It always boggles my mind this time of year to start hearing people complain about the treatment of that old time traditional Thanksgiving Day staple: turkey. People whimper about “cruelty to animals” this or “never hurt anybody” that. Well, I'm here to tell you folks-- turkeys are the spawn of Satan.

While growing up I had a friend named Byron who was viciously attacked by one of those vagina-necked monstrosities. The little bastard went right for his Achilles’ tendon, too! Talk about poultry that know our weak spots! Sometimes I still have problems sleeping when the weather cools off and Pilgrim decorations get slapped up in windows. How did our founding fathers survive those first few winters? Man-eating, labia-throated gobblers at every turn. It makes me thankful that we have nukes to defend ourselves nowadays.

I never quite understood it; Grandma Watchman lived on a farm with turkeys her whole life and never had a problem. You know, now that I think of it, Byron had his pants eaten by a goat once, was bruised by a slug on his birthday, and even had a badger bite a chunk out of his ass. Maybe turkeys aren't the source of all evil. Maybe all of animal-kind just hated Byron. I'm sorry, dear turkey; sorry we have to eat you at Thanksgiving time. I'm also sorry about that whole “Spawn of Satan” thing. I don't know what I was thinking. Thank you for your sacrifice.

Your necks still look like cooch-lips, though.