"Putt-putt: The windmill spins for thee!"

You figure that the best place to find people that will work for free soda and candy would be the local “Putt-Putt” golf course, since it is mainly inhabited by children and stoners. You assume that you’ll be able to gather a sizable group of these children, and child-like people as it were, with such a generous offer, so you hop in your brother’s van and head out.

It’s fairly dark out when you arrive at the “Putt-Putt” course. Still, a few children and their parents, along with a handful of people intently watching the windmill turn, are present. You survey your prospects, and decide to first head over to the group coveting the windmill.

Your presence goes unnoticed until you tap the nearest one on the shoulder. He slowly turns, gives you a subdued, “huh?” then turns back to the windmill, complaining that you made him lose his place. You announce that you need some help with your Halloween party, and that you’ll be giving everyone involved all the candy and store brand soda they want. When you get no reaction, you stop the windmill with your hand and make the offer again, this time with far better results.

With your group of tripped-out freaks at your back, you head over to one of the children whose parent is grumbling and recording their scores on the last hole. You tell the little boy that you are in need of a bartender because no one in your current lot is lucid enough to do so, and that you will give him all the candy and soda he wants if he’ll serve your guests. In response, the child points at you, rolls his eyes into the back of his head, and shrieks like one of the replicants from Invasion of the Bodysnatchers. You stumble backward in surprise and trip over one of the stoners’ especially long and filthy dreadlocks. You land face first in the course’s water hole and the stoners, believing that you are starting a pool party, leap in after you. In under a minute, you are pinned in the three-inch deep pool by your unwashed compatriots. You hear one of them complimenting you on your “killer pool party” moments before you drown.

START OVER, FLIPPER!