Another Halloween has come and gone, and with it the very stupid children who repeatedly knock at my door every year even though the porch light is off and no one answers. The last one knocked three times, very hard, shouting “Let us in!” in a hostile, breathless, whiny little voice redolent with its owner’s thwarted sense of entitlement. He was clearly a future Republican senator, and it gave me great pleasure to disappoint him.
I was thinking next year I should put up a sign somewhat along these lines:
But I had to reject the idea. They’d knock anyway, and as soon as they realized I wasn’t serious about the bone-grinding, no one would be able to control them, not even their parents. Soon they would posses weapons of mass destruction. Confident in the knowledge that we were too weak to stop them, they would openly flaunt their dirty bombs and nerve gasses on the playground. Not all the festively wrapped miniature Snickers bars in the world would be enough to satisfy their need for conquest.
For the security of our nation, we will all have to live with the knocking.
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