Prunes, October, and The Powdered Milk Man

I suppose life would be better if it weren't an entire 22º in my house, and my fingers weren't icicles. But since the powdered milk man is coming after me, I suppose it's ok. Need I explain? Well you see, one of my favorite groups called "The Aquabats" have a song called "Powdered Milk Man," which I recently listened to. Naturally, like all amazing songs, it's now stuck in my head. Being October and all, I figure it makes sense. Why? I'm not sure.
Anywho, as I was cleaning my basement this morning, I discovered a stash of prunes in my cupboard [upstairs] which I happily packed off with. I should probably confess that I absolutely adore prunes. I know, I accept many gibes from my peers because of it, but truly, deep down, I love the soft, squishy pulp which commonly repulses most people. I think prunes fall into the same underrated category as black licorice: it's not an acquired taste, because it's not something that's so nasty that people keep eating it until they like it, it's either you love it or you absolutely hate it. I believe there has been some research done about back licorice and it's fans, and the results were that if a pregnant mother liked and consumed black licorice, her child had better chances of appreciating it than a child who's mother did not consume black licorice during her pregnancy.
Also because it's October, I have noticed a dramatic increase in Christmas themed merchandise in stores. This is one reason I abhor the entire Christmas season: from September until December 26th, 12:01 a.m. I have nothing against Christmas, but I do loath the retched Carols and "music" of the blasted holiday, especially when most radio stations select the absolute worst and play it non-stop. There are two Christmas songs which I actually appreciate, and those would be "Oh Holy Night," and "What Child Is This." Another bothersome issue about Christmas, is that once it's happened, stores and other retailers are more than antsy the get the merchandise off of their shelves. What's with that?
Lastly, I've decided that I should join the no-pants club of America, more commonly known as the NPA. I have come to this conclusion because of my newfound disdain for pants, and my overall partiality to skirts and dresses. Here I'll end, because I'm starting to not make sense, even to myself. Cheers.