The clocks fell back, giving partygoers an extra hour to enjoy Halloween festivities

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As the witching hour began – about 10 o’clock in Kent’s case – three dainty girl Ninja Turtles pranced up a home’s walkway to a party on College Avenue.

“We’re Ninja Turtles,” the trio announced to the nurses, devils and angels passing by in case there was any confusion.

A block east on College Avenue, two husky male Ninja Turtles trailed, perhaps in hot pursuit of their female, shell-bearing counterparts.

And so the revelry in Kent went for the next five hours.

A hazmat team trolled the streets of Kent, looking to exterminate the pesky swine flu germs roaming the city. Two camouflage blobs marched up and down Main Street, spontaneously falling over into the mulched tree lawns and waiting to be stepped on by the unsuspecting heroes and villains walking amiably side by side.

One meeting defied the realms of science: space-age robots and Julius Caesar with his Roman attire-clad wife. With remarkable skill, Caesar used a new-fangled digital camera to snap a photo of his gal and the robots.

Meanwhile, members of a Christian group stationed on the corner of Water and Main streets bellowed to the Halloween crowd: “We’re talking about having a relationship with God . He is the only one that can deliver you from sin.”

One of several Jesuses gracing the jammed streets bowed in front of the Christian protesters. They didn’t seem moved.

“This is a hoot,” said one (real) Kent police officer as he made his way up Main Street.

At a fraternity house farther up the street, the Cookie Monster shouted “COOKIES! COOKIES!” to passing partygoers – including two life-sized cookies.

A fellow partygoer got excited. “Does he really have cookies up there?” he asked.

“No, dude,” his friend replied, crumbling all excitement.

But the downtown excitement didn’t faze everyone. Two dogs snoozed through the festivities in a truck bed as their owners huddled in blankets and watched the pandemonium. Those people knew exactly where they wanted to be: on the sidelines as amused spectators.

Others thought they knew but were having navigation issues.

“Let’s go to Phi something, something, something,” a girl in a pack of people suggested.

No word on whether they actually found that fraternity.

The usually elusive Waldo, however, couldn’t stay hidden in Kent. At least five Waldos popped in and out of bars and around corners.

“I’ve never found so many Waldos in my life!” one girl exclaimed.

A few celebrities – both dead and alive – joined the fictional characters as well. Michael Jackson, donning a surgical mask, posed for a photo with a very excited Indian princess. And several Lady Gagas and Abe Lincolns ventured downtown where Billy Mays, in his characteristic booming voice, urged people to “TRY OXICLEAN!”

As daylight-saving time neared its end, Monopoly money and costume remnants littered the streets. A line of princesses, Pokemon characters and Dalmatians formed at the entrance to Guy’s Pizza Co.

Alluding to the end of Prohibition or the end of her college career, a 1920s flapper girl mused about the future as she waited in line.

“Dude, this is the last Halloween I have to worry about getting arrested,” she said. “I like it.”

Either way, she left without even getting a slice of pizza.

Contact Daily Kent Stater editor Jackie Valley at [email protected]