Every year a bunch of louts with a cricket bat prowl my street on Halloween around midnight, smashing any pumpkins that have been left outside

On display outside my house is the biggest, juiciest-looking pumpkin I could find at the market, carved beautifully and generally looking like an irresistible target

What the lads won’t realise this year, however, is that I’ve hollowed out a section of the wall the pumpkin is sitting on, with enough space for me to crouch within it. I will be sitting there, my bollocks stuffed through a tiny aperture just under the pumpkin. Despite looking like an ordinary pumpkin, I will of course have stretched my poor ballbag around the entire thing

Can’t begin to describe how I feel right now. Having my bollocks smashed to smithereens and kicked and smeared down the pavement will feel like ecstasy. Let me tell you, my ballsack is ready to meet its maker tonight lads