Well, it didn’t take long for rot to overwhelm the potentially-annually-lovable Pumpkinman from my last post. Shortly after I took the one and only pic of Pumpkinman (at least I have a picture), rot exerted its mighty will and took Pumpkinman down and sent me into mourning yesterday.
I haven’t cried like I did since Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer got hit by a car. I hate it when you can see the bones sticking out. I should have known. Rot is unstoppable. I’m a perfect example. Did you know that each day after a pumpkin is harvested is equal to one human year? That’s a fascinating stat that I just made up.
Maybe next year we’ll have a new Pumpkinman to photograph, love, cherish, and take to swanky events and soirees as my Plus 1. But for now, I can only ponder the inevitable question.
Rot, where is thy sting? Or is that Sting, where is thy rot?
Whatever, Sting. Set aside your ego and show a little grief. Pumpkinman is gone. My holidays are ruined. Oh, wait, I can still salvage and roast pumpkin seeds. Yum! If you are at all squeamish, you may not want to read on.
Jim Flanigan Looks at the World 