Trick or treat, smell my feet...

Give me something good to eat. If you don't, I don't care. I'll pull down your underwear.

Those were the good ol' days.

The anxiety of finding the perfect costume. The anticipation of hitting every house in the neighborhood until your pillowcase is bursting at the seams. The subsequent dumping out of said pillowcase on the living room floor, basking in your hard-earned booty like Scrooge McDuck's daily money swims. Mom rationing your spoils like Bumble in Oliver Twist.

Halloween was a special night at the Kevorkian household.

We'll begin at suppertime. Every single year, before Danny and I went trick-or-treating (Jimmy outgrew Halloween before I was old enough to enjoy it), my mom would make a huge pot of vegetable soup and force us to choke down a big bowl of it- "or there would be no trick-or-treating." October 31 of every year, Danny and I would sit at the table and eat our most hated of foods so my mom could have a clear conscience about the impending amount of sugar we were about to ingest. Luckily, she conceded to giving us what we called a "yucky cup," for the negotiated lima beans and onions. Over the years Danny and I got pretty good at slyly hiding major amounts of non-lima bean/onion veggies underneath the allowed-content exterior, unbeknownst to my mom. But the annual soup-eating was still a major, and most dreaded, part of the holiday.

After dinner, we'd sprint to our respective rooms and don our costumes as fast as possible. Rabbit, witch, ninja, Pee Wee Herman, Uncle Fester, nerd- these were all costumes of our past. However, I spent most years dressed up as a hippie, because I wanted to be one in real life and this was the only day of the year my mom would allow me to dress as such.

Looking like complete doofs, we'd bound out the door, Dad and empty pillow cases in tow. As we literally ran from house to house (so many houses, so little time), Halloween was probably the only day of the year my dad got a substantial cardio workout. My mom would stay home and hand out candy to other kids, only she had a system. Ask me about it in private and I may tell you if I think you can handle it. Mom, you know what I'm talking about *cough* Dum-Dums *cough*.

If it was our lucky night, we'd come across an empty house with a bowl of candy on the porch, including a sign above it that read "Please take one." PPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFF. We liked to call this "The Jackpot." Though I could never bring myself to take the entire bowl (I've always had an unforgiving conscience), we'd stand there and negotiate to the single digit for the most we could take while still leaving "enough" for the other kids. We always rationalized there were at most just a few trick-or-treaters left behind us.

The fun really began when we got home. Danny and I would both stake out our isolated, respective areas on the living room floor, God forbid our candies mixed. We'd revel in the sugary treasure, segregating a gross pile for the butterscotches, Almond Joys, and anything black-licorice flavored, which we'd of course play off as kindness in giving them to our parents. Heck, we'd even throw a few Smarties in there for my dad for being such a good sport.

At this point, let me remind you of the Bumble-esque nature of my mom. Every night post-Halloween, every year, she would lock our pillowcases in the closet. We could only have 2 carefully selected candies per night (some nights, the process of choosing took hours). What's worse, we could never find the key to that damn closet. I swear to you she must have worn it around her neck; we searched high and low. As an adult, I realize how great she was for doing that. She probably saved me year after year from diabetic shock. I thank her today for protecting my pancreas with the vigilance only a mom can provide.

But as a kid, after too many Halloweens of painstaking rationing, Danny and I developed ways to cheat the system. For example, one by one we'd inconspicuously kick some of our candy pile under the couch while making our two choices, then wait until my parents fell asleep in front of the TV for reconnoissance. Or my personal favorite- I'd put on sweatpants with elastic around the ankles and shove some treats up my pant legs. It took a lot of dedication and discipline to cultivate the skill of walking slowly and carefully enough to not crinkle the wrappers. That said, in terms of sugar in November, Danny and I never went without.

Yes, it was a special holiday at the Kevorkian residence. Nothing can tarnish my fond childhood memories of Halloweens past, not even the depravity of my current peers in their slutty costumes, needing to get drunk and hook up with this guy.

Happy Halloween, everyone!

Do you want fries with that?

The fact that there are no excise taxes imposed on fast food sales is perhaps the most blatant sign today that special interest lobbyists run D.C.

How many times have you read or heard the phrase "obesity epidemic" when others are referring to Americans' gluttonous appetites and exploding waistlines? Why is spandex making a comeback? How many TV shows have you seen featuring especially corpulent individuals "trying to make a change" by being put on strict diets and working with personal trainers for 9 hours a day? And how many fast food chains do you drive or walk by daily?

These issues are not unrelated. The CDC reports that 33.8% of American adults are obese (obesity is defined as more than 30 on the BMI scale). Since 1980, the prevalence of obesity among children has tripled. I'm not going to beat a dead horse. We have all been acutely informed that Americans' unprecedented, rapid weight gain is hurting not only our health, but also our wallets.

This is not a post scolding the behaviors of individuals and their ingestion habits. God gave you a mind of your own and free will so that you may make such decisions on your own. What I do not understand is why fast food is not being taxed.

Cigarettes are taxed to the point of plunder ($1.01 per pack federally, + state tax). Alcohol is also taxed up the yang ($2.17 per 750ml bottle of 80 proof alcohol federally, + state tax). The arguments for such taxation? Cigarettes and alcohol are bad for your health, are habit-forming, and cater to social undesirables. "Sin" taxes are imposed on such goods to discourage their being purchased, and thus used. Famous legislators throughout history (congressmen, presidents) have been heralded as super heroes for standing up to Big Tobacco and the Liquor Industry, for putting their foot down in the name of a healthier America. The Fortress of Solitude must have canceled its subscription to the Daily Planet. The Bat Cave must no longer receive the Gotham Gazette. They clearly haven't heard, because there's not a superhero in sight willing to touch fast food legislature.

To me, the properties of fast food sound pretty darn similar to those of cigarettes and alcohol. Bad for your health? Check. Habit-forming? Check. Leads to socially frowned-upon state? Check.

Then why, o why, can I walk into a KFC and order a Double-Down (absolutely nauseating) for $5? And riddle me this: why, if I am anywhere on contiguous American soil, is there never a McDonald's more than 107 miles from me? And how come the fast food industry generated a staggering $155 billion in revenue in 2008?

It seems to me that we can at least solve one of two of our nation's many problems by taxing the shit out of fast food: 1. People will eat less of it, leading to a healthier population or 2. Billions will be generated in tax revenue, an easy way to lessen the federal deficit. Seems like a no-brainer, right?

Unfortunately, fast food lobbyists too seem to have the government by the balls like their other big corporate counterparts. But I remain optimistic for a change. The day a Big Mac costs more than an avocado at the market will be a jewel in the crown of American tax reform.

P.S. If you are a bit unsure of how lobbying works, I highly recommend watching either Thank You For Smoking or Casino Jack.