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."
We had no recourse but to take him off Scarecrow Support, return him to his original box and put him in the... trash.
But do try and remember Chuckie in his better, younger, and happier days~ he'd want you to.
His last request was that we will all find it in our hearts to have a heartfelt toast to his long (2002) Happy Harvest life
with nothing but the best;
Penn. Dutch Egg Nog,
lest he died completely in vain.
Chuckie who?
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