Goddamnit. My nose itches.

And that's all I can think about and will think about it, until eternity comes to scratch it. I'm not being melodramatic or ridiculous. And I'm not angry. Despite the caption.

My nose just itches. It's burning, blinding, begging me to scratch it. Like crazy, like if I don't itch it in the next five seconds I swear I'm going to move and scratch it myself -- and then the game will be up. GOD my nose itches.

I really don't understand how they do it.
You know -- them.
Those goddamn statues.

They think they're so effin' great - standing inside decadent museums, defecated on in parks, and prayed to in temples, churches, and grand mosques. You'd think one of them would have caved by now and turned around and smacked someone. Or at least winked. Give them a bit of a scare. But no.

They stand tall, majestic, regal, foreboding, intimidating... amongst mere mortals. And here I am, a fucking stuffed ferret. In someone's living room. And not just someone's living room -- a crazy redneck, no less.

My nose. JUST my nose. Would you care to scratch just my nose? I know I wasn't so cuddly or friendly when I was alive -- but I can, could, would, probably should change.

If I didn't have a duty to uphold, I'd scratch it myself.
If I didn't want to ruin centuries of inanimation, I'd scratch it myself.
If I didn't want the zombie apocalypse to be unleashed onto the world, I'd scratch it myself.

But I don't want to be that guy. You know -- that guy, that caved. I may be a ferret, but I'm not a weasel.

And... Hey...Wait...

My nose stopped itching.