(Remember, Clark's PL&T column is on Daily Thunder right now. Read it. Or don't. Whatever.)
It's that weekend. The one where you can dress like a slut or a complete lunatic and nobody will say a word. Some call it genius, some call it stupid. I'm not really sure I'd disagree with either statement.
But Halloween went in four stages for me growing up.
Stage 1: The Trick-or-Treater. I dressed up as either an army man or Indiana Jones and walked around my neighborhood asking for candy. Pretty simple. Pretty straightforward.
Stage 2: The Fall Festival-er. My mother began to grow paranoid of trick-or-treating because of Sprees lined with cocaine, drunk drivers running up on sidewalks and that creepy neighbor that kept inviting me inside to see his basement. So we went to the safe place that was our church's gym and threw beanbags through a hole and actually thought we were "winning" candy. Oh and there was a hay ride, but everybody just complained on it because who wants to ride outside on a some hay in 40 degree weather with nothing but a mermaid outfit on?