If Fall Wrote A Pumpkin An Apology Letter

September 26th 2014

Hey Pumpkin,

It’s me. Autumn. But most people call me Fall. Can’t explain it. Won’t explain it.

Except that I will.

It’s kind of how people named “John” sometimes go by Jack. Or how “Richards” go by “Dick.” Or how any guy with mandals, croakies and a simultaneous affinity for croissants is often called “douche.” Make sense? God, it’s so good catch up.

 Anyway. The real reason I’m writing you this letter is truly to say…

I’m fucking sorry man.

Like honestly.

One minute, I’m just hanging out, makin the air all crisp and shit, switchin up the color of the leaves:

Bitches love it.

Bitches love it.


Putting rakes on super sale and making people wear real pants:

Me right now.

Me right now.


I’m at this party, with summer, and this bitch has been partying for about 3? 4 months now? But before she hands the party baton to me circa mid September, we get a little tipsy and we’re joking about how the moon “moons” people every night and how the sun is kind of a fucking show off.

Yeah, we get it.

Yeah, we get it.


And the next thing I know we somehow segue into talking about vegetables. And what started as basic broccoli banter ended up in me making ONE COMMENT about you. JUST ONE.

I swear it.

Something about how you’re in good shape. Great curves…hot stem…all good things…

Oh baby.

Oh baby.

And the next thing I know.

Everyone is going fucking APESHIT for your bodice.

Just a close get together of friends.

Great reviews, I’d say. 

And suddenly.

You’re a latte.

You’re a candy.

You’re SCARY ASS jackolantern

Someone's been hanging out with the moon lately...


And you know what else?

White people want pictures with you.

And they want it NOW.

Group picutre—Fall edition.

They can’t be stopped. 

Then? They want to simultaneously uproot you from the ground, paint the shit out of you and put you on their front fucking porch.

Gangs all here.

Gangs all here. 

Thing is.

I just…I wanted to come clean. Tell you it was me. Start new…

And then probably order pumpkin spice latte. BUT ONLY BECAUSE.

Proud to be an American.

Proud to be an American. 


I just needed you to know that…I do generally care. And that I AM somewhat sorry.

And I’m also probably going to carve a masterpiece of Daniel Radcliffe into your face at some point. Just really quick.

He who shall be named.

He who shall be named. 


I just needed you to know that…I really have thought about caring. And that I AM (potentially) sorry.

Also, chances are good I’m going to try and steal your identity entirely. But only because I’m such as hit at all the Halloween parties.




I just needed you to know that caring is something I’m considering. And I AM sure, that someone out there—is sorry.

It’s just that.

Every time I try to apologize, I get all panicky because I don’t mean it and then I end up just saying nonsense like:

But not really.

Panic mode over here. 


And every time I try to give you a sympathetic hug it just kind of turns out like:

Not gonna happen.

Not gonna happen. 


I guess what I’m trying to say is:

Sorry I’m not sorry.

Complete with a:


And that’s about all I had to say about that.

But hey.

I’m gonna bounce.com.

Any excuse to use this gif.

Any excuse to use this gif.

I’ve got another letter to write to Turkey. Thanksgiving isn’t so far away, you see, and everyone knows come October that bastard and all his friends are long fucking gone.

Bye guys.

Bye guys.

Which, is wildly inconvenient, because he borrowed my socks 3 weeks ago and I need to get that shit back before he runs for the hills! It’ll be more of a threat letter than anything else. I’ll probably end with the line “Hand back the knee-highs or I’ll tell “The Jacksons” on Mulberry Ave. (who need to feed a family of 15 last minute) exactly where you fucking are.”

Feelin mature over here.



Last year I jokingly put a can of cranberry sauce on his doorstep with the note “It’s time to get saucy.”

An he ended our friendship immediately.

Until he needed socks.

Anyway pumpkin,

I’m glad we had this talk. I feel better already! Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got some people who want some goddamn wind in their hair.

Needy bitch.

Needy bitch.


Leaf blowers and Side Salads,