So I'm making a list of things I hate, and it's Yonkers, NY.

So, I heard a little rumor that today was Halloween.

And don't you start with me on that "But it's after Midnight so it was actually yesterday" bullshit. Half the clocks I own have automatically reset themselves for Daylight Savings, and the other half are waiting a week because they're linked up to a different clock that won't reset until next week sometime. So don't even get me started on time being a completely arbitrary concept, and we'll leave it at it it Halloween until I see the motherfucking sun rise.

Anyways, I heard it was Halloween today when I went in to work - at a Halloween shop - and it was Halloween. Imagine that! By the way, protip: don't shop for a Halloween costume on Halloween. There are no costumes left, you look like a huge idiot, and it makes me hate you. So I guess I'll add that to the list; Yonkers, NY and people who Halloween shop on Halloween.

So I show up and throw on a priest outfit, catering to one of my deep dark fantasies - the one where I slay vampires, not the one where I betray the human race and and sleep with an evil sorceress. Or maybe both, actually. (One of the little perks at working at the shop is that you get to wear any costume. Also you get to play with the toy scythes in the back room.) So that was fun. I felt like a badass during my break, chillin in the middle of the shopping center, rocking the collar and shades while I had a cigg.

But motherfucking Yonkers, man. Let's get beyond how much I hate being associated with a place called Yonkers. Yonkers. Jesus. Do you know they have a tattoo parlor here? Could you imagine that? Getting a tattoo and then having to tell people you got it in Yonkers? I'd fucking lie.

"Sweet tat, man, where'd you score that?"

"I don' fucking know, man, I was drinking at this party and I passed out, and when I woke up I was strapped to this chair with a fucking beartrap on my face, and I had this ink of a unicorn goring Santa Clause while trampling his gnomish slaves as a redheaded virgin straddled his back and held up the bloody severed head of rudolph."

"Oh. Actually I was talking about that one."

"Thor smiting Mecha-Hitler? I picked that one up on a trip to Sydney. Yeah, I knew you were talking about this one, I just love telling that story."

Not that the people who live here don't deserve it. I swear to God, I had this conversation with just about every parent who came into the store today.

"Ooh, are you Harry Potter?"

Why no, I would respond, trying to stay cool and suave while not punching them in the face. Then I would point subtly to my collar and say, I'm a man of the cloth.

"I don't know what that means, but can I give you a hug?"

No, because I took a vow of celibacy and you're a fucking idiot.

And then I would give their children candy, which I liked to think was a metaphor for giving them shotguns, and make the sign of the cross above them, and tell them "May the Light of Lights go with you," which I liked to think was a metaphor for telling them "Your parents are zombies. If you kill them and everyone you know, God will forgive you."

I should take this opportunity to bring up that when the three people who did recognize a priest tried to confess to me, I would have none of it because I really didn't want to know about their lives. When the fuck did being a priest stop meaning that you carry a revolver loaded with silver bullets? All I wanted to do was burn witches, man. That's all I fucking wanted. Burn witches, stab vampires, shoot werewolves. I just wanted to be a good priest, the kind from back when being a priest meant you weren't a pussy.

Whatever. Who had a good Halloween? I did. I had a posse! I'm waiting on pictures, I'll throw them up first chance. Whatever, I need a cigarette, I'm leaving.