The doggy doo-doo of apathy joins the pigeon droppings of corruption upon the monument of government.

Too bad I don't care enough to clean it all off.

What this town needs is a giant Mr. Magic Clean Eraser. Those other ones, the Mr. Clean Magic Eraser... well, we don't really want to erase the magic around here, do we?

It's a bigger mess than feared, as the the monkeys have flung simian skat of insincerity, which has joined the aforementioned doo-doo and droppings.

Ha! Totally tagged, connie!

I'm It!

It was a stark and barmy night: the bits came in torrent - except at occasional intervals when it was checked by network outages which swept up the magick conduits (for it is in Sang Sacre that our story lies), rattling along the treetops, and agitating the scanty flame of flaminess that struggled against the drabth.

"Hector?"

"Yes, boss?"

"Is there such a thing as a metaphor storm?"

"Not that I know of. Or would have known of until recently."

"Hm. Well, looks to be a bad one. Batten the hatches and whatnot and bring me a dozen sets of encyclopedias. The literal nature of the things may protect us."

I slam the phone down on the hook, and head back to the kitchen table muttering under my breath. "Stupid pollsters got nothing better to do than bother people when they're trying to eat breakf..."

I'm brought up short by the contents of my cereal bowl. I blink. And blink again. Nope, still there. "What the..."

I glance suspiciously at the bird, but he's staring at his bowl in confusion, too. I pick up a spoon, and start lifting up and looking at bits from the bowl. Very strange. No cereal, just fruit. Two minutes before I'd poured myself a bowl of Life™, but now it was just a bowl of cherries.

Where have all the flowers gone?

They're blowin', man, blowin' in the wind.

Preparations are underway for the annual leaf raking party in Sang Sacre, where all the women are strong, and the men are good looking, and the zombies restrain themselves to merely nibbling lightly on the spicy brains.

The usual warnings abound about leaping into piles of leaves, because someone else may already be burrowed into that pile, enjoying a nice autumnal coccooning moment. Debate goes around on whether etiquette recommends putting up a little "Occupied" sign next to said piles. Courtesy already dictates that people re-rake any piles disturbed by leaping-into.

The All Hallows decorations are stockpiled, waiting for September 30th to tick over to October 1st. Big this year are strings of lights shaped like pumpkins, witches, bats, and skeletons. The really clever ones are animated, with the bats flapping their wings and the skeletons dancing. Competitive pumpkin carving is being its usual cut-throat self. Hopefully this year the throat cutting will be metaphorical, as opposed to last year's unfortunate incidents--though we do commend the perpetrator for the cunning use of candles and the effectiveness of the resulting display.

People are heard singing "It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year" on the streets. Children dash along the street, laughing and speculating on how much candy they'll glean on The Night. Trick or treating always takes place on Hallowe'en, and it is dusk before the marauders--um, delightful children set out. Circling back for seconds is, as always, frowned upon, and the city continues to have no comment on whatever means residents use to deal with double-dippers.

The usual costume contests will occur. Please remember, any extra body parts incorporated into the costume must be fake, unless the costume wearer can produce a receipt or statement of short-term loan from the original owner of said body part.

After days of deliberation, I decide that the scariest thing I can dress up as, is a muggle. I shall wear polyester slacks, a flowery sweater, and put my hair in ponytails. With ribbons.