Ok, true story, this really happened. Honest! This morning I was preparing to start cooking our big Thanksgiving feast. It was going to be the best one ever. Really! So, I had all of the fixings ready to go: mashed potatoes, gravy, dressing, deviled eggs, potato salad, rolls, and homemade cranberry sauce. All I had to do was cook the turkey. This is no problem for a world-class chef like me. Right?
I pulled out the big ten-pounder turkey from my fridge and placed him on the table in my big pan. I turned around to the oven and set it to 325 degrees. Then I heard it. Gobble! I thought I was imagining things. But then, Gobble!
Turning around slowly, with some dread, I found the pan empty! The turkey was GONE! Gobble! I looked under the table and then the pan again. It was really gone! Gobble! The sound came from behind me. I quickly turned around in terror!
There on the counter, pulling a large knife from the wooden block, was my turkey. Zombie Turkey! Gobble gobble, it grunted in a low menacing way. I grabbed my butcher knife to defend myself. It jumped at me with a scream of GOBBLE! I deflected its attack with my blade and was able to knock it away.
It slammed into the mash potatoes flipping the bowl over and scattering the delicious goodness everywhere. That's why there are potatoes on the ceiling. Really! The turkey was dazed for a bit but rose with another menacing gobble gobble. It grabbed the bowl of gravy and threw it at me.
I was momentarily blinded by the gravy but was able to finally wipe it from my face. That's why I'm covered in gravy. Really! The zombie turkey was attempting to get away. I had only one choice, deviled eggs. I picked them up and started to throw them at the zombie turkey. With a mighty gobble gobble, it used the rolls as artillery to defend itself. With a thanksgiving shout and a fierce gobble gobble, we battled on.
Finally, the air was clear of eggs and bread. We had both ran out of ammo. The zombie turkey stood on the counter and I on the other side of the kitchen with the table between us. We stared at each other. At that moment, I could hear the old western music and the whistle for a gunfight. It was high noon at the OK corral, and It was on!
I grabbed the dressing, and it grabbed the potato salad. We each had a weapon of choice. We stood waiting for the other to make a move. The tension was terrifying. This could be the end of my Thanksgiving feast. The seconds felt like days. Then in slow motion, we both threw our respective food items. The dressing flew almost too high, but I was able to nick it in the neck (remember he had no head), causing him to reel back onto the countertop. His aim was too far to the left (maybe because he had no head), and the potato salad made a glancing blow to my right arm, knocking me back against the wall.
Silence fell over the kitchen. It was over. The battle was won. Thanksgiving was saved. Gobble gobble! No! The zombie turkey rose from the dead once again. We were both without weapons. It will be hand to wing combat! But then we both saw it, the cranberry sauce sitting in the middle of the table.
The turkey leaped from the counter towards the cranberry sauce. Gobble gobble!! Nooo, I shouted! I slaved for hours making it. It was a secret family recipe. The turkey hit the bowl, and the cranberry sauce flew high into the air. I grabbed a plate from the table as the sauce flew in an arc. I jumped, trying desperately to save it. Success! The can-shaped delicacy landed safely on the plate. It was saved.
"You tried to ruin my cranberry sauce," I yelled at the zombie turkey. It recoiled back at my fury. Gobble! Then I saw it, the knife. With the zombie turkey currently dazed by my mighty anger, I grabbed the knife and stabbed the zombie turkey. Yelling, you almost ruined my cranberry sauce repeatedly as I stabbed at the undead monstrosity! The final killing blow pinned the zombie turkey to the table. With a weak gobble gobble, it was no more. Thanksgiving was saved.
And that is why the kitchen is a mess, there is a turkey pinned to the table with a knife, and we have 5 pizzas on the way. Oh, and the cranberry sauce is on the counter in it's perfectly preserved can shape deliciousness.
My son listened to the story with wide eyes and then looking up at me, he said, "Bullshit, Dad! You can't cook!"
Happy Thanksgiving!
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The (mostly) True Story of How I Saved Thanksgiving
HumorMy yearly tradition of saving Thanksgiving from the dreaded turkey. Update once a year.
