When last we left our intrepid hero, he was clutching tightly to a nazgul as it dripped whipped cream filled balloons on unsuspecting hobbits. Boy, that was a good time.
On Tuesday, our hero climbed on board a Southwest Airlines jet and flew to Chicago on a special mission to help his parents move out of their secret hide-out in the suburbs and into a new super-lair on Huzzy Lake in Michigan. But our hero had to less help them move and more go through the piles and piles of crap he still had in the hide-out, it having been his parents’ home since he was three. In case you’re counting, that was a butt-ton years ago. A butt-ton, in this case, being exactly 30.
Wednesday morning, our hero valiantly did battle with Boxes-Of-Crap-From-High-School-and-College Man, throwing out most things, only holding on to those that had the greatest of sentimental meaning, or might possibly be worth something to someone on eBay. Though, honestly, the most valuable thing uncovered was most likely his signed Joe Girardi rookie card worth all of about $20 now thanks to the Yankees.
Box after box was opened, followed by much cursing from our hero. “Why the hell did I keep this old job handbook?” “I can’t possibly throw away torn off napkin piece because it reminds me of my great aunt.”
Tripping along on memory lane until late afternoon, our hero finally hit the brick wall of I-Can’t-Do-This-Anymore-Or-I’ll-Slam-A-Window-Shut-On-My-Fingers-In-Insanty-Monkey-Goober Man. Fortunately at this point Mom-Super-Hero-Nurse Lady arrived home from work and Dad-Super-Hero-Tired-Truck-Driving Man arrived home from the new lair in Michigan. Dad Man quickly jumped into bed to keep that rascally mattress from escaping, while Mom Lady and our hero got in the car and drove to his sister’s house for…
Our hero went trick-or-treating with his sister Sarah-Dressed-As-Princess-Lea Woman and his nephews: Jack-Luke-Skywalker Man (7), Owen-Anakin-Skywalker-Before-He-Turns-Evil Boy (5), and their trusty sidekick, the adorable Obiwan-NOT-Obiwan-Kenobi-Just-Obiwan Boy (3). They trolled through the bustling trick-or-treat haven of Oak-Park-Hemmingway’s-Boyhood-Home-But-Hemmingway-Hated-Oak-Park-And-Couldn’t-Wait-To-Leave, IL.
Afterwards our hero’s sister used her special super kitchen skills to whip up hot dogs, chili, a skull shaped cheese dip, apple dip to die for, crab dip that’ll kill you (if you’re our hero), brie with orange liqueur and raisins, and so on and so forth. Meanwhile swirling chaotic sea of costumed children ran about the front yard and house while 20 or so adults milled about drinking beer. The focal point of the soirée being a modest fire in a small metal portable fire pit in the front yard, quite necessary on a chilly (but thankfully warm for October) night in the Chicago Suburbs.
But alas, some unnamed evil lurking in the shadows called the Oak Park fire department and reported said blaze. Soon, much to the wide-eyed amazement of the children, a very large fire truck and equally large fire men came to the house. But alas our hero’s brother-in-law Paul-Paranoid-Boy-Scout Man leapt to action. The fireman pulled out a piece of paper with the statute regarding front-yard fires.
Was it in a fire-pit?
Yes, says Paul Man.
Do you have fire extinguisher?
Right here, says Paul Man grabbing it off the table.
Do you have a cover you can put over the fire?
Indeed! Says Paul Man retrieving the metal mesh cover.
Well, all right then. Have a nice Halloween. Sorry to bother you.
And crisis averted. Halloween was saved, and a good time was had by all.
Will our hero ever finish going through his stuff?
Will his nephews be able to sleep tonight after eating so much sugar?
And most importantly…
What’s your favorite candy for Halloween?