Turkey Day Horror

I consider myself a good cook. I can grill a mean steak, fry a fine fish, make masterful mashed potatoes, and conjure classy plates of spaghetti. Sphagetti. Spha... Noodles and Meat Sauce.

But most of all, I excel at the art of shoving my hand up the business end of a poor, unsuspecting, 18 pound butterball turkey. Without buying it a drink first. On the first date. Because I roll like a Cosby.

The last three thanksgivings have been perfect. No issues. The Ham successfully boiled and baked in apple cider, the turkey moist (you would be too after the buttering I gave the fowl fellow's hind quarters and inner areas.), the taters mashed, and the cranberry sauce gratuitously dumped near the rolls and woodland birds, for easy access. I then usually stuff myself (Your mind is in the gutter.), and eat more cheesecake, pie, and ham than should be legal.

Usually.

This Thanksgiving was one of those horror stories that people tell in hushed voices, usually in a dark room with fleshlights. That was not a typo.

My first error was not picking up a turkey in Denver, on the way back from Idaho, the day before the day of obesity. Had I done this, I could have obtained the typical 20+ pound turkey that I typically share with my loved ones and friends. But being the abstract thinker I am, I decided to visit Winco in my hometown that night instead.

I shiver.

The largest Butterball Turkey they had, was 13 Pounds. While not catastrophically small, it was a small turkey. I'd need to double up on Ham. Which Winco had. And though they had larger turkeys, they were not butterball, and I absolutely refuse to get anything other than those chubby, delicious, and vulnerable butterball turkeys.

My next mistake was believing I still had all of the required materials at my house. I did not. I went back to the nearest Kroger and got what was needed. This was when I began violating the turkey with my fist, and a handful of butter, and preparing to preheat the oven. Then I received an edu-ma-cation.

The Oven wouldn't work. Wouldn't turn on. Nothing. I checked the breaker. Nothing. I could find no issue, anywhere. And I do not possess a turkey fryer. Neither did Kroger.

This put a damper on my hopes and dreams, considering we needed the oven for the ham, the turkey, the pies, the cakes, the cat, and pretty much everything.

Finally, after much thinking, we decided, god help us, for the first time in our lives to call catering. Nobody was available. Not a one.

I love to eat. There was no way I wasn't getting some sort of thanksgiving, and eating until I was near death.




Thank God for Golden Corral.

 

That's me on the right.

 

Thank you sir. I still wish that I could be making turkey sandwiches for days, and chowing on pumpkin pie for the next week.

 

I would appreciate it. Spare some ham and cranberry sauce too?

 

Don't forget to boil in apple cider. And then use that apple cider to make mashed potatoes.

 

Thanks all. Today is the day of turkey sandwiches, which I have none of. I cry mournful tears.