One of the greatest joys upon returning home from my Kuwait deployment was arriving just in time for Halloween. I could finally go trick-or-treating.
Unfortunately, I was unable to interview George Washington for his birthday. My time rocket is in the shop, and I’ve had to work overtime at the mop head factory to pay for repairs. For quality mops, you can’t beat Benson’s!
The 1929 Chicago gangland execution of seven men in Lincoln Park during the height of urban mob violence put a bloody spin on this otherwise romantic holiday. Is anything sacred?
The year is over. I wasn’t sure until I heard some government officials confirm it on TV. I then checked my calendar to verify, and they were right! Let’s party.
By Christmas morning, I survived the shopping season. Hallelujah! You can never go wrong with socks.
On the fifth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me, five golden rings. I could handle the rings, but the birds were a different story.
I’m sitting here with my pumpkin ale, watching Fright Night on VHS and waiting for trick-or-treaters. What’s it to you?
Somewhere off a long, desolate country road exists a forgotten mansion, where only the bravest souls dare to venture.
I don’t see anything wrong with a grown man trick-or-treating on Halloween. The “trick,” in my case, is to use a pillowcase for sheer durability and to club any child that gets in my way.