A Taxing Problem

If my broken tailbone and codeine intake allow, I may be making a (probably brief and definitely sober) appearance at a Guilty Pleasures themed party this weekend. Initially I struggled to come up with an outfit, standing as I do by the majority of my dodgy tastes, but then I recollected my taxidermy and fur obsession, which I certainly ought to feel moderately ashamed of, even if I don't to any great degree. In deference to my fellow guests, many of whom are veggie hippy types, and my hostess, an ex-museum curator who is far too knowledgeable regarding the little insect stowaways likely to be residing in my deceased friends to fully enjoy them, I decided to make a vegetarian taxidermy get-up involving faux fur and cuddly toys. Ironically though, it has emerged that, while I am hard-hearted enough to fill my house with dead beasties, I can't quite bring myself to take a pair of scissors to a defenceless toy moose. Poor little fella. I wonder what he'd like for his final meal.