Well, another Halloween is just around the corner, and, while I know that it's not everyone's cup of water turned into wine, I can certainly understand why it's the perfect holiday for liberal politicians. It's the one night a year where you can go around from house to house, with your hand out, and demand goodies under threat of retribution.

But what I like best about Halloween in El Paso is that you never know who's going to show up at your front door.

Ding dong!

"Trick or treat!"

Last year, my first little trick-or-treater of the night was none other than Barack Obama. He was dressed as the President of the United States of America. He promptly emptied the bowl of candy I offered, as well as my wallet of any cash it contained.

"And you thought you could defund ObamaCare," he laughed, and then left. Off to convince more unconvinced voters, no doubt.

Ding dong!

"Trick or treat!"

My next trick-or-treater was of the more traditional kind. It was the Wicked Witch of the West from The Wizard of Oz, cackling her hideously evil laugh.

Oops, no... it was actually the Wicked Witch of the West Coast, Nancy Pelosi. Honest mistake. Fortunately, my first born was out trick-or-treating at the time, so she left empty-handed.

Next up was Barney Frank. He rummaged through my candy bowl mumbling to himself, picked out the best ones, and, once they were safely in his possession, asked me, "And what planet do you spend most of your time on?"

Um... Uranus?

The next trick-or-treater I didn't recognize. He was a round little kid with a big smile.

"And who are you?" I asked him.

He giggled enthusiastically when I ruffled the puff of white hair on top of his head with my hand.

"I'm Silvestre Reyes," he said, with a big grin.

"Who?"

"Ju know... Silvestre Reyes."

"Juno? You mean like the city in Alaska?"

"No, 'ju know.'"

"Are you talking about the movie?"

"No, 'ju know,' ju know?"

I dropped a candy corn in his bag and sent him on his way. Silvestre Reyes?

Never heard of him.

The night was dragging to an end, when a big, well-fed looking trick-or-treater came to my door. It was none other than Al Gore. First he yelled at me for wasting energy by having my house lights on so late at night, and then he stuck his two big hands into my candy bowl, lifted out two fistfuls of candy, and, without even an energy-efficient adios, got into his chauffeured limousine and drove off in the direction of the airport, so that he could fly off to Aspen in his private jet to attend a forum on the causes of global warming.

(Sidebar here: One of the more amusing things I've seen in movies is when global WARMING caused New York to FREEZEover in The Day After Tomorrow. Ah, Hollywood.)

Ding dong!

"Trick or treat!"

It was getting late, and the very last trick-or-treater of the night was at my door. I opened it, and there stood Anthony Weiner, holding his hand out for a hand out. (I know what you're thinking, and, yes, it was just his hand.)

I screamed in horror, and slammed the door in his face. Jeez... Anthony Weiner.

That guy never goes away.