OK, this whole healthy living thing has just flat gotten out of control. I'm all in favor of eating your veggies, drinking your juice, and not slurping up lard through a straw, but when it gets to where I can't find a candy store, I have to call a halt.

As I may have mentioned, the wife and I have joined a bowling league. Since Thursday is our league night, and also Halloween, all the bowlers are going to don costumes. Personally, I'm looking forward to watching the all-female team that pledged to dress as the Rockettes bowl in those heels.

Where does the candy shop fit in? Well, in my usual creative fashion, I've come up with a Sewer Psycho costume. However, it needed one final accoutrement: gummi rats. I plan to skewer them on a plastic machete and offer my fellow bowlers bites of my "dinner."

I'll be the first to admit that a gummi rat may not be the most common candy item, but one would think that, with Halloween upon us, it would be fairly common. I figured I'd just pop down to my local mall candy store and snap a few up.

There was one egregious flaw with my plan: of the three malls within easy driving distance, none have anything approaching a candy store.

I live in Houston, supposedly America's fattest city, and can't find a candy store? Outrageous! There are juice bars and smoothie shops underfoot everywhere, but just try finding a nut cluster or chocolate-covered peanut.

The rats were finally tracked down, costing me only an hour's travel, but the situation is most troubling.

But enough about me. Let's see what some of your fellow Americans are up to this Samhain season.

'Til Death Do Us Join

Traci Dunn and Tom Sletten should have no problem with the horrific things life might throw in their path after their wedding ceremony. The pair, members of the local Jaycees chapter, decided to get in the "spirit" of the season and tie the knot at the chapter's haunted house. The bride and groom dressed as a dead couple, the maid of honor was a witch, and the best man wore a death mask. Even the corsages and flower arrangements were wilting.

I can see it now. Fifteen years down the road, the kids are rooting around in a box of mom and dad's wedding stuff while the folks are out and they stumble upon the videotape of the wedding. By the time the happy couple returns home, the kids are shopping for orphanages and have four different therapists on speed-dial.

Trick Or ... Trick?

Kenneth McCaster, police chief of Saluda, S.C., despite wearing one of the most-popular costumes all year, would outlaw Halloween if he had his druthers. Saying that pranksters have ruined the celebration, McCaster is crusading against the festivities.

He's advising residents to turn off their porch lights and refuse to answer the door. Instead, the town is planning a party at a local park.

Now, things may have changed, but when I was in the heyday of my trick-or-treating, the best way to avoid soaped windows or egged cars was to give out really GOOD candy. No Starlight Mints or lame bubblegum ... we wanted Snickers and Almond Joys, the name-brand bonanza of Halloween munchies. And heaven help the well-meaning folks who handed out granola, trail mix, or worst of all, toothbrushes.

My advice to the good folks of Saluda is to stay home, turn on the porch light, and hand over the name-brand goodies when the doorbell rings.

The Creepiest Cam

From Colleen and Darlene, our Cleveland weird scouts, comes the Punderson Manor Ghost Cam. No exaggeration here, folks, this is one creepy cam. I sat for an hour, pushing the reload button, and convinced myself that I'd seen all manner of oddness.

Of course, it could be the research-assisting pitcher of gin and tonics helping my visual perception, but click on the link above and see for yourself.

Weight-Loss Heresy

Sorry to end this week's festivities on a down note, but a recent extreme lack of shame in advertising has made itself worthy of attention.

Jenny Craig is fond of using "real people" in its ads, but a recent one, in my most humble opinion, went entirely too far.

In the commercial, a blond schoolteacher says, in a voiceover, that she realized "after the world changed" that she wasn't in good enough shape to protect her class if something happened. We are then treated to the usual before-and-after photo montage.

Using the events of Sept. 11, 2001, to hawk a weight-loss scheme has got to be one of the most grandiose offenses against decency in the history of the ad biz. It goes so far beyond the bounds of taste as to almost be a self-parody.

What do you think? Drop me a line, I look forward to hearing from you!