“She’s got to start sewing.” He had a portfolio of drawings under his arm and looked exactly like an excited Norman Rockwell, complete with pipe. “We’re going to have abundant possessions.”
“You mean we’re going to be rich?”
“That’s what I just said.”
“Oh no,” I said. “Not again.”
He clenched his pipe between his teeth. “Can’t miss this time. Want in?”
“Okay,” I said. “I’ll bite. What’s going to make us abundantly blessed this time?”
“Halloween costumes,” he said, pointing to his drawings. “I have all the designs right here.”
“Halloween costumes?” I took a deep breath.
“Just in time for the elections.”
“What have the elections got to do with Halloween?” I said. This was taking an ominous turn.
“Synergy,” he said, “that’s the interaction or cooperation of two or more organizations, substances, or other agents to produce a combined effect greater than the sum of their separate effects …”
“I know what synergy is,” I said, “but how does it link Halloween and the elections?”
He looked at me as if I had just asked why the sky gets dark at night. “Fear,” he said. “Haven’t you heard? Fear is the dominant campaign theme of our party.”
“Your party,” I said.
“Whatever,” he said. “We’ve got white people shaking in their boots with fear and my idea will cinch it.”
“C.W.,” I said. “Sometimes you disappoint me.”
“Lookit,” he said, pulling a sheet from his packet. It was a drawing of a costume made to look like President Barack Obama in a mullah outfit holding a sword and bloody head in one hand and a candy bag in the other that said “Give me your riches, or else.”
“Christ,” I said, “Put that thing away.”
He let it fall to the floor and retrieved another. It was a drawing of a costume that would fit over a young child and resulted in a seven-foot likeness of Michael Brown with a sign that said, “Give me your daughter, or die.”
“Clever, eh?” he said.
“Disgusting,” I said.
This time he looked a little disappointed, but he discarded it and pulled out another. It was a girl’s outfit this time—a red dress, high-heeled red shoes, and a Nancy Pelosi mask. She was holding a big beaker labelled “Ebola juice. Will trade for candy.”
“Out,” I said. “Out. And don’t return until you’ve come to your senses.”
“But wait,” he said, “you haven’t seen ‘Hillary Viper’ or ‘Pit Bull Biden’ or ‘Creepy Crawley Carter’ or “Rob A Manwewill’ or ..”
“Out,” I said.
"From ghoulies and ghosties and long leggety
beasties and things that go bump in the night,
Good Lord, deliver us!" - Scottish Prayer
Said to be one of the oldest examples of your
written English language. - C.W.
I guess I yelled it this time for a voice came from the next room, “You two better quieten down in there,” it said, “I’m working on a project.”
“She’ll be on my side,” C.W. said. Then he yelled out in his sweetest voice. “Whatcha working on, Mizz BD?”
“An idea for a Halloween costume,” she said.
“See,” he said, smirking at me, “she’ll be my partner in this.” The he yelled back. “I’ll bet it’s a good one,” he said. “What do you call it?”
“Bawling Boehner Bones,” she yelled back.
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