He ate the donkey out of our pumpkin this weekend. (Note the diabolical eyes, burning like the fires of hell.)
So if he’s reading this, we want him to hear us loud and clear:
You’re gonna die, clown.
More photographic proof of his nefariousness:
The gaping hole in our pumpkin is but a fraction of the gaping hole in our soul.
“My will is to do thy work, O Dark Lord.”
“I long to fill my gut with the pumpkin seeds of abomination.”
What child will want candy from a house with an aesthetically displeasing, ferociously nibbled Cyclops pumpkin?