Happy Yesterween!

Well, that was a good evening. Cynra did the majority of treat handling. A chilly drizzle fell for a good part of the evening, which may have kept a few trick and/or treaters away.

I was sent on a dinner mission (Operation: Pizza and wings) and stopped by one of Mississauga's many comics shops on the way home to pick up the new Astro City. I also picked up the first 100 Bullets trade. I think someone on LJ recommended it yesterday, and it had always seemed interesting so I picked it up. The paper was kinda flimsy for a trade (I'm used to the glossy stuff in trades, I guess) but the stories were neat. The second one? Depressing. I find the backstory is interesting, too. I will pick up book two shortly.

The clerk at the store gave me a Vertigo sampler (Vertigo: First Offences) as a gift. Happy Halloween indeed! I guess he liked my overwrought office worker costume.

We had a few folks still arriving for candy by the time I got home, but it petered out as the evening went along. The cat pumpkin was adorable but appeared to suffer some structural issues, as its head fell off and rolled a couple feet away. Initially, we thought it had been abducted by local pests (racoons or teenagers), but it was eventually found.

We saw the Buffy episode of Smallville (oh, look. Lana is possessed by an evil force AGAIN. Thankfully she has no opeating brain cells, or she'd start to remember things). Very horrid. At least we get to see Braniac go all T-1000 on some guy.

We REALLY need that Legion of Superheroes episode, before the show swirls down into a whirlpool of suck and gets put out of its misery. At least the actor playing Braniac hadn't undergone dental surgery before his takes this week.

D&D game for tomorrow is cancelled, which is unfortunate, but will give me time to tidy up before Halo 2: A Bomb for the Old Guy. Regular game is on Thursday. Must see if Dragon Lady sells long boxes, as I've started to store comix in rubbermaids.

Extended XML rental. Alllllmost finished. Damn Master Mold is tricky. Am I suposed to be shutting off the control panels or something?

The !Holiday! Bitter Guide to handling Friggin' Punks.

Okay, so each and every one of you who chose to participate in the hallowe'en candy grab-a-bration last night probably had to deal with a few Friggin' Punks. Friggin' Punks are usually late teenagers whose costumes consist of not much mroe than a scowl. The Bitter Guy has a solution. Today is End of Season for Hallowe'en treats. Go down to your local grocery store and pick up a bag of those atrocious generic taffy things, with the Hallowe'en imagery on the wrappers. Yeah, those. The Taffies of Hate.

Save them. Trust me, you won't be tempted to eat them, barring the end of civilization, in which case spiting obnoxious teenagers will be the least of your worries, after hordes of refugees, radiation storms and zombies.

Next year, get your regular treats for the good little boys and girls. Place them in a bowl by the door. Take the Taffies of Hate and place them in another bowl.

When good little boys and girls come to the door dressed in whatever is the fashion of the year (next year, I predict it will be... I have no idea, actually. If I could prognosticate like that, I'd own a small town in central Ontario), give them the nice treats. I enjoy gummy fangs.

When the Friggin' Punks arrive (and they will, usually after the good children have finished their rounds, even after you've extinguished your candle), simply look them over. Inspect them carefully. Perhaps, even, inquire "what are you supposed to be?" Interjecting "exactly" at any of several points, or as a followup sentence, works well.

They may fidget, or mumble some reply. If they do, enjoy that while you can. Awkwardness is a rare state for Friggin' Punks. Then, reach your hand into the auxilliary bowl and hand them... A Handful of Hate. Enjoy the feeling of the hard (for when they get stale, they are oh, so hard. And stale they will be, by about Christmas) candy in the unforgiving wrappers. Do not place it into the bag, thrust it at the Friggin' Punks. Open your hand and let it drop out, like gravesoil onto a coffin. Smile a rigid smile. Smile a brittle smile. Allow none of the joy you feel at that moment to come out. Perhaps, if you're equipped for it, raise an eyebrow at them, and wish them a happy Hallowe'en. Then close the door.

You may wish to watch them as they leave, to prevent any retribution, although the Playstation generation seems incapable of the finer arts of revenge; buying eggs or TP seems beyond them.

When they get home, they'll eventually eat them (possibly in a junk food jones state), shattering their teeth on the fossilized taffy. Which is, admittedly, a mercy compared to eating the Taffies of Hate. But I am a merciful Bitter Guy.

So, I bid you, happy Dios De Muertos!