Dear Chuck...

Dear Chuck E. Cheese,

Recently while browsing through my online news, I found out that you were terribly assaulted by a rampaging, overprotective human male. I suppose the days of haphazardly frolicking in playpens of plastic balls while stuffing your face with loads of greasy pepperoni pizza, accompanied by a flimsy, recorded cacophony referred to as singing blasting out of the mouths of mechanically-operated, stuffed monkey - minus the monkey - suits is long gone. Ah, those were the days...

This isn't the first time you have been assaulted, is it? I remember reading an article not too long ago concerning an 85-person pepper spray tour de force. You must have gotten pretty banged up. I was really wondering if you were going to stick to your guns (not literally, mind you) and stay with the gig you've held onto for nearly 31 years. You proved that you were a real artist, though, and admist blithering drunks, berated housewives, and ill-parented children, you stood to sing and laugh again.

Oh, Chuck, I hope you feel better soon. Though I see you ever-smiling, I know inside you're really crying. Get back to harmonizing with Helen Henny and Mr. Munch, work on developing a new sound, and perhaps, even update your wardrobe. I think we can all agree you have more than enough inspiration to start your own metal band.