Some pumpkins are for pie, some Jacks are for lanterns, some witches are for brewing, but hollow, wee me is for trickery.
Those advocating blue laws would prefer that my season of play did not exist at all, but orange they just jealous that their grins are not mischievous enough to frighten away an evil cabal.
Truth be told, it is all Greek to me why my presence is not quotidian, considering how I provide for all of physical, psychological, and spiritual needs. Also, why cannot I have some episemons tattooed on my neck to commemorate my wonderful deeds?
As one senses sins and hullababoos around each twisted corner, my clement personality and cheerful composure ensure that ghastlies and ghouls will far-away-go—leaving behind this tiny treater’s warmthful glow. ; )