Donald Trumpkin

As All Hallows Eve approached, that autumn in question, the visage of Great Trumpkin (GT) was fraught with much consternation. As the setting, Indian Summer sun hesitantly shone upon his carefully coiffed, conrnsilk pompadour, GT commiserated with the lesser Trumpkins about the self-produced perplexities of his plight. You see, for the first time in memory, GT’s infallibility was being questioned. For time immemorial, GT had been the undisputed leader of the Multipatch Protectorate of Edibles in Transition (MUPPET). For the first time in vegistory a Trumpkin was being challenged by a different variety of plant life for the governing control of Muppettonia. As a matter of fact, the Trumpkin control of Muppettonia had been so absolute that the outside challenge to the current GT was so jarring that it momentarily scrambled his squash. His challenger was haughty Clarrlot from Tuberville. She carried the same hue as his, but the Clarrots were from a different level of development in Muppett lore. Thus it was, as Hallows Eve drew nigh.

All of Muppett was agog with speculation. The news ran through every garden, patch and field. The potubers were especially delighted that one from their level had the roots to rise to the point of taking on the omnipotent GT. The fact that she was from the Clarrot class merely added to the audacity of it all. HT had been around forever. She had always been active among the Muppettonians, always stressing the need for better minerals as the clue to increased growth and quality among plant life. But, always, as autumn approached she, along with the rest of the Muppettonians, retreated to her and their own furrows within the protectorate. When e’er the wisp of that Hallowed Old Eve approached, that was the moment of the Great Trumpkin – and every seedling in Muppettonia knew it!

From season to season,
On that designated night,
As frost fell on wizened
Noses of witches in flight.

The moon reached its fullness;
Upon the Trumpkin Patch stayed.
It seemed they alone were blest,
‘Mongst others in the glade.

As all the coyotes’ howls
Ran shivers through the vines,
Hotts from the wise owls
Descended from the pines.

As the early frost fell,
Always to no one’s surprise,
Midst that cool autumn spell,
Sans doute, did Great Trumpkin rise!

Thus it was then. What shall it be now? Ever since HC emerged, GT has been on the prowl. He is searching for traitors under every bush. His staid composure of yore has been scuttled for a permanent scowl of disdain. The lesser Trumpkins are frozen in place. They are caught between the unprecedented challenge of HC and the mesmerizing presence of GT.

GT does not seem to comprehend the concept of total protectorate approval. As HC campaigns among all the patches, furrows and thickets, GT continually harangues only the lesser Trumpkins, seemingly convinced that, if he can hold the Trumpkin patch together, that would suffice for the approval of all the plant life within the protectorate: “That is the way it has always been; why should it change now?” – despite all sanity and reason. Ergo, the great fault of the Great Trumpkin! He has lost all reason, and is on the verge of insanity. HC knows this, and she exploits it to the fullest. She knows where all of GT’s loose vines are located, and she pulls them – one by one. As she continues to rattle his Trumpkin seeds, the more he becomes unhinged and begns to blow his perfectly rounded, Jack ‘O Lantern top.

Trumpkin Pie

As it is; as the fated eve begins to enter our orbit, thus it is that this warning goes out: To all within hearing range, as the calendar wanes and the winds begin to whine, beware as the leaves begin to fall, the chills run up your spine – it is usually the night of the Great Trumpkin. Usually, he merely rises to show his presence, and all settles down until the following fall. This season, however, that fall may end in a great crash – then, the diet of Muppetonia may have to change – like it or not:

All Muppetonians, from now on, may find heaped upon their plates – instead of the usual, scrumptious Trumpkin pie – the pallet-pleasing delights of a tasty Clarrot cake!

Curtis W. Long

Curtis W. Long

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