Killing Pumpkins

IMG_7885_edited-1

They were just sitting there so pretty on my front porch, minding their own business. They were all so happy, so inviting and so happy, so inviting, and so happy.  (Can I be any more clear?)

Then my oldest punk fetched a (happy) pumpkin off the porch and  killed it.  Just like that.  Then my youngest went to the front porch, found a (happy) pumpkin and killed it.  It was just like the scene in It’s the Great Pumpkin Charlie Brown.

Peer pressure is real, people.  I’m just sayin…

IMG_8408_edited-2

Ol’ Blue Eyes even participated.  I have evidence of his influence on these innocent children.  Just look at this.

IMG_8404_edited-1

They tell me that they have given my pumpkins a new life.  A new personality.  (I don’t believe them.)  Here’s is my oldest punks pumpkin.

IMG_8415_edited-1

Did you see the knife coming out of his head?  No?  Ok then, here is a look at his pumpkin with my flash on.

IMG_8418_edited-1

Can you believe this?  Now here’s my youngest punks pumpkin.

IMG_8422_edited-1

My poor pumpkins!  Do you think they look happy?  I know!  I didn’t either!

Anyways, to help console me, Ol’ Blue Eyes took me out for a pumpkin spice latte.

Being back and looking at them now, I guess the pumpkins look … OK.  I guess we are ready for Halloween now and all the cute little punks that come to my door all dressed up.  I can hardly wait.  I love Halloween!

Note:  I could be under the influence of a pumpkin spice latte… and some candy that is supposed to be for trick or treaters.  I didn’t say I was… I just said that I could be.  There’s a difference.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s