Trick-or-Treating at the Poorhouse

Hallowe'en is still in its infancy here in the Germany.  The kids don't really get it yet, as far as I can tell.  First of all, they don't dress up.  Two of the little freeloaders just came by about an hour ago; and instead of costumes, they merely had their faces painted like Gene Simmons.  Well, to be fair, one of them did have a red trash liner hanging around his neck like a cape.

Unfortunately for our little kobolds, they came to the one house in Germany that is not supported by the all-encompassing nanny state.  I should put up a sign that says "Auslander" on my front door.  Then again, with the strong German influence on the new EU Constitution, that  will probably come soon enough.

One thing that's really nice about being an American in Europe, is that some things that are absolutely un-cool in the States have value here.  For example, I have an "Apollo 13" promotional t-shirt with "A13" on the front, and a "Hardee's" logo on the sleeve.  In the States, I wouldn't even dream of wearing that horrible piece of shit for anything other than yardwork, but over here I've actually gone clubbing in it.  And gotten compliments, I might add.

In that vein, for my greedy little hallowe'en geister I had nothing to give, candy-wise.  I considered dropping a couple of smokes into their bags, but thought better of the idea once I saw I didn't have many left.  For a desperate moment, I even considered filling a couple of Zip-loc bags with Quaker Quick-Grits and telling them it was heroin. Fearing the retribution that might come from German children who get shorted on dime-bags, I scrounged further until I found a couple of Pez refills.  I tossed them into their bags, and told them it was actual, honest-to-goodness American candy they were getting.  Good thing they didn't speak English, or they might have actually read the wrappers.

The little morons actually thanked me.