Candy ass
Every October, my boss fills a plastic jack-o-lantern with various types of candy and it resides on top of the file cabinet in my department. He also provides the accounting department, which is also housed on this floor, with a jack-o-lantern of their own.

Throughout the month, Mr. Pumpkin, as he's affectionately called, gets several refills. My boss sends us out on candy runs and we take requests. (By far the most popular in our department: Heath bars.)

By the time Halloween rolls around, everyone is so sugared up it's ridiculous. I hopped on the scale last night and in the month of October alone I have gained 5 pounds. I attribute every last ounce to Mr. Pumpkin.

So now that it's November, Mr. Pumpkin will no longer be refilled by my boss. As soon as he is empty, he goes back up on the high shelf in our store room to wait another eleven months. The sooner, the better, in my opinion.

My twisted logic dictates that if I eat a whole bunch of candy every day, Mr. Pumpkin will be empty sooner. The candy binge that I'm on is truly disgusting. I am sweating Skittle juice. The inside of my mouth has a perpetual coating of high fructose corn syrup.

However, it did motivate me to get on my treadmill last night for the first time since I gave birth to the Bankster Doodle Doo.