bleedin' punk kids!

The doorbell rings for the second time. Little hands start to bang on the glass outside. You've guessed it folks, it's hallowe'en! to answer it would be sensible. Some might even say in the spirit of the festival, but to be honest, even if I were celebrating Samhain, I wouldn't be doing it by answering the front door to a bunch of snot-nosed kids.

Anyway, I hear the voice of an adult outside. Some sanity perhaps, so I put down the ceiling light I was rewiring and answer. Once the chocolate was depleted and there were only monkey nuts left, half the kids sauntered off with remarks like "I don't like peanuts" or "I'm allergic". blood boiling time.

I called them back. Only the ones who griped, mind. Each of them got a swift knock offa my plasma rifle, the parents too. Then I blinked, realising that hadn't happened and shut the door so I could complain loudly to everyone else about the little brats.

If I ever have kids, they're definitely not going to turn out like that. Because if they do...

...and that.