate chip ice cream on Friday night and picking at your acne scars. But, you know, come back next year if you want some more raisins."

Now that I'm planning all this out, I think I'll also have some candy corn at the ready to hand out to the obnoxious kids. And for the rest of the kids, I'll just skip the middleman and hand out sugar packets to the rest of the hyper little bastards.

That way, maybe next year, we won't get quite as many kids around.