It didn't matter how many times he said it, no one ever stopped asking, they would not stop bothering him. No, he was not doing anything for Halloween, nor would he ever do so in the future, because Halloween wasn't scary, plain and damnably simple as that. Halloween made a mockery of all that The Scarecrow symbolized and all that his alter-ego had worked to achieve, so there was absolutely nothing worse than opening his hideout's back door on the morning thereof to find a bright and bow-adorned pumpkin sat before him all pretty, and nothing better than crushing it firmly under his right shoe.