I am dead.  There is no mistaking it.  Perfectly, pristinely preserved and presented, on display for all eternity, but there is no question about it:  D-E-A-D, dead.

I didn’t dream of being a stuffed animal.  It wasn’t in my will (“If my body is in good enough shape, please stuff and display it!”).  But here I am.  Since they had no way of obtaining posthumous permission, they went ahead and sent me to the taxidermist, and he gave me this sort of second life. 

So I can’t see out through these glass eyes…so I am destined to scare small children with my stone cold stare… some may find my state morbid.  But to them I say, it beats bein’ roadkill. 

And I think I look pretty damn good.  So what’s it to you, anyway?