Bumpkin's Pumpkins

This is not a pumpkin; this is Bumpkin!

I was driving Bumpkin to a nursery to get some sod for her when she saw it: a pumpkin patch.
"What are those?" she asked me telepathically.
"Pumpkins."
"They are not me.  There is only one Bumpkin, and that's me.  By the way, are you trying to say I'm round and fat like those things?  I hope not: for your sake."
"No, Bumpkin, I meant no disrespect.  I said they're pumpkins: not bumpkins.  They sound the same; they rhyme perfectly, but they are indeed completely different.  Some things sound alike, but it's just a coincidence."
"I like them."  She demonstrated her fondness for the pumpkins by using her superpowers to lift all of them off the ground.  They were now following us.  There must have been over a hundred of them.
"Ah, Bumpkin, what you did with those pumpkins, it's called stealing.  The police have a problem with stealing."
"Am I not the freaking mayor of this poopy city?"
"You sure are, ma'am.  And you're the county executive too, for that matter.  For the record, I have no problem whatsoever with you taking those pumpkins.  But mayors and county executives aren't allowed to just take whatever they want without paying for them."
"Why didn't you tell me they needed to be paid for?  Consider it done."  Right after she said that, I saw wallets and purses flying out of windows of the cars in front of me.  I looked around and saw it was happening behind us too.  Bumpkin used her powers to extract the cash from the wallets and purses and send it to the empty pumpkin patch.  The pumpkin patch's employees, who had come out to see what happened to the pumpkins, now scrambled to grab the cash that Bumpkin had sent to them.  The money continued to rain onto the empty patch.
"I think you've probably given them enough money, Bumpkin.  Pumpkins aren't every expensive."
A driver suddenly cut me off: badly.  I told myself I should do my very best to suppress my road rage, especially when Bumpkin is in the car, because she won't hesitate to use her powers in such a situation.
"You jerk!" slipped out before I could stop it.  Instantly, one of the pumpkins smashed into the rear window of the car and shattered it.  The car swerved sharply, went off the road, and hit a tree.
After we bought some sod for Bumpkin, we went home.  Bumpkin set her pumpkins down on the apartment grounds.  They were everywhere.  It was very festive.  Although I couldn't help wondering what Bumpkin would do to the maintenance workers when they inevitably moved them so they could cut the grass.

Bumpkin in Space

Bumpkin before she gained her superpowers.

"Bumpkin, I haven't seen you in a while.  Where have you been?" I asked her one fine day.
"In space," was the young female groundhog's reply.
"What?"
"Are your ears clogged up?  Do you want me to try to clear them by flinging fireballs at them from my left paw?"
"No, ma'am.  I heard you.  It was, just for a second, hard to believe what I was hearing (telepathically, of course)."
"Are you calling me a liar?" she asked.  She held up her left paw in a way I'd seen her do before.  It was her usual pre-fireball-firing stance.
"No, ma'am, no ma'am.  I believe everything you've ever said.  You are, by far, the most honest groundhog I've ever met.  I believe that you've been in space.  Please, please, please tell me more."
"That's more like it.  I was looking at the sky Tuesday.  I said, 'what the heck' and took off for space."
"Wow."
"Shut up."
"Sorry."
"Do you want to hear this or not?"
"Yes, please.  I'm sorry: please continue."
"As I was saying, I took off for space.  It is so quiet up there, but there's no grass or weeds, well, I didn't see or smell any anyway.  Do you want to see space?"
"No thank you, Bumpkin.  I'm just fine here on Earth.  I've got enough going on here.  I don't need to travel to other universes and whatnot: got enough irons in the fire here to worry about."
"That's a yes."
In the next moment, I realized that Bumpkin and I were sitting in my car, which promptly began to ascend, straight up, out of the parking lot.  We must have been going hundreds or even thousands of miles an hour.  The wind was blowing my hair around ridiculously.  Well, it would have if I had hair: if I wasn't bald.  I soiled my underpants.
"OMG!  What is that freaking smell?"
"I'm sorry, Bumpkin.  I'm not used to space travel.  I pooped in my pants."
"Darn it!  I can't take you anywhere!"  My pants and underwear were immediately stripped from my body by Bumpkin's will.  They hovered about thirty feet away as Bumpkin tossed a fireball at them.  She incinerated my pants and underwear with that one fireball.  Then I felt something.  Bumpkin was wiping my backside with toilet paper that she summoned from the Earth.  Thankfully, she was doing it with netherworld dark magic as opposed to using her razor-sharp claws.  Also thankfully, if a demon was wiping my butt, at least he or she was invisible to me.  After my derriere was clean, the used toilet paper was jettisoned from the car and Bumpkin toasted it with a fireball.  Then another pair of underwear and pants emerged from Earth and one or more demons dressed me.  I was as clean as a whistle.  That's just before I wet myself.
"Give me a freaking break!" said Bumpkin.  "I'm not changing you anymore today.  You're just going to have to stew in your own juices until it dries up: if it dries up."

The Bumpkin Chronicles

Young Bumpkin

It's all about Bumpkin.  It's Bumpkin's world, and the rest of us are just squirrels trying to get a nut.  I took her out shopping in my car.  I held the door open for her, and she hopped in.  Our destination was Rochester's Public Market, which is a pretty good farmers' market a few days a week.  I suggested and sold the idea to Bumpkin.  Most stores have a strict "no rodents" policy.  Bumpkin longs for a day when policies like these will no longer exist, and people will realize that it's wrong to discriminate against rodents: especially those who are as powerful as Bumpkin is.  By the way, don't ever call Bumpkin a rodent, if you do, it'll be the last thing you do.
It was my idea to go on a Tuesday.  Saturday is the day of the week on which the public market is busiest.  I figured the more people are around, the greater the chance someone would kick or step on Bumpkin, which would be the last mistake they would make.   In choosing a Tuesday, I made a mistake.  I just hadn't realized it yet, but I would.
It wasn't hard to find a parking spot at all.  I snagged a good one, which I wouldn't have been able to get on a Saturday.  I was able to cart Bumpkin right up to the displays.  She hopped out and strolled toward the merchandise.  I followed close behind her.
"This is it?" she asked me.
"Yes," I replied.
"This is the great public market?"
I was worried about the tone she was using.  "Yeah, it's a Tuesday.  On Saturdays, there are more vendors."
"Well what the hell are we doing here on a freaking Tuesday?"
Now I was definitely worried.  Bumpkin was clearly angry; bad things happen when Bumpkin gets angry.  "I'm sorry, Bumpkin.  I just thought it would be better to come on a Tuesday, because there would be less people walking around who might kick or step on you."
"You mean these people?"  Bumpkin began firing fireballs out of her left paw.  Each found its target of a public market browser.  They were hit in the chest, back, legs, arms, and heads.  You name it, it got hit with Bumpkin's fireballs.  People began to run for their lives.  Bumpkin levitated some watermelons, then cast them with blinding speed toward the runners.  Watermelons smashed into the heads of those who chose to run away.  When she ran out of watermelons, Bumpkin switched to cabbage and whatever else might be a good thing to fling at the moving targets.  It was a bad day at the public market indeed.

Bumpkin Doesn't Like Pesticides

Big girl

He didn't know what was in store for him.  For him, it was probably just another day at work.  I heard the sound of his little buggy, and I didn't think much of it.  After all, the maintenance workers around here get around on golf carts, riding mowers, and at least one other vehicle.  Then I smelt it: one or more chemicals.  I looked out my window and saw him.  He was driving his little buggy all over, and he was spraying pesticides everywhere.  I had never seen anyone do that here before.  I immediately thought about all the little animals who live around here and forage on the grass that he was spraying with chemicals.  Would these chemicals harm them?  Will they smell the pesticides, realize they shouldn't eat the grass, and move on to greener pastures?  I wasn't the only one to ponder this issue.
As usual, once the sound of a motorized vehicle moving across the property was heard, the animals who had been hanging out on the grass fled the area.  All of them fled except for one groundhog: a very special groundhog indeed: Bumpkin.  I watched her sniff the air and make a face.  She didn't like the way it smelled.  She wasted no time.  She took off.  Bumpkin can fly!  I did not know that.  She caught up to the man on the buggy and attached herself to his back.  Then she used her left paw to slit his throat from ear to ear.  She used his blood to write "Don't come back." on the sidewalk.  She wasn't done.  She stood on her hind legs and raised her left paw.  As she did, the buggy levitated.  This was something else I'd never seen her do before.  I rushed outside to see what would happen next.  I watched the buggy get higher and higher.  She was sending it straight up.  It eventually got so high, that I couldn't see it anymore.
"Wow, where are you sending that, Bumpkin?" I asked her.
"To the moon," she replied (telepathically, of course).
"Holy crap!  That's incredible!"  Later, I watched the news.
"An unidentified flying object was spotted by many people today in the Rochester, NY area," the newscaster said.  "Let's go live to Andrea Killeen at the scene."
"Thanks, Linda.  I'm here with Billy Cordon, who witnessed this flying object.  Tell me, Mr. Cordon, what did it look like?"
"It looked like some kind of little buggy."
"And where did it go?"
"It just kept going straight up, higher and higher, until I couldn't see it anymore."
"Thank you, Mr. Cordon.  A man was also murdered in the area where the buggy allegedly went airborne.  Local police are trying to determine if these events are connected or not."
They're connected all right.  

Bumpkin the Deceiver

The deceiver herself: Bumpkin

Bumpkin is the penultimate deceiver.  She is young, cute, and furry.  If someone saw her, they might think, How cute, she must have a walnut-sized brain!  I don't care what the size of Bumpkin's brain is, it's good enough to get the job done.  Bumpkin was thinking about making the jump from mayor of Rochester (She slew the one before her.), to ruling the entire Planet Earth and all of its inhabitants.  She has pondered the move some more since then and has decided to settle for county executive of Monroe County for now.  She said she wants to make sure she's ready when she takes on the entire Planet Earth and all of its inhabitants.  This was her original plan, so perhaps her next step will be to take over the governorship of the state of New York and rename it New Bumpkin.  
I had to look up the directions for the county executive's office on Mapquest, which has never really let me down.  As is my custom, in lieu of printing out the directions, I wrote them down in an effort to save money.  Then I was ready to take the new county executive to her new office.  Well there was a formality to take care of.  The current county executive must somehow be removed from office.  It was a short, pleasant drive.  Bumpkin sat quietly and didn't toss any lethal fireballs out of her left front paw.  Shockingly, she didn't ask me very many questions at all.   We arrived at the building.  I held the door open for her, and she walked in.  I had all the address info, but I checked the plaque anyway.
One of the security guys finally noticed Bumpkin.  "Hey, there's no rodents allowed in here!"  Bumpkin never even looked at the man.  As soon as the R-word had been uttered, she fired one of her fireballs out of her left paw, which struck the security guard hard: knocking him backward several feet into the glass doors, which subsequently shattered, which rained broken glass onto the security guard.  Once Bumpkin found out that the word "rodent" put her into a group that rats belonged to, that totally grossed her out and she won't, for a second, tolerate anyone who tries to group her with some hygienically-challenged rats, as the security guy found out the hard way. 
We finally found the county executive's office after Bumpkin efficiently dispatched the rest of the building's security force within a matter of a few seconds.  She didn't even perspire.  I know, because I know what her perspiration smells like.  It smells like dandelions, grass, and other weeds, because that's what she eats.
"This is Bumpkin," I introduced her to the current county executive.  "She intends to be the new county executive, effective immediately, or she will seize control of the office."
"Yeah, that's fine with me.  She's got it.  She's the new county executive.  I think I'll be leaving now."
Clearly, she believed the rumor that the mayor of Rochester had been slayed by a young groundhog named Bumpkin.  She also probably concluded that it wasn't a coincidence.  She didn't want to have her head separated from the rest of her body, not with fireballs, nor at the business ends of Bumpkin's razor-sharp claws.  However, as she was making her way out of the office, Bumpkin fired a little fireball that hit the former county executive on the backside.  It made her jump from surprise and it singed her skirt, but she hadn't been injured.
"What, pray tell, was that for?"
"For being a coward," I translated for her after Bumpkin answered, telepathically, inside my head instantly.
"Gee whiz, you can't win with these freaking groundhogs!  She singed my best skirt; it's history now!"
"You're lucky to be alive!" I yelled at her.  "Have you any idea how many lives she's taken?  Of course not, you're just like anybody else, you haven't yet met the next supreme ruler of the Planet Earth!  Well, you just did, and I suggest you remember her!  Maybe, if you rush fast enough to kiss her ring, or her feet, the next time you see her, and you will see her again, I guarantee it, then it just might save your life!"  And with that, she left.  I walked back into Bumpkin's office.  I couldn't see her.
"Bumpkin?" I asked.
"I'm over here," she said.  I hadn't been able to see her because she was sitting on her new chair at her new desk, which weren't custom-made for a young groundhog county executive.  What a cutie!  Aside from the security guards, who, let's face it, don't really count anyway, she killed no one.  Not the county executive, nor anyone on the way over here.  The ride back would be another story.