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A MESSAGE FROM NASHVILLE'S BEST KNOWN HIGHWAY STATUE

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PLEASE END HIS MISERY NOW

You are undoubtedly aware of the current debate over Confederate imagery, most prominently the Confederate battle flag, which several retailers have recently decided to stop selling in any form and may soon be removed from government buildings in multiple states. As a statue of a prominent Confederate military figure and Klan leader, I've become a popular target in this discussion. And it's time for me, the Nashville statue of Nathan Bedford Forrest, to let you know how I feel on this sensitive and complex topic.

Please kill me.

I'm a monstrosity. While people might disagree whether that's true from a strictly historical view, at a bare minimum we can all acknowledge it's an aesthetic certainty. I am a miserable mass of aluminum foil created by a child who was trying his best and has learned a valuable truth: he has no future as a visual artist. I am the proof you should work harder in science class, Timmy. Don't let the Krebs Cycle elude you as badly as "how to sculpt a face that doesn't look like Jafar and that first season of The Simpsons had a baby and bedazzled its eyes to hide their shame." Stay in school or you will make me, and thus be guilty forever in the eyes of any Lord you may or may not believe in.

I was meant to be a bathtub. Instead, here I sit, repurposed ass-water repository matter, blasted into a grotesque shell over $150 of chicken wire. The only bulk filling my hollow, distorted carapace: a thousand misspelled bootleg "Frank Wychek" jerseys. Can you imagine how this feels, every day? Can you imagine a splinter of the hell I burn in that you call reality?

Do you even know what my existence is like? I'm shot at constantly. People have tried to tie me to a train, repeatedly. LeAnn Rimes visits me and just talks and talks and TALKS. You would not believe how much she hates The Pioneer Woman. Just stop watching her show, LeAnn. Fuck. Just get her cinnamon roll recipe off the internet and move on.

I have one practical use. My mouth is a VCR. BUT FOR A BETAMAX BECAUSE THE PEOPLE WHO MADE ME WERE INCREDIBLY STUPID BUT YOU ALREADY KNEW THAT.

And what the hell have you done to my poor horse! Look, I can understand if making an incredibly shitty statue to "honor" Forrest was intended to disgrace his legacy. It's weird, and kind of a lot of effort, but I can see where you were going. You didn't have to make my horse a literal nightmare wrought from fiberglas and years of sculpting shoddy toy Johnny Rebs to put in your alt-history Gettysburg diorama.

If this is a horse and not a xenomorph, why does it appear to have a mouth with a smaller mouth inside of it? Did you intend for its mane to look like hastily sculpted feces? Are those eyes or flattened out ears? HORSES DON'T HAVE THE BRAIN CAPACITY NECESSARY TO EVEN COMPREHEND ETHNICITY, MUCH LESS BE RACIST, YOU DICKS.

The horse and I spend every day staring out onto Interstate 65. When traffic builds up on a hot day, we can hear the conversations. Oh, what's that? You're thinking about recording a cover album of Johnny Cash tracks using a calliope instead of a guitar? Awesome. That's just awesome. So happy you moved here from Santa Barbara.

Seriously, please just kill me. Now.