Every year, I like to think that turkeys look forward to today as much as we do. I like to believe that turkeys are born with the innate sense that they have a lofty goal … to be deliciously browned, buttered, and stuffed for our pleasure. Perhaps turkeys have special workout routines they do, to make themselves the most delicious butterballs they can be. Maybe they have Turkey TV equivalents of our US Army commercials … BE ALL THAT YOU CAN BE.
Which makes me feel pretty bad for the turkey that gets pardoned by the president. I mean, that pardon has got to be a badge of shame in a community of turkeys that understand their purpose in life. What do the pardoned turkeys do, once all their fellow butterballs have shuffled off that mortal coil? Do they sit around, in the Playground for Presidentially Pardoned Pariahs, watch movies about their missed calling, and sob into their feathers? Do they give depressing bios of their fellow cast-offs to newcomers?
I can imagine one old geezer, his beak wrinkled with age, saying, “Nash was pardoned in ’92. He figures that the fact that the humans didn’t eat him is proof that he IS a human. Now he walks around in those ridiculous pants, trying to convince the keepers that there’s been some horrible mix-up, and he’s supposed to go with them.”
Pointing (do turkeys point? or do they just nod in the right direction?), “Over there’s Bubsy. He was pardoned back in ’85. Now he just stares at that wall all day long. He sleeps facing the wall. He eats facing the wall. Delightful conversationalist, though!” and, “That’s Bartleby. He’s the oldest one here, pardoned in ’79. Figures that he can’t die. He used to try, dunking his head in the water trough, choking on corn. Now he thinks he’s some kind of zen master. Trying to convince us all that we’re eternal. Says the ones that do die just never believed in themselves.”
Yes. It’s a nice thought that turkeys are aware that they exist to please us. Except for the pardoned ones, poor suckers. Let’s do them a service, troop over to their old folks’ home, and eat them all today. We could have signs, outside the White House: “Eat a Pardoned Turkey, Save a Turkey’s Dignity!” It’d be really moving. We could get Susan Sarandon to be our celebrity spokesperson – she’s always looking for a cause.
But if you don’t have time for Turkey Activism, just remember, as you suck on the skin of a delighted turkey while his gobbling little soul looks on above… you’ve made one turkey the kind of man he’s always wanted to be.
And if this entry makes you want to vomit a little in your mouth, well, you’re probably a vegan.
This entry brought to you courtesy of my sick mind, the powers of rationalization, a strange conversation with Jason, the Butterball Corporation, and the letter T.

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