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?