You’ve been BOO’ed – Now Comes The Retaliation!


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If you live in the suburbs, you may be well aware of a particular Halloween tradition that was clearly started by someone with either way too much time on their hands, or a blatant death wish. I’m talking about the famous suburbian “You’ve Been BOO’ed” sign on your door.

For those that aren’t familiar with this tradition, it goes a little something like this:

  1. Pack a Halloween pail with candy, or Halloween decorations. (Or, if you live in my neighborhood, Scooby Doo fruit snacks, silly bands, and a bottle of gin). You MUST include the “You’ve Been BOO’ed” official kitschy poem(tm) which contains these instructions about what to do, and a sign with a big “BOO” on it so that you can tape it to your door and let other folks in your neighborhood know you’ve been assimilated into full suburbia.
  2. Print out your own clean, fresh version of the “You’ve Been BOO’ed” poem, because you have to assume by now yours is covered with something that spilled while it was being carried to your doorstep by a toddler who can barely lift it (let’s face it, a full bottle of gin is heavy). You can also assume that said toddler already had hands full of paint and their own Scooby Doo fruit snacks, so if you can even read your own “You’ve Been BOO’ed” sign then you’re already doing pretty good.
  3. Tape the “You’ve Been BOO’ed” sign to your door.
  4. Pick a mark in your neighborhood. To maximize the fun of this exercise, pick the family that has the LEAST amount of time and the MOST amount of kids.
  5. Send your toddler over to drop off your filled pail of Halloween goodness (because it’s not like they are going to get another full-sized pail of candy on Halloween anyway) complete with “You’ve Been BOO’ed” sign and kitschy poem(tm) of instructions.
  6. Sit back and watch the show.

The last step is fun, and one we did laugh about in my neighborhood. The first year, it was a great success. There’s nothing like laughing over a bottle of gin about how a 65-year old woman was sneaking around a house while the owner yelled “Who’s there!” and hearing about how said woman had to hide behind a patch of ferns and just barely snuck away before the owner threatened to send the dogs out.

Yes, we did get some good stories about it. That second year though, the fun had worn out and thus me and another neighbor decided to do something about it. The great thing about a having a neighborhood that has a sense of humor is that you can have some fun with them.

And it is in that great fun that the retaliation was born: “You’ve Been Gobbled.

It had to have all the works of the BOO – a kitschy poem(tm). A sign that you’ve been to the house. But how far would people go? What could our fellow suburbanites do in the name of spreading good cheer on a holiday?

Would they make a Thanksgiving side dish?

We thought about it, and this is what we came up with:

 You’ve Been GOBBLED!

My name is Giblets the Turkey and I’m here to say,
Someone wanted to make your day!
They worked all day, and worked all night
To bring you this part of Thanksgiving delight.

So return the favor and pass it on,
With a part of dinner you think is c’est bonne!
Gravy, peas, or mashed potatoes,
Cranberry sauce or stewed tomatoes.

Pass on the bit you think is best,
But for my sake, skip the turkey breast!
Instead how about a nice beef jerky,
Or maybe even hot Tofurkey?

To update my whereabouts on the block,
From your mailbox, hang a big red sock.
You’ll drive up your street with a big grin,
Because then you’ll know just where I’ve been!

So we threw in a can of peas, a tupperware crammed with hot mashed potatoes, a red sock, and our own “You’ve Been Gobbled” kitschy poem of instructions(tm). We left it on the first neighbor’s door, rang the bell, and then sat back with popcorn.

Sure enough, the very next day, the sock was hanging on the mailbox. And the day after that, it appeared on another mailbox.

And so it continued until a fight almost broke out at a neighborhood gathering over that one family that was brave enough to drop the ball and slack off and end it all, after the other family had slaved over a hot Armenian secret family stuffing recipe for days. At least that’s how I think it happened.

So please, feel free to take my poem and send Giblets the Turkey to YOUR neighborhood, sit back and watch the show. In the meantime, I’m going to watch my back as I’m pretty sure I’m being targeted for something as I type this. That’s just how it goes in suburbia.

Here’s the doc: YouveBeenGobbled 


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