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Halloween might seem to be a holiday that holds
adults hostage to the ravages of children, but a
the wise reader (with a little help from this
column) can find advantage among the havok. For one
thing, the custom that sends the little clots
around dressed up like gruesome bloodsuckers,
ghastly butchers, obscene little monsters, grisly
slabs of pestilence and slobbering evil incarnate
could be seen as truth in advertising concept
(Pirandello would have loved it) and a refreshing
change from their usual disquises as little angels
with combed locks and fresh frocks.
Sure, the season also licenses the little
hellions to knock at the doors of normal folk and
demand "treats" under penalty of playing dirty
"tricks" on homeowners if not satisfied, a
repugnant form of protection racket for infantile
delinquents. But who says the beseiged householder
can't play get in on the fun with a few tricks of
his own? For instance, it's loads of fun to watch a
four-year-old, tellingly dressed as a pirate,
plunge his greedy hands into a bowl in which
several pounds of M & M's have been carefully
poured over a few mousetraps. Yo,ho,ho, me hearty.
Not much of a trick, really. But then hardly a
treat, either.
Repulsing these already fairly repulsive little
hordes should involve at least as much imagination
as they did in outfitting themselves. Sticking a
few obviously child-sized skulls on the fence posts
can keep the little nippers at bay while
maintaining the spirit of the holiday. Of course,
there's also the traditional, symbolic version--the
Jack O'Lantern. Simple enough to make; all you need
is a candle, a sharp knife, a scoop and a
trifle-too-trusting tyke named Jack.
Every year some idiot gets a little celebrity
for giving trick-or-treaters drugs. I find this
reprehensible. Drugs are expensive and hard to get
and should not be wasted on the young, especially
on Haloween when they're all dressed up as
hallucinations and sugar-tripping anyway.
I would also warn against putting razor blades
and pins in candy. While superficially an
attractive idea, it is again a victim of modern
times, in which kids delight in adorning themselves
with razorblades through their septums and
earlobes. A cleft palate is probably a coveted
fashion accessory, so why play into their
hands?
It used to be easy just to stop by the
drug store for "Ex Lax" and "Pheenomint", which so
closely resemble chocolate and chiclets. And it was
heart-warming to imagine the little lumps moaning
on their potties while their extorted goodies
erupted. But today's kids are wise to such tricks,
so try adapting another traditional set-up, the
apple bobbing tub.
Beginners can merely wait until the little
rotters kneel to snap up the proffered fruit, then
boot them right in their booties. Okay, it's
unsubtle, crude and low-tech, but it makes its own
statement. Advanced apple-baiting techniques
include tying small but tenacious alnico magnets
(available from the back pages want ads where
popular mad scientists get all their goodies) to
nearly invisble fishing line leading out of the
water and over to your favorite trolling rod. When
you hear the limpetlike click of a magnet smacking
a set of dental braces, just snatch up the rod and
settle back in your front porch fighting chair for
clean fun and macho, Hemingwayesque exercise. If
you use a light (say twenty pound) line, even a
five year old goblin can put up a darned good
fight. I've also found that their frantic
sunfishing and thrashing around seems to keep other
tricksters from approaching.
Harkening back to another Halloween tradition,
why not offer your nocturnal pestilences trays of
hacked-off parts of various small and ineffectual
animals, such as the kids themselves ares so fond
of torturing and dismembering? Far from delight,
however, many kids read only reproach in the glassy
gaze of a decapitated spaniel and while they may
gleefully sing about greasy, grimy gopher guts and
mutilated monkey meat, they often quail at the
reality. I'm sure they'd be equally daunted by 99
actual bottles of real beer.
The average kitchen contains a veritable arsenal
of anti-personnel treats. Chocolate-coated
alka-selzer tablets create time-delayed havoc--for
more immediate foaming sprinkle donuts with oven
cleaner. "Mints" from air fresheners are
refreshing...but why not just spring for a copy of
Freddy Kreuger's Household Hints or (better yet)
The Weekend Warrior's Halloween and Diet Cookbook
with yummy recipes such as Roach Motel Wafers, alum
cookies and tabasco kisses. Fans of projectile
vomiting might find it worthwhile to lay in a
little syrup of ipecac for the occasion.
When I actually go so far as to give the little
rodents real candy, I offer only cylinderical types
like tootsie rolls. These make it easier to hide
the firecrackers that I tip with tiny slow fuses so
that they'll go off in the indefinite future. When
they explode they reduce the paper sack to confetti
(More periferal festivity) and blow a cloud of
candy all over the street in a manner reminiscent
of the Mexican pinata. The charges are too small to
seriously injure the children. However, injuries do
frequently occur when hordes of the little jackals
stampede in to scavenge up the shrapnelized treats.
Or, of course, if they have already wolfed them
down with out chewing or indeed unwrapping them.
But then, parents repeatedly warn children that
such practices lead to tummy aches, and I always
support parental wisdom when possible, or at least
when convenient and/or profitable.
A little thought can turn Halloween from a trial
into a really fun affair in which kids actually
come to your door and VOLUNTEER to be guinea pigs
in unwholesome psycho-social experiments. Let your
imagination run free, if not toally amok. How much
trouble would it be to hinge your "Welcome" mat so
a touch of the doorbell would plunge your tender
visitors into chambers of spiders, snakes and
similar gruesome greeters? A little neighborly
cooperation could turn your entire block into a
gauntlet of gory dementia, a sort of Steven King
theme park. So have a happy hosting the horrors,
huh?
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THE WEEKEND WARRIOR
SAMPLE TEXTS
by Linton Robinson
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