Not sure where I read this, but I saved it because it was fun:
I have slowly become convinced that an annual, innocuous prank is covering
up something much more sinister. I believe that I have uncovered an underground syndicate
of depraved suburban candy peddlers whose practices could be construed as nothing short
of child abuse.
My first inclinations of this conspiracy began many years ago, and my conscience has
continued to grow louder with each passing autumn. This Halloween, I must finally break my silence.
The facts are these: The adults in Charlie Brown’s neighborhood are conspiring against
him, and frankly, are all a bunch of giant, jazz-trombone talking a-holes. This “rock”
incident may seem like a humorous prank at first glance, but please consider the logistics of how this practical joke is actually carried out by so-called responsible adults and parents, most likely.
The initial heartless bastards must first find out what Charlie Brown’s costume will be for the evening. Since many of the children are dressed as nearly-identical ghosts, this will take some doing. Dare I even suggest
that Charlie Brown’s parents could be complicit in this atrocity? After all, they are the last ones to see him before he leaves the house for the night (assuming that they still live in the house. Who even knows where the hell they are half of the time? They are absent so much in their kids’ lives, it’s not too far-fetched to accuse them of master-minding a horrible Halloween prank on their chronically depressed little boy.)
After Charlie Brown’s costume is identified, the perpetrator begins the phone-chain to a neighbor. The phone call is repeated all evening to every house that could possibly be visited by the Peanuts children. My guess
is that this extends to, at the very least, a ten block radius. Here is how it might have gone down:
Neighbor 1:*
“Hello?”
Neighbor 2:
“With a sheet of white, and holes of Swiss,
the bald one bags a quarry kiss.”
Neighbor 1:
“Copy that. ‘Operation Jawbreaker' is a go”
(click)
(* translated from native
“Whah-Whaw” Language)
Perhaps this was all dreamt up at a P.T.A. meeting by overbearing sport parents in an attempt to break Charlie Brown and get the manager of the world’s most losing team to quit. Perhaps it is something much deeper. Maybe it’s a Stepford-style attempt to rid the idyllic neighborhood of it’s residential Debbie Downer. I don't pretend to have the answers, but my eyes are open-wide open, and I won't be silent any longer.
And perhaps we should all take a step back and ponder those wise Biblical words: “Let he who is without the slightest hint of blockheadedness, cast the first stone into the generic brown paper grocery sack.”
thumbsup
