Well. It occurs to me that I'm a little bored today. I'm done writing on my other stuff. (This means that my brain has been fried from thinking in Bubba vernacular.) My MIL has departed for Texas where she has a date with a FEMA trailer and a truck to haul it from Mississippi to Texas. (Unfortunately, I'm not permitted to blog about my MIL because I, sigh, promised not to do it. But doesn't a story about a FEMA trailer and my MIL sound like it has unlimited potential? I think it does. In fact, just listening to my MIL talk to insurance companies on the phone to insure the FEMA trailer whilst on its travels has potential. But my lips are sealed. Too bad my fingers are a little loose.)
I think we need another story about pumpkins. (See 'The Attack of the GIANT Monster Pumpkins OR What to Do When Your Garden Doesn't Produce (Get it?)) (Oh, the hell with it. Just go back and read all the blogs. I'll still be here.)
Warning: To people with no sense of humor, you should just stop right here. You won't get the jokes and you'll think my illustrated photos are silly and stupid. It'll probably hurt you. Stop reading now and go back to your Reader's Digest or The Dullest Blog in the World. (I'm linking this because here it is. I think it's funny. He blogged about standing up and then was sitting down. It couldn't get much duller than that. He probably doesn't have anyone who writes and thinks his blog is offensive.)
Anyway, let me find a little inspiration. Pumpkins. I already did the obvious one. Fairy Godmother. Pumpkin carriage, etc. So what else to do with pumpkins? Pumpkin pie? Pumpkin muffins? Sleepy Hollow. Yeah, Washington Irving lives forever. (I have an urgent need to go watch Johnny Depp and Christina Ricci. Tim Burton rocks. I loved Christopher Walker as the Hessian.)
|See? See? I mean, really. (But now Helena looks a|
little funky, too. Hey, it works for them.) (And wouldn't
The Life and Death of Bayou Billy be a great novel
for Tim Burton to make into a movie? Or the Coen Brothers.
Whichever. Call me!)
Once there was a pumpkin hanging out in a field of other pumpkins mind their own business.
|Yes, I have used the pumpkin with the weird butt again. I will|
probably use this pumpkin that I grew in my garden in perpetuity
or until it's not funny anymore. Probably the latter.
|I think I might have missed messing with Mellow, my sister's cat,|
for a few blogs. So I felt compelled.
|I wasn't sure about a headless Hessian's outfit so I winged it.|
|Hey, weird butted pumpkin is quick on its...well...weird butt.|
|I don't think the real headless Hessian would have debated with |
the weird butted pumpkin but it's my story.
|Hmm. Am I dragging on this topic too long? Maybe.|
|See, everything you need to learn can be learned from school and from|
movies. (My mother was definitely wrong about TV rotting my
brain. What was I saying?)
In conclusion, the pumpkin settled down into its patch and then later on became the President of the Local League of Kick-Pumpkin-Throwers'-Butts. (And you thought that Ichabod Crane and the Headless Horseman were the only perspectives of that story.)
But not the end of this blog.