When you think about it, life is just a series of decisions. Most of them are completely banal and easily forgotten, and some have the ability to stick with you for years. If you’ve behaved honorably, that can be a heartening reminder of your past, and if you haven’t, you may find yourself in my shoes. I am using this platform to admit that I was the guy who poisoned the beer supply on the cover of Municipal Waste’s 2007 album “The Art of Partying,” for which I am deeply ashamed.
Back then I was living next door to a group of crossover punks. The fact that they had been making my life a living hell with their killer riffs, gnarly skateboarding tricks, and literal nonstop partying is no excuse, but I was waking up at five in the morning for my job at an electronics component distribution facility. One day, bleary-eyed and mad with sleep deprivation, I broke into a nearby nuclear power plant and stole a mysterious barrel with a skull and crossbones on it. What happened after I added the strange green liquid to my neighbor’s beer has haunted me ever since.
The chaos that ensued was otherworldly, and the thought of it chills my bones to this day. It was a vomit-soaked, blood-drunk orgy of anthropophagous hysteria; the likes of which the world had never seen, and hopefully never will again. Seven dead and two institutionalized with no hope of recovery. I was never suspected, but imprisonment would be a relief compared to the staggering guilt I have lived with for nearly two decades. In some ways, I wish I had been torn limb from limb by one of the nightmarish beasts borne of my selfish and cowardly decision, at least then I wouldn’t be the guilt-ravaged shell of a man at the helm of this shameful missive.
I write this to you, dear reader, not for your pity, anger, or disgust (though you are wholly entitled to feel all of these,) and I certainly do not intend this as a righting of my horrific misdeed. One glance at the macabre result of my sins brandishing that album cover is more than enough to conclude that that could never be possible. I simply ask that you learn from my story, and think twice before your actions haunt you forever. I may not be kept awake by the sick shredding and beer-fueled calls of my thrashing neighbors any longer, but the torment of my guilty thoughts is by no means a welcome substitute.
Still trick-or-treating actually.
Also still trick-or-treating. Should he have a gun?
He left his candy at a club across the Canadian border and he wants you to follow him there. DON’T.
Kids don’t knock on James’ door for Halloween because his door is the open road baby. And his bed is his bike. And cliche soap opera subplots that go absolutely nowhere and don’t tie back to the main story in any way? That’s his living room.
Once upon a time, Ben Horne would sick attack dogs on any child that game within 20 yards of his front gate, but he has since reformed and dedicated himself to being “Good.” Unfortunately, he course-corrected too far in the opposite direction. He’s the weirdo who hands out toothbrushes and raisins now. Plus he tells all the kids that he’s their biological father.
“Go away, I’m doing flower secrets!”
When she opens the door she’s crying and when you ask her what’s wrong she says “I don’t have any candy!” and then she does a sad little jazz dance until you give her some of yours.
If you ring Leo’s door on Halloween night he’ll hand you a large Ziploc bag filled with Snickers, Reese’s Cups, Peanut M&M’s, the works. Primo shit. So why doesn’t he rank hire? Because to qualify as Halloween candy, it has to be given. Every kid Leo floats candy to has one week to get him five grand, “or else.”
Oh hell no. You knock on Hank’s door and he’ll try spinning it that you owe HIM candy for all the time he did in the joint. Like, chill dude, I’m 11!
Wait, isn’t that the dude from “Halloween 3?” Stay away kids!
Big Ed is a legendary candy-giver, but if you have the misfortune of knocking on his door when he’s in the can you’ll get his wife Nadine, who will absolutely lose her shit when you ask if she’s a pirate and throw a bunch of failed silent curtain rings at you.
Pete’s a great guy, but he doesn’t totally get Halloween.
When kids knock on his door instead of giving them candy he pulls out a brie and butter sandwich and goes on and on about how good they are and how many of them he ate a day in Europe before taking a comically large bite. Then when the kids ask “Can we try it?” he screams “What? No! Never!” and slams the door shut.
“A shame, I had some wonderful tins of beluga caviar but the last group of kids cleaned me right out.” Sure you did Dick. Sure you did.
He’ll have a big reaction to your costumes, then tell you they remind him of when his Laura used to dress up for Halloween and start crying. Then he gets all happy again and insists you dance to the “Monster Mash” with him, and he’s playing the grief card so you have to do it. Leland is a lot, and the clock is ticking.
Once an FBI agent who gave awesome candy with no strings attached, Windom has long since gone completely insane. There’s still candy to be had dear children, oh yes, but to find it you’ll need to follow a series of clues, each more dangerous and horrifying than the last. So what do you say kids, do you want to play Windom Earl’s twisted game? The answer is of course no. Filling up that pillowcase is about clock management!
If you’re trick-or-treating and Bobby answers the door he’ll tell you to beat it, but he’ll say it a different way every time. “Get lost!” “Make tracks” “You better pound that pavement or I’ll pound your face!” He’s an inexhaustible source of needlessly hostile cornball threats, and it’s charming in a way.
No candy, but he’ll let you sneak a sip of his beer.
“Before you came here, Twin Peaks was a simple place. My brothers deal dope to the teenagers and the truck drivers. One-Eyed Jack’s welcomed the businessmen and the tourists. Quiet people lived a quiet life. Then, a pretty girl dies, and you arrive, and everything change […] Kidnapping. Death. Suddenly, the quiet people, they’re quiet no more. Suddenly, the simple dream…become the nightmare. So maybe if you die, you will be the last to die. Maybe you brought the nightmare with you. And maybe the nightmare will die with you.” The whole speech, every time. Just say you forgot to get candy dude!
Suspiciously hand-wrapped taffy and a suggestion to eat them one hour before watching “The Wizard of Oz” and listening to Pink Floyd’s “Dark Side of the Moon” at the same time. Has anyone checked if this guy is really a doctor?
No candy, but she hands out vouchers good for one free cocktail at One Eyed Jack’s.
You’ll get a long-winded speech about the dangers of excessive sugar consumption followed by an over-the-top bit about how he delivered you into this world and he doesn’t want to have to bury you before he finally, FINALLY, gives you a Twizzler. Not worth your time.
Homemade candy apples. It’s better than just apples, but that’s a whole lot of effort for something not even as good as a 3 Musketeers lady.
He’s all butterscotch and Bit-O-Honeys, proof positive that he’s completely out of touch, and Twin Peaks is in desperate need of new leadership.
Each child at her door is handed a generous handful of top-shelf fun-sized chocolate bars, so why is she ranked so low? Because once the door is shut she reaches for the telephone. “Police? This is Catherine Martell. I would like to report some stolen candy. Yes, one was a ghost and the other was Thor. Please hurry, I’m terrified that they’ll be back for more.” Then she hangs up and takes a sip of wine before breaking into an evil and calculating grin. Cue ominous music.
