The Bone-Chilling, Spine-Tingling, Hair-Raising, Bloodcurdling Hallowe'en House of Horror

What Are We Giving Trick-or-Treaters at Our Doorstep?

Skittles that fell to earth in a torrential candystorm, just like in those commercials.

Raisins. They’re nature’s candy, kids! Eat ’em up!

A scorching case of V.D.

Some leftover gorp the possums didn’t get to.

Whatever lies within these cans with no labels.

Candy corn! Everybody loves candy corn! Mmmm corn. Mmm mmm mmm mm so good. Corn. Ooooh yeah.

Non-poisonous, razor blade- and hypodermic needle-free homemade cupcakes that won’t kill you, I promise.

Lovely parting gifts, including a year’s supply of Nissan Cup O’ Noodles.

Back issues of Playboy that I don’t want the wife to find.

Tommy Chong’s “Bag O’ Grass”.

Um, I got no candy. Sorry, little man. How’d you like a Newport Light?

Copies of our new CD, Clay Aiken’s Greatest Hits.

Crushing blows to the self-esteem of little children in the form of insulting remarks about their costumes.

Lascivious glares.

T-shirts, “I’m one of Heavy D’s Boyz”.

Steamy boudoir self-portraits.

My number, for you kids to take home and give to Mommy.

Gift Certificates, $10 off any purchase at Dick’s Video Porn Shaft.

A sense of smug self-satisfaction regarding Ann Coulter’s image as Rightwing Hot Chick.

The antidote.