Probably the first thing you want to know is why I stole your massive, prize-winning pumpkin. Well, like yourself, I was aware that a number of county fairs have pumpkin-growing competitions. It's where I first saw your impressive specimen, while lurking, as I do, in the shadows. "Growing a pumpkin," I thought, lurkingly, "That looks easy." Without going into too much detail about the derelict vessel that is my life, I really, really needed a win -- any win. Taking first prize in a pumpkin contest was basically my last shot at success.
Mamas, don't your babies grow up to be comedy writers.
You should know I didn't resort to a madcap heist right away, as is typical for me. I did legitimately try to grow my own pumpkin. But thanks to our underfunded public schools and some personal failings, I didn't really know how to do this. My first attempt, making two already large pumpkins mate, was completely unsuccessful -- and, I've since learned, biologically impossible. Some expert advice (given by the police officers who arrested me for making pumpkins fuck in a Safeway) suggested that pumpkins grow in the ground.
"Like you did, apparently."