Today is Halloween and I think I like that it is on a Sunday, one of my days off, so I can just chill out and play with my Ouija Boards; play with myself; play with the new used banjo I bought recently and watch tiny, little men on the television screen play football. I sit here and play my banjo, butt naked in my apartment all alone, thinking of lost and future loves and the children I will never have, for if I did I would surely eat them! I long to eat children! I long to eat the sun! Hahahaaaa! I am a Darklord of Halloween Darkness! Hee! Ah, not really. I don’t even so much care about Halloween this year, have a lot on my mind, but my new banjo is kind of cool. Even though I’ve never seriously considered myself a “real” musician, I’ve been working on my debut album here and there for the past, um, 5 or 6 years? Hee! It’ll be out any decade now, and it is bound to get me an abundance of hot, young hip chicks.
Even though I don’t care so much about Halloween this year, my heart was touched somewhat last night. I attended a small gathering at a friend’s house in a nice, small quiet town about 5 miles away. In this town, every Halloween, there is some mystery person everyone refers to as the “Chain Man” who dresses up like a ghost, puts a white sheet over himself, wraps chains around his body and walks slowly around town, moaning and cling-clanging in eternal misery, no doubt, to the delight of the children. No one knows who it is, even in such a small town it is a secret. Everyone just lets this guy go about his business, entertaining the children, not bothering him and letting him have his fun. I sat out in my friend’s front yard, plucking the strings of my banjo, sitting on a bale of hay, surrounded by dead, dry brown autumn leaves as a fire blazed near me. I fiddled with the banjo strings, watching groups of trick-or-treaters walk up and down the street, walk to and back from my friend’s porch, giggling and getting their goodies, their precious fucking CaNDy. My friend’s wife dressed up as a witch, or something, and delighted in staying in the house to give out treats to the kids while us “men” sat out in the front yard. All the guys in attendance had children except me and I had to listen to them brag about everything from the intelligence of Steve’s eldest son to the cuteness of the dimples on the cheeks of Reggie’s youngest daughter. I kept quiet, for the most part, deep in thought and at a loss for words as I plucked at my banjo and stared into the fire, imaging children were inside the flames burning and screaming for Jesus, hating kids and those who had them more and more as the night went along.
Why did I come here? Was it to be taught a lesson? A Halloween lesson of love and family? HAHAHAHA! I think not, shazbot, and soon he came! The mysterious, celebrated “Chain Man” arrived on our block, walking slowly along the sidewalk in front of us. “Oh look kids! It’s the Chain Man!” my friend yelled out to the costumed, candy-grubbing children all around. The white-sheeted spectre glided clumsily by, dragging and rattling his chains, moaning and looking right at me as I plucked my banjo. The children stood still in awe of this novelty but I was not impressed. As a matter of fact I was appalled because I could see cum stains on the guy’s sheet! I have an eye for such things, but didn’t say a word, feeling sorely disgusted by this fucking pervert, knowing he was some pathetic, lonely man, the solitary town bachelor, no doubt, who got a sick thrill from dressing up like a ghost every Halloween, making the kids laugh and it was soooo convenient that in the dark no one could see the cum stains on his sheet; and underneath the sheet, no one could see he had an erection. His cock was hard for the children, to be put in a little girl’s warm wet mouth as he moaned and rattled his chains and said, “Yes, suck Chain Man’s cock. I have dreamed of this all year, giving you this candy.” And Chain Man knew I was thinking this, that I detected the cum-stains and saw his peter protruding from beneath his sheet, plucking my banjo and sending a message through the power of music into his sick, silently screaming soul. He couldn’t take his eyes off me as he walked slowly by, and it was all I could do not to throw down my banjo, leap from my bale of hay and rip the sheet from his filthy body, exposing him and showing that he was probably the creepy guy who worked and lived alone at the local full-service gas station a few blocks away, and that, YES, his cock was hard in front of the children; that YES, he was a fucking pathetic perv and that NO, it wasn’t “good, wholesome Halloween fun” on his part, but a clever ploy, a pathetic pedophilic attempt to validate his existence and the whole despicable pantomime nearly put me into a rage.
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