Death Has Come to Your Little Town, Sheriff.

Yesterday, I went and purchased four bags of Halloween candy for Trick-or-Treaters. Let me just say, those costumes had better be DAMN good and the kids DAMN cute for the amount of money I spent. When did candy get so expensive? Those kids are lucky I'm such an awesome person, or they'd be getting pennies and carrot sticks in their bags.

Tonight, I'm going to get pumpkins to carve this weekend. Last year, I didn't decide until the very last minute (say, like, five at night on Halloween) that I wanted to take part in the age-old tradition of squash sculpting. I picked up my brother and sister, who at 14 and 16 were way too cool to participate in such an event but had to since I forced them at gunpoint, and went looking for pumpkins. We drove around the entire city for about two hours, stopping at grocery stores, farmer's markets, roadside stands, and anywhere we thought we may be able to find one with no luck. We met scores of other last-minute shoppers who also couldn't find any. It was the Great Pumpkin Shortage, Charlie Brown!

We finally found some, ironically, at the farm across the street from my house, where I should have gone first, had I any common sense at all. Which I think it's plain I don't. The pickings were slim, but we managed to find four carvable pumpkins, including one albino one that my sister claimed. I carved what is probably the sweetest vampire pumpkin ever, all by myself, without the assistance of those pussy stencils you can buy. I thought it was the sweetest one, anyway, until I saw my brother's simple statement on post-modern America. Brilliant.