GRAVITY IS Bob’s friend, especially during the holidays. It literally rains groceries. For days debris drizzles from frantic feast preparation. The key phrase is: “Ah! The dog’ll get it.” That’s Bob’s cue to dig in. The monsoon begins on the day. Morsels are his for the mooching as guests arrive. Entire plate loads sometimes tumble down. Bob may get half heartedly shooed away, but stays on the job. “What a good boy!”

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THE CLOSET door always sticks. Opening it requires a determined yank and a stumbling step backwards. At the same moment, shrieking voices send a jolt of terror through her, followed by a horrific chill of confusion and anger as she realizes her husband and her best friend are huddled naked on the closet floor. It takes a moment to sink in, but the perfect line jumps to mind: “Blanch!” she yells. “I have to! But you?”

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MOUNTAIN GORILLAS are only a few yards away, menacing towards him like Hell’s Angels at Altamont. A wailing ape baby gestures towards him in alarm. The enclosing glass of the exhibit is looking flimsier by the second. “My God!” he whispers. Edging away, he takes off his hat. And, it’s over. Returning to their bored existence, the primates shrug. Slam dunking it in the trash he knows: “Wow! They really hate this hat!”

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DRINKING ZOMBIES until 3 am seemed like a good idea at the time, especially fun dressed up like a zombie. But the morning after, a rum hangover was the least of it. He’d passed out for the night in costume. Painfully removing the face paint revealed swollen eyes and ugly red blotches. The receptionist at work greeted him with: “Jeezus Blake, you look like a zombie!” All he could do is moan: “Trick or freakin’ treat.”

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