With every holiday comes sacrifice. Sometimes we don’t acknowledge the efforts of the people that have given up so much so that we can enjoy these joyous moments that corporations constantly profit off of. Every November, countless turkeys selflessly give their lives in honor of Thanksgiving, so that we can eat them with great indifference, and a with an admittedly okay side dish. The names of these turkeys get lost in the aether, but their loud “gobble gobbles” echo through the hallways of time. Sometimes the wind whispers their name, but alas, the wind has a faint voice.
A few months ago I paid a visit to a turkey farm in an effort to comprehend what it means to be a turkey. I expected to be greeted by a civilization of turkeys, eager to learn, and eager to teach. Instead, I walked into the remnants of their civilization. As I walked past the unmarked graves of the turkeys of Thanksgivings past, I noticed a small book. A diary. I picked it up. Much to my surprise it was the diary of a turkey. The writing would look like chicken scratch to those who don’t understand the language, but not to me. No, it was clear the writing was obviously turkey scratch, not chicken scratch. Now, my job is to tell you the story of that noble turkey, in its final moments of life. Last November:
November 1st, 2016. Damn I fucking LOVE being a Turkey. Yesterday was Halloween. I dressed myself up as a Chicken! Haha! I got a bunch of candy.
November 2nd, 2016. I fucking HATE being a turkey. The farmer keeps on bothering me. Calling me a “stupid turkey.” I’m just minding my business. If he knew I could write, he’d be incredibly impressed. I’m gonna go eat his t-shirts.
November 3rd, 2016. This farmer is straight stuuuuupid. Trying to lock me up in a cage. Using my words. He was all like “gobble gobble” and I was like “kee-kee, idiot.” I’m about to fly my way outta here. 55mph and shit. This dude doesn’t know anything about me.
November 4th, 2016. Got a hen pregnant. Damn… I don’t even know her name. I have fucked up my life. She’s about to have 10-12 eggs. They’re due in 28 days! I gotta be there for them. Currently thinking of names, too.
November 5th, 2016. Turkey, Torkey, Tookey, Tarkey, Dwain, Barack.
Are these good names? Who am I writing these entries for? There’s nothing cohesive to these entries.
November 6th, 2016. Man, I should really go back to school.
November 8th, 2016. I don’t know what happened tonight, but man everybody feels so sad. The farmer was crying. Maybe he found out I was eating his shirts?
November 10th, 2016. I keep hearing the farmer talk about “getting rid of us” for this thing called “Thanksgiving.” I need to get outta here. I need to start a revolution. And soon
November 11th, 2016. WOW, turkeys are mad stupid. I put together a meeting and all the other turkeys just looked at me like I was stupid. Whatever, let ’em be stupid.
November 15th, 2016. Half of the turkeys are gone! Damn, I can’t believe this. But, there is sooo much space now. I guess the farmer can’t lie about us being free-range turkeys now.
November 19th, 2016. Only 10 turkeys left. I think he might keep some of us. The only survivors right now are me and my girl, and like 8 other turkeys. We tried a decoy on the farmer to buy time. We traced our feet with crayon and made little “turkeys” based on our tracings. We have taped these pictures against the barn. So far, it has worked. Oh, no. What about the eggs? My babies…
November 23rd, 2016. Everybody is gone. I am the only turkey left. I’ve matured, not because I wanted to, but because I had to. Stronger character choices from here on. My girlfriend was taken last night. She cried out to me, and said, “I love you.” But it sounded really ugly cause it was in the form of “gobbles” and “kee-kees” and various pitches. Kinda like yodeling. Whatever, I said it back.
November 24th, 2016. Today, is most likely my last day on Earth. I have chosen to hide all of my eggs in a warm place within a barn. My children will never meet me, but I hope they find this diary. They will be due in a little over a week. I’m sorry I couldn’t be there to see you grow…
This noble turkey, wasn’t just any turkey… he was my father. This is his story. May you please think of these sick ass cool birds this year when you eat them. Happy Thanksgiving!
The Higgs Weldon is a humor website with funny stories, articles, cartoons, and one liners. It was started by the Los Angeles stand-up comedy community, but takes submissions from everybody. Please read and enjoy our jokes!