Glancing around at the empty room I prepare myself for the evening. There is maybe enough time for a sandwich before the little costumed children start knocking at the door demanding sweet treats. The darkness is soothing and instead of turning on the light I decide to light the pumpkin candle sitting on the kitchen table. Suddenly there is a knock on the door.
I ignore the wind, that howls like a wounded animal seeking help, and turn out the porch light. Microwaving left-over mexican food, I plop my butt down in a chair, eat quickly while watching Keith Olbermann on Countdown.
As an hour passes, the horror on the screen is palpable. The Alfred E. Newman like image (What? Me worry?) emitting from the dark screen keeps lieing, and spitting out foul words, his face becoming larger and larger in my head.
I grab a bowl out of the cabinet and quickly tear open a bag of suckers. I dump them in the bowl, turning on the porch light as I fling open the door, and begin searching the street for sweet faces in horror dress. I find none. Suddenly a flowing white image comes out of the dark. What's next???????
Wow. That was not the story I expected at the end there! Brandy, it seems like we were on the same wavelength, and things started to get frightening with the howling of a wounded animal, until somebody had to go and plop their butt on the couch! Where's the romance? Where's Lord Byron when we need him? Hm? Hm?
It is to be expected, when ending a story with numerous question marks, that one might get the unexpected.
Throw in the current intense political climate (and Bob, your over the top relative who watches non-stop CNN when possible) and you get butts in seats and horror in the night. No romance, unless you count the image Condy and GW in your head. Hmm, hmm, hmm?
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Whats next?
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As an hour passes, the horror on the screen is palpable. The Alfred E. Newman like image (What? Me worry?) emitting from the dark screen keeps lieing, and spitting out foul words, his face becoming larger and larger in my head.
I grab a bowl out of the cabinet and quickly tear open a bag of suckers. I dump them in the bowl, turning on the porch light as I fling open the door, and begin searching the street for sweet faces in horror dress. I find none. Suddenly a flowing white image comes out of the dark. What's next???????
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Throw in the current intense political climate (and Bob, your over the top relative who watches non-stop CNN when possible) and you get butts in seats and horror in the night. No romance, unless you count the image Condy and GW in your head. Hmm, hmm, hmm?
Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! OOOOOOOOOOOOO!!! (Can you tell I'm overworked?)
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