Okay, so I'm a little dramatic. But "Chuckie", (thanks a hell of a lot, little kids that came over to my house a few years ago and thusly named you and I stared at you for several minutes when I'm all alone, supposing you would move at any given moment and grab a butcher knife out of my kitchen) passed away when I was gone on my camping trip.
A moment of Thanksgiving Decoration Silence please:
"Oh my gosh. What happened to him?"
"He developed a bad case of ghetto pants, sagging way below his underwear- and Emerson peed on his feet."