The Fall


May I, monsieur, offer my story without running the risk of intruding on your dinner? I mean, you did want to know what kind of life I lived? Right?

Well, it all started on a small—for a Con Agra establishment—farm in Rockingham County. I was raised on CA’s prime Big Breast Turkey Feed™—more like forced-fed, but let’s not go there. I was told there was blue skies outside the turkey coop, but I never got out the door, what with gobbling up delicious BBTF eleventy times a day.

Then one day, Farmer comes out and announces that Farmer Obama up the road just pardoned a turkey at the Big Farm. He then said he wouldn’t be pardoning any of us, HAHA! He did say to look on the bright side…even if we were pardoned, we’d be dead before Christmas. Something about modern turkeys being bred to eat, not to live. Anyway, it’s a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done; it is a far, far better rest that I go to than I have ever known.

But enough about me, what about you? You’re looking pretty rough there. You know the feeling…you’re starting to feel a little woozy, you’re starting to feel like your dinner is getting ready to make a quick exit…out the front and back of the, uh, coop, yeah, you know what I mean. No amount of Imodium can stop this… Yeah, I’ve been meaning to tell you, my old farm, Turkey Farm Nr. 340311 just got shut down…something about mutated Ebola-Cholera Turkey Transmutation 0C5547BB-1. Yeah, that’s it, let the turkey flow thru you.

We’ll be together real soon—we can go check out that blue sky they told me about.


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