Call me a weirdo, but every Thanksgiving holiday, I secretly pray for an over-cooked birdie. It's no secret to my family that I L.O.V.E dry turkey meat. So no matter what comes out of that oven, the cook knows there will be at least one happy carnivore sitting at the dinner table. It's a win-win in my book. :)
And now I leave you with a witty Thanksgiving poem Chris wrote several years ago for a work newsletter.
The “Turkey Day” is drawing near and I’m ever so depressed.
I fear that on that fateful day, I’ll be on your plate and dressed
With gravy, mashed potatoes and aunt jenny’s famous salad.
My roasted body on your plate confirms my fears as valid.
Last year the axe claimed Cousin Lenny, the year before t’was Larry.
His children left without a home, since Butterball took Sherry.
Now Brother Paul swears his numbers up, to your hunger he’ll succumb,
And face that awful enema, of onions and bread crumb.
Perhaps this year, might I suggest a different sort of meal?
Something that can graze a field, or something that can squeal.
Now look, I mean to be polite; and not ruffle any feathers
Please throw tradition out the door…heck, skip meat altogether.
Our claim to fame is sandwich meat and it’s terrible, completely.
Please hear my cries to spare my life before you choose to eat me.
I wrote this poem, and though you think it sounds a little quirky.
This year give thanks with “Ball Park” Franks… and make sure they’re beef, not turkey.