I Will Not Be Celebrating Halloween Any God Damned More
All right. That's it. I normally consider myself a pretty good parent when it comes to letting the kiddies have their little holidays, but I swear to Jesus shit that this is the last Halloween the Dunson household will ever have, ever, because I am fed up with this MONKEY CRAP.
It all started when my kids came to me about their Halloween costumes. When I was a kid, we didn't need to talk to our parents about our costumes, because they would've beat the hell out of us, and told us that we would never play football with that fucking fat kiddie ass, and that no son of theirs was going to be a GOD DAMNED SISSY. Instead, we made our own, using things like old whiskey bottles from the big bin of them in the kitchen, and pieces of colorful trash from the dumpster. It was a much simpler time, not like today with all the murderers and rapists and war-dodging liberal MEATBAG ASSHOLES.
So you can imagine my surprise when my little shits that sprung from my wifey's loineroos came up to me and asked me to take them to the costume god damned shop.
"A STORE THAT SELLS COSTUMES?" I shouted, on account of my surprise. "WELL HOLY JESUS FUCK, WHY DON'T I GIVE YOU MY WALLET TO JUST LIGHT THE CHRIST ON FIRE!"
"But it's the only way to get a good costume," one of them whose name I probably DON'T EVEN REMEMBER BECAUSE I DIDN'T PICK IT said. "We don't want to be 'little bastards' like you made us into all the other years."
"Well, Tommy," I said patiently, "that's a good costume, on account of you little shits already are little bastards, so there's no need for a cos-god-damned-tume." Then, just to give them freedom of choice since we're in the JESUS CHRIST BLESS THE U.S. OF A, I added, "or I can make you into little shits, since you're that, too. WOULD YOU LIKE THAT, YOU PRECIOUS LITTLE SHIT BASTARD?"
"My name isn't Tommy," he sobbed, beginning to turn on the old WATERWORKS AND IF YOU OWN THE ELECTRIC COMPANY TOO THE RENT IS TEN TIMES AS FUCKING MUCH.
"DON'T TELL ME YOUR GOD DAMNED NAME, TOMMY!" I yelled, on account of I was actually getting a little bit perturbed. "I'm paying TEN TIMES AS MUCH RENT BECAUSE OF YOU!"
Well, I have to be honest here: I was just fit to be tied at all of this. Buying Halloween costumes? My kids telling me what their Mother Mary And Fucking Shit names are? Halloween was beginning to sound just lousy, and so I decided to end it right there and then.
"I HOPE YOU'RE MOTHERFUCKING HAPPY, TOMMY FUCKING SALAMI," I told him, "BECAUSE YOU JUST RUINED HALLOWEEN FOR THE WHOLE DUNSON SHITASS FAMILY!" Then, to make sure my point was made, I broke an ice tray over my god damned head and sent him to his room.
Later in the night, though, I suddenly had a hankering for my most favorite candy of all: Reese's Shit Pieces. I only call them "Shit" sometimes because they are too Jesusing expensive to afford on a fucking PISS POOR FACTORY ASS SALARY. But what I realized was that on account of something called "Trick Or Treating", I could maybe get some for free.
"CHANGE OF PLANS, KIDDIES!" I shouted jubilantly, shoving a fucking TOO-MUCH-MONEY TRASH BAG into their hands to store Reese's Pieces in. "HALLOWEEN IS BACK ON TRACK, SO CALL THE FUCKING REINDEER AND PULL OUT THE SLEIGH, OR WHATEVER THE FUCK IT IS!" Then, we were off.
But here was the real kicker, the real SPLINTER UP MY ASS. The first house we went to DID NOT HAVE REESE'S STUPID SHIT THINGS.
"Have a Happy Halloween," the old FUCK said, putting his NON-REESE'S SHIT in my kids' bags.
"WHAT THE MERRY HALLOWEEN FUCK IS THIS?" I screamed. "I DO NOT SEE ONE GOD DAMNED REESE'S SHIT IN THIS FUCKING BAG!"
"Sir, please," the asshole said, starting to SHAKE OR SOME SHIT. "I only have Tootsie Rolls."
"TOOTSIE THIS!" I said, and bit his finger off. Then, because of the tradition of the holiday, I added, "TRICK OR FUCK!!"
So, since Halloween 2003 ended badly, I have decided to regrettably ban it from the Dunson household. On the bright side, the police have not yet come to arrest me, which is something I was kind of expecting them to do since the BOYS IN GAY BLUE seem to have a problem with me biting things once in a god damned while.