Happy Halloween.

Somewhere, Chandra's already wolfing-down her gummies...

I spent last night watching Reservoir Dogs while my sister hung out with some fifteen people in the house. I was thankful that the few who had migrated from her little congregation to sit around me were kind of squeemish, and left when Mister Blonde lops Nash's ear off, and douses 'em in Gasoline.

Truth be told, though, Nice Guy Eddie was one of my favorites. As for everyone else, I'm tied between Mister Orange and Mister Pink...

"Wait, wait. Why do I have to be Mister Pink?"
"Because you're a Faggot."
"No way - can't we pick our own colors?"
"No - tried that before. I don't want four guys arguing over who gets to be Mister Black, and nobody backing down because they don't know eachother."
"...Can't I be Mister Purple? Mister Purple sounds good."
"Look, just shut up."
"That's easy for you to say! You're Mister White, you have a cool-sounding name!"
"...Mister Purple is a different guy, in a different mission. You're Mister Pink."

Oh man, and Nice Guy Eddie...

"Vick, you sick bastard! You just tried to fuck me in my Father's Office!"
"...You wish."
"Don't get me wrong, Vick, I like you, but I just don't think of you that way."
"Look - if I were a butt-cowboy? I wouldn't throw you to my posse."
"'Course not! You'd keep me for yourself! I know how it is - four years fucking punks up the ass and you can appreciate a cut of prime rib..."
"...I might break you in, Nice Guy...But you can be my dog's bitch."

I loved those awkward exchanges between everyone.

As opposed to last year's Halloween, where Godfather Mike took everyone out to get plastered, and I played Venetian Snares out the window while pretending to be a miner, I've prepared something more than an impromptu costume this year.



























For the first time in Cobuniji's History, a picture of your host.
Happy Halloween, readers.
Buddha Loves you.
Jesus Saves.