Trick or Treat.

3 Feb


Actually it’s a brisk 54 degrees out. Not really frightful. Not frightful at all actually. And we have no fire; and if there is one, we’ve got a problem with the George Foreman.

I have spent the last two weekends in the Bluffs de Council, or Council Bluffs for English-speaking residents. Both were fine times, fine times indeed. Much parent-child bonding time, shopping and not getting much, and most importantly, Alan time. I love that little devil. We’ve been leaving him in the care of my now obsessed mother because we don’t have the time to house train him. Now she is proposing a business transaction wherein she purchases the little rugrat indefinitely. Yeap. Wants to write Amy and I a fat check. I inform her it will near $1,000. She cares not. I love the little muppet, but I’m strongly considering this idea on account of being a college student and a professional alcoholic, I don’t have time to take care of him like I should and give him the attention he deserves! It’s sad. We’ll see what happens.

This weekend is not only Halloween, but also a home game. I did not realize this until several hours ago. I went ahead and ordered a tombstone with my name carved in it, and requested it be expedited to arrive by Friday at 11 a.m. just to be safe. I am clearly not going to make it through the weekend. In addition, Katie, Kelli, Kayla, Richard, Jamie and others are coming up por la fin de semana, so we’re all getting absolutely fucked. God have mercy.

Speaking of Halloween, Amy brought up an interesting point the other day. While in the car, she said, “Halloween: what a weird holiday. It’s like people just made it up. There’s no real purpose for it.” I pondered this notion for a moment or two before we started discussing it further. The conversation went something like this:

“Yeah, somebody one day was like, hm, let’s make up a new holiday. It’ll be in Novem–no, that’s Thanksgiving…June–too close to the 4th of July. December, Christmas…October sounds good. We’ll ah…we’ll all dress up. Yeah, we’ll dress up as animals. No…we’ll just dress up as anything we want to. That’s good. And the theme will be jolly? Eh, scary. Horror and terror, that fits. And…everybody will go out and have potato sack races. No, we’ll….we’ll collect candy. Yes, candy will do. We should have some colors to symbolize it: red? That’s too Christmasy…pastels are Easter-like…maybe black. Yeah, black and orange sound good. We can carve eggplants. Eh, maybe avacados. No, we’ll carve pumpkins. Aha! Pumpkin carving, that sounds about right. ‘Merry Halloween’…no…’Happy Halloween’ works.”

Ha. Oh. The conversation was endless. Tears were streaming, laughs were had. Anyway.

I’m not sure what to be for Halloween. I’ve got several inflatable options including sumo wrestler, chef, and ostrich-jockey, neither of which are really tickling my fancy so far. My goal is to be something completely un-sexy as usual. I really wanted to be a big red M&M, but I’ve been having a difficult time finding one. Then I developed a strong desire to be the Cookie Monster, but only found the costume in sizes 3-4 toddler, which of course I tried to squeeze into, but naturally failed. Apparently you need to be an infant to wear it. Tsk. My next “rogue” idea was to wear a white sheet with two holes cut in the face for eyes and wear a cone on my head underneath in order to look strikingly like a KKK member, so when people were like, “What the fuck, man?” I’d be like, “I’m a GHOST, god,” where I would then turn around to walk away, and my back would say “WHITE POWER.” Hahaha. Contrary to the things I say, I do notactually want to be killed, believe it or not.

Somebody at the fortune cookie company is pulling pranks. Amy and I got our cookies from Panda Express a couple weeks ago, and our fortunes read this:

What is ‘right?’ Define ‘right.’ How about ‘left?’

This is not a fortune. A fortune is like “you will come across great fortune soon” or “you will contract hepatitis C from a wrestling mat.” This “fortune” is just something Confuscius regurgitated after a night at the bars.

Q: What is red and smell like pork?
A: Sweet and sour pork.

This one is a fucking riddle. I thought I was eating a fortune cookie, not a Laffy Taffy. And the answer is one of their entrees! What the hell? Note that “smell” is not “smells,” either. The Asian accent comes out even in print. Dear lord.

If you want to be like Popeye, your girlfriend to be like Alice?

I don’t even know what this one means. Someone at the factory is dropping acid on the job. I have no further commentary for this one.

All fortunes have “lucky numbers” on the back, too, except they give you literally eleven lucky numbers. ANY number on that scrap of paper can be found on 9 out of 10 license plates, building addresses, or speed limit signs. Are the Chinese just really optimistic, or are they pulling fast ones on us? I don’t like what Asians are doing to the place. Watch out, folks.

Jeremy: “I hate you guys.”


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