poor fella, never seen it coming did he. imagine: starting out life as a humptoy for a carnival worker, then thru the copious throws of a ring toss hopeful (of becoming a stepdad) being some shit kid’s new pacifier, dump on miracles of modern plush whathaveyous and poof! put out for that saturday morning yard sale where nobody showed up, now to some random fodder for bum:30 to use as a pillow/shopping cart accessory, ending sadly here, this lonely street of broke dreams. cold, shat on, alone. no one will come to identify, nobody will be there to say that its okay. and why would they? it ain’t. you don’t have a soul. you’re a stuffed animal.