At midnight, the headless skateboardsman chooses a house—where a wife is always waiting—demanding tribute.
The wife offers to blow the skateboardsman, her house picked clean by trick-or-treaters.
His cape whipped back, she kneels to swallow his all-too solid cock.
Last night, coming home wasted from a Halloween beer party, you saw your mother kneel to suck the pumpkin headed spectre’s cock. Amazed, you watched her head bob and twist until he arched, unloading his ghostly goo.
Then, his cape billowing, he rode off.
Next day, you asked your burning question.
“A skateboard?”
“Because a horse would shit the lawn.”
