if you will, what appears to be a dead puppy in an open box. It’s on
its back, stiff paws pointing toward an uncaring Heaven, jaws gaping in
a rictus of grim mortality, hairy tongue lolling and glazed eyes
popping. Classic dead dog position, very hot for the holidays.
It gets better.
Now you note that the thing’s spine appears to be twisted, as though said deceased canid werewrung out like a sponge. Also, there are angular pointy shapes pressing against
its stomach wall, suggesting that the unfortunate beast has experienced
massive internal trauma. You touch the thing and note that it’s a thin
layer of Dacron fur left over from the manufacture of hooker jackets
stretched horribly over what feels like an Erector set. MM CUDDLY!
Wait. It gets better.
There’s a tag that suggests that you should “Press my PAW to see me do TRICKS!”
Do not do this. NEVER DO THIS.
pressed, Baby’s First Undead Fucking Roadkill begins to spasm feebly,
rigid legs jerking, and emits a thin, muffled shrieking noise that
caused me to stumble backwards with eyes like saucers and my hands
pressed to my mouth in horror and disbelief. I imagine this is the
reaction your kid would have on Christmas morning, possibly with the
addition of some festive holiday pants-soiling and the promise of years
of therapy to come. Just like a real puppy! That we found clinging to
its last vestiges of life on the side of I-95! After it had been
abandoned for eating chunks of industrial waste and being a Terminator!
MERRRRRRRY XMAS, BILLY! Your next gift is a little toy shovel. Don’t
forget to aim for the head!