It’s Halloween, yo! Or, as I like to call it, Haul-oween! Get it? Because I haul so much candy back to my crib it gives me hyperactive diabetes just thinking about it! Let’s not kid ourselves here. Raging parties, sexy girls dressed as nurses, getting high in a corn maze: all well and good, but not the reason we TRULY love Halloween. The unequivocal, unquenchable purpose of Halloween is the candy. That delicious confection of sugar, sugar, and whatever the hell candy corn is made of.
Paraffin and seal tears, probably.
“Yo Chris!” some of you more thick-skulled peeps out there might be saying. “You’re doing a review of Halloween candy before Halloween? How’d you manage to get your candy early?”
Well, my less mentally endowed friends, it just so happens that I work for one of the most prestigious review organizations in the world on top of being the most well known and respected food critic this side of the ozone! So if they somehow don’t already know who I am based on legend alone, then all I gotta do is flash ‘em this bad boy:
All right, so let’s get this bitch rolling. I got my six-man Chris Derricks Review Crew dressed up as ghosts and pirates and shit and we’re ready to go! Now, if we’re going to review Halloween candy, then there’s only one place to go: Old Ms. Baxter’s place on Oakwood Street. I used to trick or treat her house all the time back in the day, and she always gave out the dopest candy! Just armfuls and armfuls of the richest, creamiest chocolates and popcorn balls and sweet tarts and all that goodness! She spent so much money on candy for Halloween that she couldn’t afford her house payments. But every time some government tools would come try to kick her to the curb she’d just load them up with candy and they’d leave her doorstep, their faces lit up with the happiest smiles you’d ever seen, not to bother her again. She’s a wonderful lady.
Anyhow, my crew and I rolled up to Ms. Baxter’s house. It was a decent size two story place, with a conservative brown exterior that belied the delicious wealth within. Already salivating, I knocked on the door. After a minute or two, a middle aged dude whose name I’d later learn was Dave opened the door. He eyed us with skepticism. I spoke up.
“Hey there. Chris Derricks, Reviews of the Month. You probably heard of me when I banged your mom or your sister or one of your various lady friends. We’d like some candy.”
“I- what?” His eyes narrowed. “Look, assholes, Halloween is for kids. And also not for three days.”
I could feel my crew tensing behind me. They don’t like it when someone disrespects their Derricks. I held up a diplomatic hand.
“Hey man,” I said. “Maybe you best let us talk to Ms. Baxter. She’ll know what’s up.”
He let out a short laugh. “Ms. Baxter? She hasn’t lived here in years. Dead as roadkill. I bought this house from her grandkids.”
I took a step back. Man, that had blindsided me!
“Wait. Old Ms. Baxter, the God-Queen of candy, is dead?”
My eyes musta got as big as the titties on the last chick I banged, and those were huge. Holy shit! Do you know what this means?! I turned to my crew.
“Ghost candy!” I yelled.
“Hell yes!” my crew shouted back. “Best there is!”
“No, wait, what?” Dave said. “There’s no such thing as—hey!”
But we were already hooting and hollering and filing into old Ms. Baxter’s house to search it out of that sweet, sweet ghost candy.
Dave ran after us, shouting some nonsense about “trespassing” and “the police.” What a kidder. We ran up and down every inch of that place, checked under every piece of furniture, pried open every vent, but there was no ghost candy to be found. Eventually, we regrouped in the entryway. Dave was off somewhere, yelling into a telephone. My crew and I were all a little disappointed. Ghost candy would’ve been a hell of a thing to get our hands on, but apparently old Ms. Baxter’s spirit had moved on. I grabbed a few Jolly Ranchers out of a bowl beside the door and popped them into my mouth to satiate my sweet tooth.
Dave came around the corner, looking like a douche.
“I’ve called the police, you maniacs! You can’t just break into somebody’s house and tear the place up, I don’t care who you are!”
I laughed around the Jolly Ranchers. “Yeah, well-” I started to say, but then something horrible happened. A sharp stab in my tongue. Oh my God! All the horror stories are true!
I spewed the candy from my mouth, splattering Dave with a blue raspberry facial. I touched my finger to the tip of my tongue and then held it out. There, in the midst of blue spit, was a red streak of blood! I gasped. My crew gasped.
“RAZOR BLADES!!” I screamed. “THERE ARE RAZOR BLADES IN THESE!!”
Dave jumped back with obvious guilt. “What, no! Those are just Jolly Ranchers! They can get sharp when you suck on them and cut your tongue sometimes, ask anybody!”
Just then the cops pulled up. I screamed shrill bloody murder and they came running in, guns drawn. Dave threw his hands in the air, trying to calm the situation.
I pointed at him. “Yo! This guy’s putting razor blades in Halloween candy!”
“You sick fuck!” shouted an officer as they tasered Dave to the ground.
He tried to mount a rebuttal, but all that came out of his mouth was saliva and gurgling. I sank into the gentle arms of my crew. Finally, the nightmare was over.
The cops dragged Crazy Dave away and started searching through his house. I told them there wasn’t any ghost candy, but they felt like poking around anyway. It was probably good they did. They found, like, four more razor blades in his bathroom, so clearly Dave was planning to strike again. Boy, did I feel relieved! Children everywhere are just lucky that Chris Derricks was there to save the day!
The paramedics arrived soon enough, and they saw to it that my shredded tongue was pieced back together. I declined an ambulance ride to the emergency room, ‘cause I’m a stone-cold badass. One of the officers came up to me a little while after they had hauled that sick bastard Dave away. He clapped his hand on my shoulder.
“I’d like to thank you for what you’ve done here today,” he said. “You put a psychopath in prison and made the streets a safer place. And for that, I’d like to offer you my daughter’s hand in marriage. When she comes of age, of course.”
“Yo, thanks but no thanks,” I said, leaving him in tears.
After all, I already got a lady. And her name is Every Lady.