Dear resident of that one farm, the one off the road. With the dirt? The dirt farm.
I am sorry I stole your prize-winning pumpkin.
I'm also sorry for getting your name and address wrong in the opening of this apology letter. That's why I just slipped it under your door in the dead of night. Do farms have addresses? Do people mail you things? Or do they come on the stagecoach?
George Pickow/Hulton Archive/Getty
Can the stagecoach driver do many emojis?
But enough about that. The pumpkin theft. That's what you want to know about, and that is what I, after a fashion, am about to apologize for. You should know that this isn't court-ordered, because I respect no court. Nor is it done out of fear of some higher power, because honestly, not much is going to help me there. No, I'm apologizing to you for my own reasons. We'll get to those in due time.
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."
Unfortunately I don't own land for farming, thanks to those personal failings again. I did have access to a freeway median -- anyone with courage does, actually -- but this also ended in failure. No matter what I tried, I couldn't get the pumpkins to lay their eggs there.
I blame the traffic noise.
Anyway, that's why I decided to steal your pumpkin. Sorry. But now that you've accepted that apology, there are a number of other deeds I committed in parallel with the theft that are also worthy of apology.
I'm sorry I cut a hole in your fence to access your farm. Although you are a vegetable farmer, and I suspect at minimal risk of having your vegetables escape, there were still pests to consider. Foxes, rabbits, or teenagers could do an incredible amount of damage to your livelihood, and my cutting a hole in your fence could have indirectly caused that.
I'm sorry for shooing dozens of rabbits in through the hole in the fence. That was a little less indirect. The rabbits were of course intended to be a distraction, though due to their natural timidity, you probably didn't notice them for several hours. So, not much of a distraction. I believe I was thinking of kangaroos. Could you imagine? Could you even imagine?
Also, you don't own the pet shop in town, do you? Probably not. That'll be a separate apology letter, then.
Sorry for cluttering this apology letter with a discussion of apologies I owe other people. This is already dragging on a bit.
I'm sorry I pulled the ... handle? ... off your pumpkin. What is that thing called? The hat? In my defense, prize-winning pumpkins are extremely heavy.
I'm sorry I called your pumpkin a motherfucker. This isn't because I think vegetables understand language, or should be subjected to harsh words. Fuck 'em. No, I'm mainly sorry I shrieked it so loud that I alerted you and your dogs to my presence. More an apology to myself, really.
I'm sorry for distracting your dogs with a length of sausage links. Clearly, I was prepared for dealing with dogs, but I know now that I should have fed the sausages to them instead of twirling them over my head. This was probably more confusing than distracting.
I'm sorry for attempting to seduce your three attractive daughters. I guess they heard the dogs barking and came to see what was the commotion, and when they saw that it was just a guy who needed a win trying to steal their pumpkin, they got angry. I panicked, and having been misled on some of the finer points of farm culture, thought that seducing attractive daughters was the done thing to do. Again, poor public schools.
I'm especially sorry I tried to seduce your daughters by twirling sausages over my head. Even with the suggestively waggled eyebrows, this was poorly conceived. Though it did convince your daughters to flee, convinced I was a dangerous sex maniac, allowing me to continue stealing the pumpkin. So it did kind of work. In fact, I retract this apology.
It occurs to me now that those women might not have been your daughters, and that they actually owned and operated the farm themselves, and that they are in fact you. That's very poor of me. These kind of sexist presumptions are the cause of many of society's ills. My bad.
Everyone right now tell the nearest woman that you're sorry you assumed they didn't own and operate a farm.
I'm sorry I tied a long rope to your pumpkin and then tied the other end to your tractor and then stole your tractor and then, about 20 meters of rope later, stole your pumpkin. Lots of sins there. Tractors are almost certainly worth a lot more than pumpkins, and really worthy of the headline apology of this letter, but you did ultimately get it back.
I'm sorry you had to fish your tractor out of a river.
I'm sorry I paddled down the river on your pumpkin. I was fairly surprised to learn that pumpkins can float, but given that I'd just lost my previous transportation, didn't want to pass up the opportunity to make my escape, even if it did mean badly damaging your pumpkin on various rocks and debris.
An additional auxiliary apology for ripping off the knob earlier. That would have made the journey a lot less harrowing.
Anyway, here we are. I've stolen a pumpkin, and I'm sorry, and you are accepting my apology. But we still haven't solved the original problem: the fact that I really needed a win. Although I now have your pumpkin, it's a little worse for the wear and unsuitable for winning any contests. And as I couldn't help but notice that you had another pumpkin of considerable girth at your farm, I would like you to enter that pumpkin in various upcoming contests under my name. Please find enclosed a piece of your original pumpkin. MORE PIECES WILL FOLLOW IF YOU DO NOT MEET MY DEMANDS.
Finally, I'm sorry it had to come to this.
Chris Bucholz is a Cracked columnist and your best friend. The author of the science fiction novel Severance, his next novel, Freeze/Thaw, is available right now! Holy shit! Join him on Facebook or Twitter.
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