Jeff Wysaski
Charlie, I know you had a special bond with your horse and everything, but stuffing him and putting him on display in the middle of our living room is not the right way to honor his life. I put up with this decision of yours for the past few weeks because I knew you were mourning, but honestly, the thing has to go.
Why? Because it’s creepy and weird, Charlie, that’s why. I swear, I can’t even watch TV anymore because every time I sit down in that room all I can think about is how that horse is staring at me with those bright, beady eyes. I really have no idea why you decided to color the eyes red, but it makes the darn thing look demonic.
And I’ll be honest, ever since you brought that stuffed horse home, I’ve been too embarrassed to invite anyone over to the house. Because every time I do, the first thing you do is ask them if they want to see your dead horse.
First of all, do you even really have to put it that way? “Dead horse?” It’s unsettling.
Second of all, the fact that you insist that all visitors help you wash down the horse with a soapy sponge before sitting down to dinner is more than a little awkward. I don’t know if you realized, but the Petersons barely ate any of my homemade fajitas when they came over to visit. I’m going to go out on a limb and say that they lost their appetites because of the whole washing the horse thing.
Or maybe it was the fact that you wheeled the horse into the dining room and sat on it for the duration of the meal. Even if the Petersons were able to look past the fact that you were dressed in an Emperor Napoleon costume and eating your fajitas with a sword, there’s no way they could ignore the fact that you kept trying to feed bell peppers and refried beans to the horse.
I’m sorry, Charlie, but that night with the Petersons was the last straw. You need to get over this death and move on with your life. Because, seriously, I’m getting pretty sick and tired of you asking me to get down underneath the horse every five seconds so you can remind me how “well hung” your horse was. Yes Charlie, your horse had a big penis. Big deal! All horses have big penises. It’s not impressive and I don’t know why you think it is.
So get this horse out of my living room, and get it out of my bed at night so I can finally sleep in peace. Wouldn’t you rather snuggle with your wife under the sheets at night then that stupid horse? I guess not, because he’s been your “little spoon” for the past three weeks straight.
Look, bury it, sell it, burn it – I don’t care. Just find a way to say goodbye to your horse so we can get on with our lives. Because honestly, it’s either me or the horse, and I’m pretty sure that…hey wait, where do you think you’re going? Get down from that horse and get back here! Don’t you dare wheel out that front door. Charlie? CHARLIE!!
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