Kids and Family

Hey Dallas Parents: Do Not Eff Up Halloween Candy For Everyone, OK?

In The Parent Crap, Alice Laussade chronicles life as a mom in Dallas. Worried you're screwing up your kid? Tweet questions to @thecheapbastard and she'll confirm that, yes, you're screwing up your kid.

Choosing the perfect Halloween candy to pass out to trick-or-treaters is extremely important, if you ever want your neighbors to think you're cool. Is quantity more important than quality? Is getting a bag of real eyeballs to hand out to toddlers really worth the hassle? What about cucumbers?

See also: - Why Are We Dressing Our Adorable Kids Like Douchey Adults? - Dear Dallas Parents: This Halloween, Try Not to Dress Your Kid Like a Hooker

Want to know exactly what the Halloween candy you're choosing to hand out to trick-or-treaters says about you? Good.

The Standard Halloween Candy House You can't go wrong with a Hershey's mix on Halloween. It's a tradition. This is a safe bet, especially if you're new to the neighborhood and you want people to know that you totally get what this whole "Halloween" thing is about. You won't get any creativity points, but you also won't be known as "That house that gave us the shitty Paint Tongue Pop." Count this as a win.


The Dollar Store Candy House Halloween is the one night a year that we let our kids take candy from strangers. Why are you effing it up for everyone with this crap? When I see this "Paint Tongue Pop" in my kid's Halloween bag, it says, "Do not eat me because I might be an infection." It comes in a five-pound bag with the Bon Bon Bum, which is definitely an infection. No. Just, no.


The "What The Hell Is The Deal With This Candy With No Name On It At All?" House Be honest: did you just plastic wrap your turds? Because it looks like you just plastic wrapped a turd. Nobody's eating this. Why did you buy it? You're just encouraging Turd Candy USA. Also, your kid has no friends now. Great job.


The That's Not Fucking Even Candy These People Clearly Do Not Understand Halloween House Dear parents who insist on passing out fruit snacks, Teddy Grahams graham crackers, orange crackers and other not-candies: I politely ask you people to fuck right off with all of this (sing-songy voice) "I just wanted to give them something a little healthier, you know?" No. This is candy's night. It's one night. Please, on this one night of nights, take your fruit snack agenda and stash it in the closet with your stationary bike until November 1, when you're free to take it out again and hold it over other parents' heads at playdates ("She's never had a Starburst -- that's why she's so confused by the wrapper"), birthday parties ("Oh sweetie, I know our pinatas at home are full of dehydrated peas, but this is just what some parents do instead") and liquor stores ("No thanks, she doesn't want a Dum Dum").

Are you worried your kid is going to eat too much candy on Halloween? Get an older kid to scare the shit out of him and steal his bag of candy like everyone else does. Or -- and I know this is totally going to sound crazy-- try saying the words, "Stop eating candy" to your child. Turns out, you can say "no" to kids. Scientists say it has happened.

(Note: To the guy who ends up passing out graham crackers because you completely forgot to buy Halloween candy because you still thought it was September and so when the costumed kids knocked on your door, you ran to the pantry and it was either whiskey or graham crackers: you just keep on keepin' on, buddy. You're not the problem.)


The Creepiest Candy You Could Find House This is a monster TV dinner with gummy body parts in it. Slow clap to you for winning Halloween, the people who offer this candy. It's the Halloween candy that has everything: orange, gummy, and body parts. If you want to be known as the people who own "That weird ass house that has the weird ass candy every year," this is your starting point. You are a Halloween legend.

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Alice Laussade writes about food, kids, music, and anything else she finds to be completely ridiculous. She created and hosts the Dallas event, Meat Fight, which is a barbecue competition and fundraiser that benefits the National MS Society. Last year, the event raised $100,000 for people living with MS, and 750 people could be seen shoving sausage links into their faces. And one time, she won a James Beard Award for Humor in Writing. That was pretty cool.
Contact: Alice Laussade