Halloween is kid's stuff

Oh, and when you got the mask untangled you put it back on, and it was cold with sweat; it would slip and slide against your sticky skin and your breath ricocheted off the brittle sharp edges of the mouth part of the mask and into your nostrils beading up and dripping back down onto your lips-and it didn't even taste good and salty, it tasted plasticky.

And when I was a kid you were supposed to cart around with you a little orange donation box for the UNICEF agency; and when you'd say "trick-or-treat!" you were told to add "...for Unicef" at the tail end, but I never did. I didn't even ever bring the box along 'cause I didn't feel so guilty about getting free candy that I should have to solicit to help needy kids I didn't have any connection to whatsoever.

"Trick-or-treat for UNICEF, trick-or-treat for UNICEF"-yeah, then bring the little orange box home, dump the loose coins on your bedroom floor, gather it, go to town and buy more candy (hey, all you bratty little kids who grew up to be liberals? You must think you're helping poor and sick people anytime you pledge money to NPR, right?).

Why did I need to trick-or-treat? I could have had candy anytime I wanted it.

At age 10, retired from trick-or-treating, I doled out candy to my peers-at leats those who swung by my house on Halloween night.

"Rusty?," a girl once called out, her voice muffled behind a dime-store Wonder Women mask.

"Yeah?", I answered, my voice undeterred.

"Wh-what are you doing?"

"Giving Wonder Woman, a kid in a sheet, G. I. Joe, and I don't know what the heck Julie is dressed as, and who's that behind the Liberace mask-oh yeah, Steve, I should have known-and Steve, candy. Why, what are you doing?"

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