Our family has a a twisted sense of humor about psychologically screwing with kids. Our parents took turns alternately filling our heads with outrageous lies and scaring the shit out of us. I was twelve when I realized that spaghetti does not in fact grow on trees.

It was a beautiful, crisp fall day when mom took MILK and Whiskey to the Half Moon Bay Pumpkin Festival. We ate miniature pumpkin pies while surrounded by your typical, Rockwellian fall wonderland.  There may have been a hay ride, some face painting, definitely some hot cider. Just good clean family fun. But is that ever enough for our family? No. It is not.

On the way home we stopped at a pumpkin patch to pick out our jack-o-lanterns for Halloween. MILK and I scampered about with our adorably terrible early-80’s home haircuts and clothes. As we worked through the pumpkin patch…