An old farmer is known across the state for his giant pumpkins.
Every year he takes the blue ribbon at the state fair for biggest pumpkin, and every year his town throws a Pumpkin Parade for him where he drives the winner down Main Street in the back of his pickup, the local marching band plays, the mayor makes a speech— the whole works. Makes the front page of the local paper every year, since there’s not much else going on. That part tickles the farmer the most, and he clips out each article and hangs it on the wall in his living room.
The old farmer knows that the secret to growing giant pumpkins is really good fertilizer, so one year at the beginning of pumpkin season as he’s bumping down an old dirt road he’s excited to see a big pile of manure sitting by the side of the road. Perfect pumpkin growing stuff. He goes home and takes care of the chores and heads out the next day with his truck and a shovel to get some of that brown gold, but to his disappointment there is now a big NO TRESPASSING sign hung up right by the manure. Well the farmer is no lawbreaker, so he goes home empty handed.
The next week the farmer happens to be driving down the road again, and lo and behold the big pile of manure is still there but the sign is gone. He heads home intending to grab a shovel and get right back out there, but when he gets back to the farm the pigs are out and the cows need feeding and the next thing he knows it’s dark. At daybreak the next day he rushes back out with his shovel, only to find the big NO TRESPASSING sign right back up.
The following week the same thing happens again. Perplexed and frustrated, the farmer stops into town for a cup of joe and starts up a conversation with the man at the counter next to him about the odd situation.
“Heck,” says the man. “That’s my place. I only hang up the NO TRESPASSING sign when I go out because sometimes the GPS routes out-of-towners down my road and I don’t want them down there mucking around if I’m not there. But you’re welcome to the manure; I just haven’t gotten around to finding anyone to haul it off. I’ll even help you get it on your truck.”
The farmer quickly paid his check and the two drove out there. The farmer got of the truck and his face fell. He poked the manure pile a few times with his shovel, but just as he feared, the weeks out in the warm sun had dried it up too much to be the type of fertilizer that would produce a champion pumpkin.
“What’s the matter?” Says the man. “I thought you wanted this manure.”
“Naw,” says the farmer. “This shit’s been reposted way too many times to land me on the front page.”