Dainty flower Jules...the fro sporting ostrich jockey.
Nothing says Halloween like a flash flood rainbow.
A chickencess...new Halloween concept in the process of patent.
Ahhhhhhh. That's me sighing with chocolate drool relief that it's officially November and we can now enjoy the harvest season without getting all tangled up amidst bloody corpses hanging from tarantula webs. Not that I don't enjoy that...about as much as pushing play on the answering machine and hearing a "reminder call" from my dentist.
But shouldn't it disturb us that we're entirely desensitized to melting faces and strewn body parts on front lawns? On the up side, I have filed away in my demented brain the most opportune time to murder you, as I can bury your body in full daylight while smiling and waving to the mail lady. (straight faced eyebrow lift)
Speaking of dead birds, I'm hosting THE FEAST this year. I've found it's the only way I can be trusted to perform household hygiene on an annual basis. If there's one thing I've learned, it's that I must be compelled in all things. And if there is no reason for said yearly cleanse, well, you can expect oniony B.O. reeking from my kitchen's armpits and a few boil like zits popping up on the baseboards. And nothing says, "Oh my he%#, what IS that?" like a white head on a baseboard.
So just like all good intentions, I'm starting tomorrow.
Or next Monday.
Or the Wednesday night before THE FEAST.
Don't roll your eyes. You knew what I was when you picked me up, people.
Plus there's a tremendous satisfaction found in white head extraction.
Anyway, where was I? Oh, yes...
"WHO WANTS PUMPKIN PIE...WITH FRESH CREAM?"