Not at all as fun

As memory serves me, Halloween used to be more fun. I never got as much candy as everyone else, it seems, and I hoarded it for months, sorting and resorting it into styrofoam egg cartons. But I got to wear costumes, and shuffle around the piles of leaves on dark streets with giggling all around.
As I have aged, much to my chagrin, I find all holidays are fun because grown-ups worked at it. Shit, the amount of effort it takes to gut up an even half-way decent holiday is huge. I carved exactly one six-inch pumpkin, purchased approximately $12 of candy, and seasoned about one cup of pumpkin seeds. Not much, I know, but anything that does not involve a remote seems like too much work for me nowadays.

I spent a good chunk of the afternoon invading people's privacy by calling to convice them to vote against prop.2. I don't think I've ever been hung up on so many times in one day. I know that the effort is a complete waste of time, but I can't help feeling that I'll regret it if I don't do something, anything, in the final days leading up to the election.

There is no fucking way this amendment is staying off of the Michigan Constitution. I have begun the healing process by fanticizing about the ad we'll play when the dust settles. It would be several young, happy professionals (exactly the kind that Michigan is desperately trying to hold on to), telling about their productive jobs here (we could be first, I mean, a doctor and a social worker, that seems pretty good) and how they're planning on leaving the state because of the amendment. As the images faded to black, a phrase would fade in :"We're outta here, have fun aging alone!" or maybe "We hope you inhale your own vomit and die from pneumonia, you back-woods inbreds!"

Is "inbreds" a viable insult? It seems pretty good to me.

Shit, now I have to go hand out candy to these inbreds' ugly children. Nasty.