Well, another Halloween is just around the corner, and, while I know that it's not everyone's cup of tea partiers, I can certainly understand why it's the perfect holiday for politicians. It's the one night a year where they can go from house to house demanding goodies under threat of retribution.

Trick or treating in southern New Mexico is especially fun, but consider this a friendly warning, my friends: if you want candy, plenty of candy, and I'm talking about the good stuff... DON'T go to the homes of any of our local politicians. A few years back, I had the great idea that surely they would be handing out the best candies. Genius, I thought. Can't miss, I reasoned. So, when my kid's candy bags were almost full from making the neighborhood rounds, we all hopped into my car. First stop was the Mayor's house. My kids screamed when his door creaked open.

"Oh, my gosh!" I yelled out, excitedly. "It's the Crypt Keeper... with a guitar!"

"I'm not the Crypt Keeper. I'm the mayor."

"What a great costume."

"I'm not wearing a costume," he said, dryly, and then perked up. "Want to hear a song?"

"No, thanks," I told him. "You've already scared my kids enough for one night."

As we walked away, my kids looked eagerly into their bags to see what the Mayor had given them.

"Hey!" said one. "My Snickers bar is missing!"

"Mine, too!" said the other.

Next stop was a City Councilwoman's house. She was dressed like a vampire. Hmm... a politician dressed like a creature who sucks people dry. How ironically redundant.

"Nice costume," I told her, hoping that by being polite she might be even more generous to my candy-loving children.

"I'm not wearing a costume," she said, and then gave us directions back to the mayor's house.

My kids once again looked into their bags.

"Hey! My Payday's missing!"

"Mine, too!"

We decided to call it a night.

As we drove back home, I noticed that the lights were on at the Central Appraisal District, the city agency in charge of raising our property taxes. I'm sure that must be what they're in charge of, because it's all I've ever seen them do. They had a big sign out front. It read:

Welcome Trick or Treaters!

Our Halloween was saved. We stopped, got in line, and, when it was finally our turn, my kids sang out in unison: "Trick or treat! Smell my feet! Give us something good to eat!" The city employees at CAD sang back happily: "Hold out your bags! Close your eyes! And you will get a big surprise!" We did, and, when we left, my kids couldn't wait to look inside their bags. They were anxious to see what their big surprise was.

"Hey! My bag's empty!"

"Mine, too!"

Needless to say, after that my wife took charge of taking the kids trick-or-treating, leaving me to deal with the sugar-bombed trick-or-treaters, but that was okay with me because what I like best about Halloween is you never know who's going to show up at your front door.

In fact, just last year my very first little trick-or-treater of the evening was none other than Barack Obama. He was dressed like the President of the United States of America, and 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 derisively, and then left.

Before I could shut the door, I heard someone crying. It was John Boehner, the former Speaker of the House. He was dressed like a hobo and curled up in the fetal position by the bushes.

"Can you help me, mister?" he asked, his voice trembling. ""I'm lost.

I tried to help, but, when he asked me for money, I sent him on his way.

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.

Holy Cow! My next trick-or-treater was Donald Trump!

"I don't need your pathetic candy, I'm rich!" he blustered, and left to tell the rest of the block.

Ding dong!

The doorbell rang out, but no one said the magic words.

"Who is it?" I called out.

"Chris Christie."

"Chris Christie?"

"Yeah, from Jersey."

I opened the door and was greeted by the sight of the Hey, Kool-Aid! guy.

"Wow, what a great costume!" I told him.

"I'm not wearing a costume," he said, so I gave him a candy corn and told him to come back when he couldn't stay so long. Chris Christie?

Never heard of him.

The night was dragging to an end when a big, well-fed 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.

"You know," he groused as he left, "I'M the one who really won the election."

Get over it, man.

Ding dong!

"Trick or treat!"

It was getting late, and the very last trick-or-treaters of the night were at my door. I opened it, and there stood Jeb Bush and Hillary Clinton, elbowing each other to be first in line.

I screamed in horror and slammed the door in their faces.

Jeez... the Bushes and the Clintons.

Those guys never go away.