… the time of year where the veil between the land of the living and the land of teenage fucktards in hoodies & wellies is at it’s thinnest.
When doylems stalk the streets who think that I’m dumb enough to fall for them grabbing a handful of my Haribo then jumping the wall into my neighbours yard; doing the same to them – then coming back up my drive for seconds….
….without so much as a thank you, or a kiss my arse nor buggery.
I don’t mind the littlies (if they say thankyou and bother to dress up). It’s always fun seeing the kids who I work with, when they realise it’s me in fancy dress answering the door. (With the drawback that now they know where I live and I get the fear that I may end up with a burning wheelie bin shoved up against my front door in the future).
Next year any kid who doesn’t say thank you gets pushed down the feckin’ steps though.
Scratty scrote teenagers needn’t be trying to flatter me either with their; “Ooh you look great tonight if I say so Mrs”. “Whatever! Take a sweetie numbnuts and get the fuck off my steps!”
The joke was on them anyway. By the time the teenagers remembered it was Halloween and drunk enough Frosty Jack to think that Trick or Treating was cool again, I’d run out of decent bullets and had resorted to getting rid of the Absinthe sweets and Vimto Skidaddles (remember those Gene Genie?) which have been kicking around my kitchen since July.
Before anyone reports me for giving out sweets laced with booze. They were only Absinthe ‘flavoured’ and to be fair, it could have been worse. Check out the treat these kids from Greater Manchester got when they went out last night. trick-or-treat-kids-given-cocaine
Next year I’m going out Trick or Treating in Oldham!