It’s embarrassing, really. To be in the cold on Thanksgiving. It’s supposed to be a big day, what with piles of potatoes, green bean casseroles and stuffing spooned on top of white meat.
“But, Christmas? What the flock?”
Tick, frigging, tock. Get me outta this ice box. I’ve been here since before Halloween. Throw fifty bucks and a coupon at any grocer and, viola, frozen turkey, only five bucks more.
Talk about cold, hard cash. What about fresh flesh?
“I vant to be eaten. I need to be eaten, dahling. Please, please eat me.”
Ridiculous. I’m the best looking bird in this case. Have you seen my breasts? Gahgeous, just gahgeous. If they served turkey in champagne glasses, I’d be best-in-show. Anything more is wasted, they say. Except when it comes to turkey breasts.
I’m a trendsetter. Check my feed. My social, I mean. I was never much for that corn they toss at us. Give me a good spinach salad. I’ve kept myself tight. I can plump a tom, let me tell you. And suckle? All. Night. Long.
Honey, I have no doubt I’ll enjoy being trussed.
“Ohhh, the day that red-haired woman grabbed me with both hands. Mmmmm. Delicious.”
Then she dropped me, for some pre-basted butter-butt, who thought Pilates was spelled without an I.
Round as a dinner plate, that one.
So what if I’m only 11.3 pounds? And who weighs in tenths, anyway? Just Shady, the meat-counter guy. I saw him eyeing me when he slapped that sticker on.
Eyeing my legs. To die for. Long and lean. I’ll have grandpa jonesing after they brown me up. All these wannabes squeezing into plastic bags like they’re going to yoga. Preeners! Have you seen the wrinkles outside those bags? Please.
I’m firm, like good pasta. With real flavor, not some solution-filled Sally with a fat-dripping waterfall. Try pulling that dark meat onto your tongue with any ol’ skewer, sweetie. That one over there will be sliding right off Aunt Edie’s good china. You’ll need a forklift, not a fork.
But the dog will love it!
“Hey, hey. Over here. That’s it, big guy, come by me. I mean buy me. You’ll love every bite. I’ll do things in your mouth you’ve only dreamed about behind the barn.”
Mmmmmm, warm hands. I like this guy. Takes his time. Even dresses well. No finicky buttons on those pants. And he’ll be loosening that belt aftah me, for sure.
“Hey, you single? You can have all of me, Big Boy.” You’ll be unzipping them jeans before the whipped cream hits your pumpkin pie.
Hmmm. Looks like a 12-incher. Ni-ice!
That’s it, right there. Oh my. Ohhhh, my. Keep rubbing … right … there.
“Hon, I think I’ve found it. Aunt Mamie wanted the biggest bird we could find, right? Yeah, OK. Let me just move this half-pint.”
What? Ouch, dammit. Ouch! You briny son of a bit—.
INSTANT NOODLES 