The Devil Is Mr Robbins By JPR

It was near dark and the little bedwetters had already begun the ritual of knocking on every available door to beg for candy.

Because, apparently, I lived in the one place on that prick God’s green earth that allowed shitheads to still trick or treat.

I had left an offering of a bowl of mixed crap like some Chiclets, Juicy Fruit, paper clips, Soap, Whistling Pines Stationary, and some condoms (yeah, like I was gonna ever use them), with a note that read, "Take whatever you want, just don't bang on the goddamned door! I'm hungover and hate humanity. Yes, this includes all things currently breathing and some assorted animals, too."

And although I had clearly stated my case, like clockwork the pounding began. My head felt as though it was being ear raped by the Mickey Mouse Club.

At last, I opened the door to this dwarf convention. And, in my friendliest, woke voice, I tucked my cock between my legs and shouted in a passive-aggressive way, "Okay, you guys or whatever term you go by! Why don't you take whatever, go to my meth-addicted neighbors and pound on their door. Yell, ‘Police; come out with your hands up!’ and enjoy counting how many white trash idiots and near ravenous dogs you can fit in a candominium."

The little brats stood there, a bit in shock, until the little girl who was dressed in a woman's natural form, a bloodthirsty demon, spoke up. "Mr. Robbins, why are you such an asshole?"

"Well, Lilith, that's a very complex question to answer. But to simplify it, I believe I was always this way, or maybe I'm just deeply damaged and need lots of therapy or some really good drugs and low priced hookers to repair that void deep within my nonexistent heart."

The children remained silent, aside from the she-devil who simply replied, "That's stupid, and by the way this crap sucks so give us something good, you cheap bastard."

"Yeah, hand it over, asshole!" Lilith's little buddy dressed as Jack Sparrow snapped.

"Wow, Johnny Depp, I never thought I'd see you sink so low as to beg people for candy. I mean, I always had you pegged for a wine and cigarette type or maybe just the getting pegged type, but what you do hanging with washed up rock stars is your business. I'm just saying."

"You're weird." Mini Jack Sparrow replied.

And as I stood there trying to figure just what it was gonna take to appease these little bastards, a father walked up with his little Disney princess. Or a stripper dwarf. I really can't see for shit, so don't judge me. It’s called getting old and it fucking sucks.

"Hey kids, what's going on?"

"Hey Mr. Jenks, this weirdo is being a total tight ass!"

The dork with height deprived Cinderella looked at the little demon, shocked. "Rebecca Dodge! Watch your language, you shouldn't talk to adults that way!"

"Yeah, you little demonic bitch!"

"John, what the fuck, man? You can't cuss kids, just give them some candy and they will leave you alone."

I was puzzled how this strange man with the Cinderella dwarf knew my name. I mean, I'm not paranoid, but I have zero friends without benefits that I don't pay for and yeah, I mean, I don't swing that way unless I'm in college, working as a janitor, solving advanced physics problems. I mean, not to brag. But, they based a movie on me. Have you heard of the Texas Chainsaw Massacre?

"Dude. It's Marty, we went to school together."

"Oh shit, Marty, yeah, wow, umm, so many good memories, man! Like uhh, how's your, I don't, I mean. Unless you have tits, I can't recall."

"I mean, we were like best friends in high school, man. You said we would always be bros!"

"Jesus Christ, dude, I say a lot fucked up things I can't recall. Like, sure I'll pull out. Wink wink. I mean, fuck, lighten up Brokeback. I hate people. Did the Fuck Off mat outside the door not give it away?"

We all stood there. It was almost like a mental Mexican standoff, or one of those fruit loop shitty Marvel movies with mini versions of Jack Sparrow, Spider Man, and Black Widow. Alongside Lilith and Cinderella. 

I know what you're thinking. That sounds like a mixed universe porn which I'm sure someone already made because if some dork creates it, that same dork wants to usually watch someone else fuck it for free on a dirty porn site.

Least that's what I’ve heard.

It was tense. I felt the urge to just lock my door or hand everyone a scoop of ice cream but apparently that guy who maced me wasn't trick or treating. He was an actual cop and apparently it’s illegal to have a fucked up sense of humor these days.

"John, don't you have any candy, for fucks sake, man?"

I paused, thinking to myself, further annoying everyone, including you reading this because I am a sadistic asshole who is actually the Antichrist who is watching you, even at this very moment. For fucks sake, put some pants on, you fucking weirdos!

Then I was hit with a jolt of what I believe most people would refer to as a thought. It's much like what collegiate wrestlers call an oil check, which is when you suddenly shove your thumb up your opponent’s ass. Yes, when in Rome do some really homoerotic stuff to fend off your enemy. Some call it defense, others call it foreplay, whatever floats your twisted little paper boats my darlings. I'm just saying…

I left my unwanted company as quickly as sanity flew from Brittney Spears' mind, along with her nonexistent talent.

I re-emerged with an assortment of candies, chocolates, and goodies.

The children all cheered and lit up like Christmas trees. Or churches when you lit them on fire. I'm kidding, kinda.

Even my old friend I could not recall and his odd dwarf companion seemed happy as suddenly two very sexy non trick or treaters walked up.

"Wow, who are they?" The, until now, mini Spider Man who I thought was mute asked.

"Well Spidey, that's Mr. Robbins special friend, Toni, and her fellow dancer gal pal. Cinnamon or Cindy or who gives a shit because if you pay enough you can call them whatever the fuck you want."

Marty gawked at the naughty school girl who was apparently held back many a year and given lots and lots and lots of milk. And a sexy nun who I believe was not truly a nun, or from the way she was built was gonna give me plenty of things to confess this weekend.

As these fine young ladies made their way inside, Marty now glared at me.

"Dude were those hookers?"

"Well, dude, they're certainly not Jehovah's Witnesses, dumbass. I mean, besides dude, I didn't judge you when ya walked up with that dwarf Cinderella chick."

"That’s my daughter, you fucking idiot! Come on, kids, we need to leave Mr. Robbins is just plain demented." Marty shouted.

The little kids remained silent as Captain Tight-ass made his exit. In passing, mini Spiderman fist bumped me, because even superheros like hot strippers. Just like Jesus did.

I watched them leave and had to laugh to myself because after those edibles I handed those kids kicked in, well, if their parents thought they were hell on candy just wait till that THC hit them.

Party on children and hail Satan.

Kisses snuggle buggles from a true Carolina Reaper.

Au revoir, my darlings.

JPR takes great pleasure in offending everyone equally; he owns an ever-expanding cemetery franchise and currently is a writer in residence in the third circle of hell better known as Knotts Island, North Carolina. His work has been published in the finest smut magazines that you most likely never read because you were too busy jerking off to the pictures of beautiful sunsets and big-breasted maidens having sex on the beach, much like the author of this masterpiece. He once had a soul before he sold it at the crossroads underneath a full moon for an extra large pizza and case of beer. He also vacations at the Shady Pines mental facility, where he has earned a degree in finger painting to add to his many academic accolades. So, nah, nah to you. He is also the spokesman for the national bug-light awareness group called bzzzzzz. All the voices in his head agree he is a nice lady.