Buckle up, fellow Americans. The caravan is on its way.

Any hour now—any minute—hundreds if not thousands of tiny masked weirdos will spill into our neighborhood streets, invade our porches, bang down our doors—and change the face of this great nation forever.

There’s a strange chill in the air—can you feel it? Beth says that’s just the time of year, but I don’t think so. Feels different. Like the calm before a storm of tiny weirdos dressed like Elsa from "Frozen."


Beth says I’m making mountains out of molehills, but does she spend all day in the basement keeping up with the news? No, she does not. Says she’s too busy changing my sheets and organizing my pills.

Dale gets it—says the whole thing scares him to bits. “We have no idea who these little people are,” says Dale. “What houses they coming from? Nothing.”

Beth says most likely they mean no harm. But I’m like, how can you say that when you don’t know who “they” is? I heard reports they’re armed with eggs, toilet paper, pebbles from the driveway—you name it. Well, Beth heard that and got real quiet.

“What kinda eggs?” says Beth.

I told her hop to it and bring me the AK.

Well, she might be scared, but not me. Tell you the truth, I’m P.O.’d. These tiny weirdos are out to take candy away from deserving Americans. Our people are wanting Tootsie Pops. Our citizens need Hot Tamales. And they're about to go to a bunch of Trick-or-Traitors?

Not on my watch.

My neighbor Phil’s like: you better relax before you kill your damn self with a heart attack. Well, I told Dale that and he just laughed. “Phil’s the kinda guy who leaves an untended bowl of candy on his front porch with a handwritten sign that says: ‘Please, take one only.’”

Other day I looked away from the TV and saw an autumn leaf drift by the skylight: just this bright, beautiful shade of orange. Made me think of our President. After dinner, Beth reads to me from his Twitter, which I find soothing. Last night he wrote: “These tiny losers MUST BE STOPPED! I have placed an executive order to scoop out the contents of Mitch McConnell’s head, light a candle inside, and leave it on the White House steps! This is a NATIONAL EMERGENCY!!!”

As you may imagine, I slept well that night.

Beth tells me Kimmy, the gal who does her nails, says Trick-or-Traitors are just, “little kids having fun.” They been doing this every year for as long as she can remember, says Kimmy, and she’s never had an issue. In fact, most of them are, “real polite.”

Well, I practically choked on my Jell-O when I heard that.

“Listen,” I tell Beth. “You come to my house dressed up like a Wolfman Ewok gypsy ghost, who’s to say that’s not exactly who you are? You telling me behind every mask there’s an innocent little kid with a sweet tooth?”

Mainstream media nonsense.

I for one am not about to waste my time wondering if behind all that face paint there’s an actual human being.

That first car is a rite of passage into adulthood. Specifically, the hard-earned lesson of expectations versus reality. Though some of us are blessed with Teslas at 17, most teenagers receive a car that’s been … let’s say previously loved. And that’s probably a good thing, considering nearly half of first-year drivers end up in wrecks. Might as well get the dings on the lemon, right?

Of course, wrecks aside, buying a used car might end up costing more in the long run after needing repairs, breaking down and just a general slew of unexpected surprises. But hey, at least we can all look back and laugh.

My first car, for example, was a hand-me-down Toyota of some sort from my mother. I don’t recall the specific model, but I definitely remember getting into a fender bender within the first week of having it. She had forgotten to get the brakes fixed … isn’t that a fun story?

Jimmy Fallon recently asked his “Tonight Show” audience on Twitter to share their own worst car experiences. Some of them make my brake fiasco look like cakewalk (or cakedrive, in this case). Either way, these responses might make us all feel a little less alone. Or at the very least, give us a chuckle.

Here are 22 responses with the most horsepower:

Keep Reading Show less

A group of baby penguins are being cared for by surrogate parents.

Sometimes you need a helping hand to have the best possible start. That's what's happening with five baby Humboldt penguins at the ZSL London Zoo in England.

Zookeepers have stepped in to help care for the newest inhabitants of the zoo's Penguin Beach after it was discovered their parents were struggling a little. The keepers have become the penguins' parents, hand-rearing the little penguins in the zoo's nursery.

"During the breeding season, we check the nests on Penguin Beach every day, keeping an eye out for any chicks who might not be feeding enough or whose parents are struggling to care for their brood," ZSL London Zoo penguin keeper Suzi Hyde explained in a statement from the zoo.

Keep Reading Show less

TikTok about '80s childhood is a total Gen X flashback.

As a Gen X parent, it's weird to try to describe my childhood to my kids. We're the generation that didn't grow up with the internet or cell phones, yet are raising kids who have never known a world without them. That difference alone is enough to make our 1980s childhoods feel like a completely different planet, but there are other differences too that often get overlooked.

How do you explain the transition from the brown and orange aesthetic of the '70s to the dusty rose and forest green carpeting of the '80s if you didn't experience it? When I tell my kids there were smoking sections in restaurants and airplanes and ashtrays everywhere, they look horrified (and rightfully so—what were we thinking?!). The fact that we went places with our friends with no quick way to get ahold of our parents? Unbelievable.

One day I described the process of listening to the radio, waiting for my favorite song to come on so I could record it on my tape recorder, and how mad I would get when the deejay talked through the intro of the song until the lyrics started. My Spotify-spoiled kids didn't even understand half of the words I said.

And '80s hair? With the feathered bangs and the terrible perms and the crunchy hair spray? What, why and how?

Keep Reading Show less