Where are the kids under 14 who have not been called costumist candy seekers by homeowners and tenants? Where are the neighborhood associations who have not advised their members to hole up in their bungalows to appease various rascals dressed as Harry Potter, Dobby, Darth Vader, Alice in Wonderland or Pikachu with Tootsie Rolls, Left (of course) Twix Bars or mini Mr. Goodbars?
Two things result from this fact.
I. Costumism is already acknowledged by all local powers to be itself a power.
II. It is about dern time costumists ask for more than just candy corn or circus peanuts. They should expect entire Crunch bars, nachos with cheddar cheese sauce, chicken on a stick, the occasional 25-year-old cassette tape, vinyl copies of Taylor Swift's 1989 (Taylor's Version, which has been out a week already) and Whopper Whopper Whopper Whoppers.
With all this a certainty derived from the science of economics, I walked toward the front of Fair Park facing Mockingbird Lane, eager to accomplish revolution, crying "Workers of the world, unite! You have nothing to lose but your chains." There was no response from the first man I saw, the oppressed scarecrow on the right.
But Fair Park had more sights to astound and worry the proper revolutionary. Costumists were attacking the grounds in a single file of vehicles, each a product of capitalistic allurement, but were being (only temporarily) placated in their demand for release from class determinism with, of all things, Kit Kats! Now and Laters! M & Ms, the ones without peanuts!
Seeing no prospect of fomenting a rebellion of the costumists against their employers, I found myself at a thing called a Trunk and Treat. From the sound of that, I gathered that I could hijack the elephants present and ride like Hannibal upon the works of the bourgeois hyenas!
Yes, there at Unity Baptist Church were hundreds of costumists, many dressed as zoo animals, but no elephants to whom the trunks I presumed belonged. These were trunks of more capitalistic contraptions from Detroit, Tokyo, Smyrna, Tennessee. Opened to display more candies to co-opt the costumists who walked by.
In search of a successful uprising, I followed the young costumists I saw mounting an attack on First Baptist Church. And again, the appeasement of the masses was the strategy there. Here with tables and stations set up with games, the irresistible bouncy castle, as merciless a weapon of the promotion of false consciousness as we have confronted. I could not but blanche at the scene and use my Android to take pictures.
As the sun set, enveloping my evening of attempted comradeship in the torpor of apathy. I sat at home, taking solace only from the 77 Reece's Peanut Butter cups I had not handed out to fellow costumists. My ends can be attained only by the forcible overthrow of all existing social conditions. In the meantime, it's Monster Night on Dancing With the Stars!
Comrade Smithpeters