October is the month of blood and gore,
When killers with their knives run round the screen,
And try to up the numbers of death's score
In ways that are increasingly obscene.
When eager viewers sit and feast their eyes
As viscous fluids spray about from wounds,
They scream and cheer, or sometimes even hide,
And marathon these flicks of blood and doom.
But unbeknownst to this morbid lot,
The greatest slasher tale is all too real,
Each year we go out to the pumkin plot,
We grab the squash and then away we steal,
We vivisect them at the kitchen table,
And then display them long as we are able.
When killers with their knives run round the screen,
And try to up the numbers of death's score
In ways that are increasingly obscene.
When eager viewers sit and feast their eyes
As viscous fluids spray about from wounds,
They scream and cheer, or sometimes even hide,
And marathon these flicks of blood and doom.
But unbeknownst to this morbid lot,
The greatest slasher tale is all too real,
Each year we go out to the pumkin plot,
We grab the squash and then away we steal,
We vivisect them at the kitchen table,
And then display them long as we are able.
Gruesome! And I mean that in a good way.
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