MicroHorror

As Cupid aimed his arrow at an unsuspecting couple, a gang of hotheaded husbands ambushed the half-pint cherub. Rick grabbed Cupid’s bow, while Joe snatched the imp’s quiver of love-arrows.

“What’s the deal, guys?” Cupid asked. “I’m a lover, not a fighter.”

Rick and Joe broke the arrows in pieces, while Mitch and Pete pummeled Cupid’s head and chest with their fists.

“We’re putting an end to your willy-nilly love spree,” Pete said. “No more Cupid’s arrows! No more henpecked husbands! No more artificial love! That’s the deal, dude!”

While the four unhappy husbands pounded Cupid to a pulp, a swarm of young, naked archers shot the husbands with the arrows from the air. Filled with love, the husbands forgot about their hatred and stopped the attack.

“Nobody said there was just one Cupid,” Cupid laughed. “Sheesh! I can’t be everywhere.”

Later, the cupids checked their records of love-shootings.

“Those fools thought they could stop us, but you can’t stop love,” Cupid said. “The funny thing is, we never shot those guys with our love-arrows. Their unhappiness was caused by unbridled lust, raging hormones and unwed pregnancies that led to marriages.”

Zombies and demons and goblins! Oh, my! Every Halloween, those apparitions of evil wander my neighborhood in the guises of children. This year, I’m ready. This year, I’ll be waiting. This year, the undead will be blown to bits––along with everyone in the neighborhood––after the explosives detonate. Unhappy Halloween, monsters!

“Hey! This is the ‘ten items or less’ aisle,” said the skinny grocery store clerk.

“I only have eleven items,” said the stodgy, middle-aged man. “What’s ten, one more or less?”

The clerk pulled out a huge meat cleaver and chopped off the man’s left little finger.

“What’s ten, one more or less?” she asked.

“I’m hungry,” Brandy announced.

“You’re always hungry,” Naomi responded.

“We’re ghouls. We’re supposed to be insatiable.”

“What are you in the mood for? Cop? Accountant? Construction worker?”

“You know what sounds really good? A chicken rancher!”

“A chicken rancher? Where are we going to find a chicken rancher? The nearest chicken ranch is 200 miles away.”

“But I had a chicken rancher in Montana and he was really yummy.”

“How about a cowboy? Cowboys are good. I’ll find us a cowboy.”

“I don’t like cowboys.”

“Have you ever tried cowboy?”

“No.”

“Tastes like chicken rancher. Trust me. You’ll see.”

Naomi seductively nibbled on Nate’s nape, while Brandy slowly unbuttoned the lucky guy’s silk shirt.

“I’ve never been with two girls before,” Nate chortled.

“Well, consider this your first ménage à trois–and your last!” Naomi snarled, as she sank her fangs into Nate’s right carotid.

The two ghouls giggled with glee as they devoured Nate’s organs.

“Hey, Brandy, I just thought of something,” Naomi quipped. “This john is our trick–and our treat!”

“Ha! Ha!” Brandy cackled. “You were right, Naomi! Three-ways are more fun! Let’s scope out another Halloween party to find our next poor soul!”

At a fraternity Halloween party, Naomi and Brandy salivated over a studly brown-haired specimen, while Lilly eyed a buxom blonde.

“Nate was great,” Brandy said, “but I prefer men with more meat on their bones.”

Lilly rolled her eyes.

“Men are okay,” she said, “but women taste better.”

Brandy and Naomi approached the guy, while Lilly zeroed in on the gal. A short time later, the five consenting adults slipped away from the party for some private fun.

After an orgy of blood and guts, the three ghouls walked away completely satisfied.

“Wow!” Brandy exclaimed. “Women really do taste better!”

At 6-foot, Maynard towered over the other trick-or-treaters on Gordon Street.

Although his mental capacity reflected that of a 5-year-old, his tall frame screamed “adult.”

Mrs. Smith should’ve just given Maynard some candy; she shouldn’t have questioned his age.

But Mrs. Smith often did things she shouldn’t, like marrying Mr. Smith for money and having an affair with Mr. Jones for lust.

At any rate, she shouldn’t have told Maynard, “No!”

“No” makes Maynard mad. “No” makes Maynard evil.

Nobody witnessed Mrs. Smith’s neck being broken, but nobody would’ve cared anyway. The bitchy busybody had offended her neighbors, especially Maynard.

“Your candy is fine,” said the X-ray technician. “We checked it all. No pins, tacks, razorblades, nails or screws.”

Seth’s plan of framing Mr. Freeman for food tampering was foiled.

Realizing that he must’ve left his object of revenge on the kitchen table, he frantically called home on a hospital payphone. No answer.

“Good,” he thought, “I can grab the apple before anyone gets home.”

Seth lived only a few blocks away, so he raced faster than ever before.

He arrived home just in time to watch in horror as his mother took a big bite of the violated apple.