The pumpkin puked on the driveway today.

This particular pumpkin isn't in Big R's man triangle, so i was able to get near enough to snap a picture. I think the staging of the pumpkin puke is fantastic. I couldn't have laid out the pulpy parts or the seeds any better than whatever vermin infiltrated the fleshy orb and gutted it. I'm surprised I didn't come up the driveway to find some kind of portly squirrel sprawled out next to his dirty work, scratching his balls and picking pumpkin pulp from his teeth.

I learned from Big R that the other pumpkin formerly living in his man triangle now has a final resting place in my sister's backyard compost pile. It's living out its final days amongst zuccini skins, coffee grinds, dog poop and balls of cat hair. With all those nutrient-rich additives, I'm not too sure what my holiday pumpkin will bring to the mix, but Cosmetique and J'Adore (my sister and her fiancee) assure me that come next year they'll be gardening with 'black gold'. ICK...whatever.