Funny how something that that brought about ooohs and aaahs just a few days ago now brings about comments like, 'um, mom....seriously....he needs to go...now", and "Sweetie...Jack isn't looking very healthy. Think it's time form him to be retired to the Great Compost Heap in the Sky?"
My brother still reminds me about my very first Jack-O-Lantern years ago. It was 1986 and I was a totally clueless 18 year old newlywed, married only one month. Poor Jack #1 sat on my porch until, legend says, he caved in, shrunk, and eventually evaporated into thin air.
Kinda true, but not entirely. The truth is that he did, indeed, sit there until he was quite...um...gross. When I could stand looking at him no longer I chucked him into the neighbor's yard. Think I'm joking? Nope. We had the neighbors from hell. Imagine Southern West Virginia. Small town, horrible neighborhood. (newlywed and poor = living in one of his parents' rental properties on the WAY wrong side of town)
These neighbors rarely saw the light of day, truth be told. I'd never hear a peep out of them during the day, but as soon as the sun went down it was a scene from "Deliverance" right there on their front porch. Banjos, fiddles, guitars, harmonicas and a lot of moonshine. All night long we'd have to listen to that. So I got my "revenge" by tossing old Jack into their yard.
I don't think they noticed, really. I think one of their dogs took it away and finished demolishing it.