Dear Fat o'the Landers:
After sending this e-mail out, I am shipping myself to you inside this enormous pumpkin so that I may arrive in time for this incredible Queer Chub Harvest Festival. Please handle with care. It has seen better days.
Then I will pop out spitting pumpkin seeds into carnival games and giggle and chortle and pull carrots and eat Chubster jam with my orange-stained hands. I'll try not to set the barn on fire.
What can I say, I am flat out gleeful that this is happening, bereft at not being able to attend, and no doubt will have to celebrate by baking a gigantic slog* in your honor and sharing it with the fat queers of my own community to celebrate in solidarity.
With mad love,
* - Not cakey enough for a buckle, slump or grunt, I've coined "slog" to describe a wet fruit crisp that runs over with juice and becomes irrepressibly soggy
Charlotte says PS, one of our raffle prizes is a giant vegetable growing kit, don't forget to buy a ticket, you too could hide yourself inside a massive pumpkin