I will be humbly celebrating my 41st birthday. Yep, goblin incarnate, right here, boys and girls. I'll sit on the front porch with a big kettle of overpriced, sugar-filled treats for the little beggars to take home to their older siblings and parents to rifle through. I'll have a good, strong drink for which I will have to remove my hockey mask often. I will hope that my inventory is capable of supplying the throes of non-neighborhood beggars who caravan to my neighborhood, because we have 2 story houses, so we much be rich and be giving away gold bullion, right?
I almost despise this "holiday", a celebration of that which is unholy. Ironic.
I see the fun that can be had, except for the fact that it imposes on my birthday.
What's my costume, you ask? It's my birthday suit. Scared yet?
Only saving grace is that women dress up in slutty costumes nowadays.
Pour me another drink.
You kids get off my lawn!!
BOO!