One of the better parts of being an agent is that I get to snap my fingers at my incredibly cool clients, beg them to do things for me, and usually get what I want! Yep! I abuse my power over these poor unsuspecting writers—even if this particular client is a father of 3 kids under the age of 10, has a day job, and is undergoing revisions of his MS for me—I still have the nerve to ask him for favors. But you all benefit. So really, how bad am I?
Here’s the deal. A while back, I started to run across all these vintage Halloween Pin Up girls. They’re all over the place. And I happen to have this client—Peter Landau—who is like Allen Ginsberg, Hunter S. Thompson, Andy Warhol, Bob Dylan, and Rivers Cuomo (when he was cool) all combined. I thought, who’s more perfect to whip me up a short little story based on one of the Halloween Pin Up Girls? So I sent him a 1966 Bill Layne Pin Up of a “sexy witch” and he returned with this. I love my job.
You know what I could go for now? Batter-fried tarantula. Crunchy on the outside, gooey on the inside. Sure, the hairs get stuck between your teeth. What, you want everything? You sound like my old man Jack.
Where’s Jack? I’m sitting on him. There’s not much else I can do with Jack. I mean, he’s got a big head and all but other than that he’s lacking the essentials for a mutually rewarding relationship. That’s what I read in a book. There was a time when books said that a green witch getting friendly with an orange jack-o’-lantern was a sin against god and country. They used to lynch pumpkins that just carved an eye in a witch’s direction.
Of course it’s hard to lynch a pumpkin head. Right, Jack? Sorry, my man doesn’t talk much. He’s got a slice of a smile and a few buck teeth, but they ain’t made for conversation. Mostly, he just likes to stick a lit candle in his hollow head and let the fire do the talking. He’s got bright eyes, right? And there’s more. Did you know his seeds are edible? When I gutted him I used his innards to make a sweet pie filling. What more does a witch need from a mate? I’d rather sit on his face than have to listen to Jack blah, blah, blah. There are better things for a mouth than speech. I should know. There’s a spell for that. Well, I’d love to chat all night, but it’s Halloween — show time — and this broom ain’t going to fly by itself. Haunt you later.