This category is about quantity. Of the rows of chocolate Super Target sells, which include your standard Halloween-sized bags of Almond Joys, Reese's Peanut Butter Cups, Snickers bars and the like, there is one deal that will make your eyes pop out: Super Target, the bigger and more upscale version of regular Target, sells a Toblerone bar the size of a fire log for next to nothing. We're talking 14.1 ounces of pure Swiss-made, almond nougat chocolate ecstasy for $4.99. If the triangular-shaped treat isn't your taste, 3.05-ounce Lindt bars can be found for $1.79, and bigger still Cadbury bars, weighing in at a belt-busting 4.05 ounces, go for just $1.29.

The Ole Moon has some of the most inspired hand-crafted jewelry you're likely to find anywhere. Constructed of silver, gold and semiprecious stones, this collection of bewitching baubles, bangles and chains is designed by skilled artisans with a sharply focused eye toward distinctive display.

From the soft, soothing voices to the plush robes and slippers, scented foot mists and cups of herbal tea, everything in this quiet, peaceful spa is first-class. Offerings include a three-hour aromatherapy "double body treatment" featuring exfoliation, body wrap, scalp treatment and full-body massage, or go for the all-day, six-hour respite that compounds these pleasures with a facial, sports manicure and pedicure and a little spa cuisine for the appetite. Either way, this place dishes out extreme pampering.

Remember the scene in Mallrats where Brodie and T.S. head to the "dirt mall" for a little spiritual cleansing and wind up having their fortunes told by a three-nippled Priscilla Barnes? Well, this place is a little like that; we've never actually visited this flea market's fortunetellers, and there are several, but we're taking it on faith one's gotta have something special up her, ahem, sleeve. If not, there's still plenty o' plenty to keep you occupied from 10 a.m. to 7 p.m. Saturday and Sunday--when this joint is open, which means it must be special--from rows of "retailers" peddling "leather" apparel to the dude selling samurai swords (fun for the kids!) to the furniture outlet loaded with stuff we might actually buy, were this 1994. Our fave destination here is the guitar shop--prices so reasonable we bought a National steel and don't know how to play it--but we're also fond of just spending a day without spending a dollar, though the booth selling retro bumper stickers for stoners did get us to cough up a quarter. The dust here got us to cough up a lung.

While bringing home a brand-new kitty or pup is always joyous, the task of finding one usually requires grim trips through various shelters, in which brown and green eyes beckon, "Buy me or I die" from behind steel bars. Of course, the animals at the city's shelter and the SPCA are worthy of saving, but buying a pet there simply opens up a cell for yet another death row inmate. That's why Operation Kindness is the best alternative. It is a "no-kill" shelter, which means that its animals are safe, and, for every one that is bought, a new safe space is open for some other unlikely fella. But the best attribute of this nonprofit shelter is its management: A team of volunteers and employees follows strict policies in handling the animals and, more important, their future owners. Don't be surprised if you go there, only to be turned away because a background check revealed that your landlord doesn't allow cats.

Listen up, fatty, you've had a lifetime of hard work hefting longnecks and munching chicken-fried anything, so why not put that well-earned gut to a little use and try your hand at the Japanese art of sumo wrestling? (That is, if you can call two really big guys bumping bellies an art form. We would, at least to the wrestlers' faces.) Thanks to this game-rental company, even svelte folk can get in on the action. Texas Sumo provides padded vinyl fat suits--complete with helmets with top-knots--mats and referees for pretend sumo bouts, popular for birthday parties, corporate gatherings and the occasional church group. (Must come in handy for settling those thorny doctrinal debates.) The company also rents a wide array of inflatable carnival games, climbing walls and such (see www.texassumo.com). But for our money, bumbling around in fat suits promises the most fun--just perfect for that big formal wedding reception.

The folks at Zeus have taken issue with our fondness (OK, fetish) for Titan Comics; see only the short piece on its bossman, Jeremy Shorr, to confirm their suspicions. But, see, we love Titan for the comics; it's a fanboy's paradise, a wet dream for those whose erotic fantasies find Power Girl going at it with Black Cat, and meeeeee-ow. Zeus isn't that kind of place, and it just took us awhile to get past that; it's the dork's privilege, if not birthright, to be a little...nitpicky. Actually, we love Zeus, especially come Christmastime or whenever a friend's birthday rolls around; we hang out with people who like comics- and movie-related action figures and board games, and Zeus has plenty, alongside the latest issues of Alias and Detective Comics. We've dropped plenty of coin here on old toys, too--that Captain Kirk doll we had when we were 12, for instance, which now sells for a week's salary (worth every penny...and $20 bill).

Open to the public, this enthusiastic group of mystery readers gathers on the third Sunday of each month (3 p.m. to 5 p.m.) to explore every creepy nook and cranny of the mystery genre. There are visiting authors, book reviewers, collectors, forensic experts and literary agents who drop in to share their expertise and love for a good mystery. The group has been gathering for 10 years and doesn't appear to be anywhere near running out of whodunits to discuss. Admission is free.

They come in more sizes, colors and hairstyles than your average Deep Ellum clubber. Some even sleep in their own custom-designed, hand-woven silk hammocks. Plus, you can teach them to fetch crickets--available by request.

Remind us again: What exactly makes Dallas the "buckle" of the Bible Belt? Granted, when it comes to vice we're no New Orleans--our food isn't nearly that good--but when you consider the availability of nudie bars, porn shops and illicit slots here, it ain't exactly Vatican City either. Case in point: Dallas-based Mutuals.com Inc. this summer launched its Vice Fund (www.vicefund.com), a mutual fund devoted to investing exclusively in tobacco, alcohol, gaming and defense stocks--i.e., the growth industries. We can't speak to the wisdom of their investment strategy, but their honesty, at least, is refreshing.