Judging from recent comments, it seems that a good many of you are already jonesing for Halloween. While last year's disastrous X-E Halloween Countdown taught me the dangers of painting myself orange and black too early, I know I'll crack sooner or later.
Maybe the key to keeping Halloween fresh is tempering our October lust with spooky activities thoroughly rooted in summertime? I guess that's the best way I can justify a night spent carving a jack o' lantern out of a watermelon.
I can't take credit for this idea; it's been around for a long time and there are plenty of sites with pictures almost exactly like the ones you're about to see. However, since I did invent carving crenshaw melons, I don't feel like too much of a colossal failure.
Horrormelons are, simply enough, watermelons carved much in the same way you'd carve a pumpkin during the Halloween season. Watermelons have the same kind of thick, pliable hide that makes pumpkins so easy to get artsy with, and save for getting murdered by an oily ax murderer at a tiki bar, virtually nothing bridges the gap between summer and autumn more distinctively than a Horrormelon.
I don't think I need to guide you through the process in fashioning a Horrormelon, since it works just like making a jack o' lantern. Cut, pop, scoop, cut, pop. Like a generic brand of Rice Krispies. Though nothing will beat the seasonal majesty of plucking a pumpkin from its patch and turning it into a fiery demon, Horrormelons improve on their more famous cousins in two specific ways. One, you don't have to touch pumpkin guts. Two, you don't have to smell pumpkin guts.
If I end up in Hell, I have little doubt that Satan will flip a coin to decide whether I'll spend eternity smelling nothing but dog shit or nothing but pumpkin guts. And if I go to Hell for doing something really bad, maybe he'd mix them together.
Somewhere over the course of the past two decades, I lost my taste for watermelons. Haven't had a slice of watermelon in years, but if you like 'em, making a Horrormelon doubles as a dessert course.
Oh, come on. That's cute. Really cute. Like, there are no satisfactory adjectives currently in existence to properly convey how cute that Horrormelon is. And just think -- my version is the result of maybe 90 seconds of effort. If you put a little more into your Horrormelon, the results could end up being so cute that the entire planet will have no choice but to explode into cosmic, heart-shaped confetti.
I've decided to name my Horrormelon "George." He just looks like a George.
My only complaint about Horrormelons is that the lids are not hermetically sealed. It isn't that I need them to be. I just like saying "hermetically sealed." Sounds so Egyptian.
The introduction of Horrormelons to my lexicon has paved way for another idea: A Summer Halloween party. It just seems like such a waste not to host one when I now own such a perfect centerpiece. And even if none of my friends are willing to give up a summer Saturday to celebrate Halloween, I'll just slap a hat on George and pretend to play Topple with him. And then I'll fuck him in the eye.
Posted by Matt on 07/25/2008. E-mail me!
Chestnuts roasted by 
George definately looks like he belongs in an episode of “Veggie Tales” even though he’s a fruit. He’s adorable.