Go Hard Or Go Home

What’s up with kids nowadays? They have no game. They bring the weak shit. Listen up punks, it's called Trick-Or-Treat for a reason. When you say “Trick-Or-Treat” you are supposed to mean it. Put a little bass in your voice, say it with authority. Ok, maybe I’m being a bit harsh because let’s be honest…your balls haven’t dropped yet. Puberty has yet to occur so physically you may not be able to turn up the bass and give me your best Darth Vader impression. However, it doesn’t really matter if your voice still sounds like Mickey Mouse or you are on the verge of becoming a Peter Brady. In this case it’s not really how you say it, but rather what you say. When you utter the words “Trick-Or-Treat” you are supposed to know what it means. Essentially you are giving me, the candy giver, an ultimatum. Trick or treat – the candy giver must choose.

So I choose. I choose “Trick”. And what do you do? You freeze because you aren’t prepared for that! You just assume that I will hand over the candy like every other sucker/neighbor did before me. I basically threw you a curveball and you were in no way prepared to hit it out of the park. Shame on you. Where’s your creativity? Where’s your evil Halloween spirit? Where’s the fun? Now I know you revel in delight when you’re shoving your greedy little hands into Mrs. Shoeman’s giant candy bowl. I’m sure you took more than your fair share of chocolate, which is basically robbing the little old lady blind. Seriously, the little old woman really is blind! Blind like a bat I tell you.

The only thing worse than robbing an old blind woman is taking candy from a baby! Oops, wait, I almost forgot. You did that too! Yes, I saw you literally rip a cherry BlowPop out of the chubby grips of your baby brother’s mitts. Don’t pretend like you don’t know what I’m talking about. He was holding the lollipop like a rattle for Christ sake! The kid sits around in soiled drawers all day and you can’t allow him the simple joy of holding a makeshift rattle? I hope one day he grows up and piledrives you. Payback is a bitch!

Now before anyone scolds me for being mean to a child, let me just say, you don’t know this kid. To protect his identity I’m going to call him (Jacob) “Junior”. I could go thru a long list of things that make “Junior” a spoiled, selfish, inconsiderate little asshole of a 10-year-old, but I’m not going to do that. I will say that his smug Daddy had to roll him around in the Range Rover because apparently a little exercise is too much to ask of "Junior". And just between you and me, little "Junior" could use a lot more exercise than just a stroll thru the neighborhood. The last thing chubs needs is to be chauffeured from house to house collecting a pillowcase full of fat and calories. Even Mrs. Shoeman walks the neighborhood, blind and with a cane! And she’s like 150! Did I mention “Junior” usually doesn’t even wear a costume? What the f…

With his pompous Papa sipping his Starbucks coffee and looking on from the comfort of his Range, I had to resort to giving the kid a treat since he stared blankly at me when I answered “Trick”. So I gave him what he deserved, an empty Take5 bar wrapper that I had eaten minutes before. Mean? Maybe. Deserving? Definitely! Hey, the kid is dumb too, he didn’t even notice. At least it was lighter to carry than if I had dropped a rock in his bag.

What’s really sad is that last year, even with the help of his cousin, he couldn’t pull a trick off. They went with the flaming bag of poo. One word – WEAK. It’s weak shit, figuratively and literally speaking. Do they think I was born yesterday? The two dummies do it with me standing 10 feet away, watching. They didn’t’ even ring the bell and hide. So once the bag of poo was on fire, I yelled “oh shit” and kicked it back to them. At that point "Junior The Genius" freaks and stomps it out, himself! The phrase “wise beyond your years” will never be applied to that kid.