I was having one of those mornings where I find myself standing bleary eyed in front of a Dunkin Donuts staring at the wad of cash I'd pulled from my pocket and wondering just where did all those single bills come from?. I was fairly certain I hadn't been trolling strip clubs in my sleep again. That damn sleep stripping. But then I remembered that Mr. Scoop and I had been out the night before. I was looking at the remains of the tens of dollars I'd taken out of a grossly surcharge jacked ATM located in a Store 24 somewhere in the 9th circle of hell...because the taxi ride home was...expensive...
Note - If you ever get so drunk that you forget that you've actually driven to your destination and take a cab home instead, causing you to have to take a cab back the next day and get your car - you were to drunk to drive home.
Yesterday, I tried to convince Mr. Scoop that we should spend Halloween in a bar avoiding the trick-or-treaters. Mr. Scoop was having none of it: "The Mexicans will egg our house if we are not there to greet them with Reese's peanut butter cups and little bags of M & Ms. This is because they use real sugar in their Coca Cola, giving them energy for such endeavors. Plus, I took an informal straw poll among the last ten homeless guys that dove our dumpster. We need to be home. Preferably, armed."
"Ok, fine", I said. "You're on door duty though. And don't forget to ask them if they have any peanut allergies before you give out the peanut butter cups." "Their heads will swell up and they will die and they will LIKE IT!", he shouted, furiously dumping candy that had been hastily purchased from "Manny's Store U Like" on the corner into a empty Coors Light case. For the kids, you know.
At 7 o'clock, the doorbell rang. "Trick or treat!" came the happy chorus from outside the door. I was standing in the kitchen so, as Mr. Scoop opened the door, I had a clear view of the smiling faces of a little witch, the tiniest ninja and some assorted older siblings hoping to continue cashing in on candy until they got bored and decided to go toilet paper something. In the front of the assembly was a little boy, no more than 2, wide eyed in his fuzzy rhino suit and excited by the shouting voices of his siblings and idea of impending candy.
"Trick or treat!", came the cries of the children at the door. Mr. Scoop looked the baby rhino dead in the eye. "Give me all the Oxy!" he yelled.
The children ran screaming from our porch.
And that's when I turned off all the lights and snuck us out of the back garage to hide out in the bar for the rest of the evening.
Does anyone need any toilet paper?
Because we have lots.