Zit Over?

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Turkeys are cautious creatures. Under those feathers lies a tastiness that causes an extremely high mortality rate come November. We mentioned in an earlier post how turkeys have begun managing this problem, the getting eaten problem,  ( http://www.bigshotsnow.com/surrealism-and-turkeys-a-holiday-story/ ) here at *The Institute, but we felt that we should delve into what happens after the holiday is over. When everyone is stuffed to the gills so to speak with their hapless cousins.

The genetically changed birds who have been safely (see above post) but surrealistically hidden begin their trek back to the easy but generally safe pickings around The Institute. Meanwhile the unchanged or non-GMO original turkeys come out of whatever haphazard hiding place they have been in.

Since Turkeys have a unique calendar, one that unfortunately has only eleven days to the month on it that resides mainly in their heads, and because they cannot hold things like calendars with their fat yellow feet, they miss out on about half the stuff that goes on around them during that part of the month that doesn’t coincide with our human calendar. Unfortunately for them Thanksgiving falls on the missing days of their pretty dumb calendar but appears with startling clarity on ours. You can see the problems that this might cause our friends the turkeys.

Consequently beginning on the first day of November they begin scratching the days of the month on a nearby rock with their beaks to mark off the days until they should hide real good. It is important that they accurately mark off the days as they have to estimate how long it is after their eleven days of their month have been used up that they must hide for the next two weeks that aren’t covered by their calendar. This is important because if they screw up and come out say the day or two before Thanksgiving………. Well you know what can happen, and given the high demand for their participation at the holiday table this can be disastrous for their Christmas plans.

On that first day of reappearance they are understandably nervous and jittery. The have to figure out if they’ve done a good job of estimating or not. What day is it exactly they ask. They can’t depend on their own calendar due its unsatisfactory composition. That’s why when you see turkeys in the wild like this bunch their heads are on a swivel and their cries of “Hey you know what day it is? Thanksgiving, zit over” ring through the neighborhood.

This bunch was lucky, they timed it just perfectly and emerged on the 26th of November just when humans are looking at the turkey carcasses sitting on the kitchen counters thinking “OK that’s about enough Turkey for a while.” So they’re safe for the next year if you don’t count coyotes or Great Horned Owls or some of the younger birds getting on crack or something.

Due to the paucity of large breasted turkeys this holiday the Director and his right hand woman with their very good friends had Cornish Game hens this Thanksgiving and you know what, they tasted just like Turkey.

* Note: For those of you unfamiliar with The Institute and what it does, please see the page labeled The Institute on the Menu Bar above. That should explain everything. You shouldn’t have one single question remaining regarding The Institute after reading it. None. For those of you favored few who already know about the Institute, Nevermind. Return to your daily activities. Thank you for your support.

Surrealism and Turkeys A Holiday Story

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Surrealism is seldom affiliated with Turkeys or the day in which we eat them. It is usually thought of as an art movement where in the words of one artsy art guy, its aim was to “resolve the previously contradictory conditions of dream and reality”. It’s like a really big deal in art circles and everyone who knows about it is very proud of their knowledge. Mainly because most real people don’t know what it is and the art guys get to look very smart when they talk about it.

So whats that got to do with turkeys, Thanksgiving, and the proper preparation of their carcasses. Normally we’d say not much, but in the case of our free-range turkeys here on *The Institute’s grounds it’s a very big deal, huge actually. Because of the fact that our Institute’s hunters, I mean gatherers go out and collect about 150 male, female and children turkeys to feed our staff, interns and hangers-on each Thanksgiving, the turkeys have become very adept at camouflaging themselves in the weeks leading up to their Day of Doom as they call it. So adept that they have changed their DNA and developed strategic methods of keeping themselves from being harvested.

In the image above you can see one of the abilities that they have developed which is to project a dreamy, fog enshrouded look, a surrealistic mood if you will, to hide their passage past the commissary and its lurking Turkey harvesters. How is this possible you ask? It took us a long time to figure this one out ourselves, but after capturing one male turkey and giving him a tour of the modern hygienically sterile robotically equipped turkey processing center and offering him immunity, he spilled his guts (figuratively speaking) and showed us his genetically improved body. There are glands beneath their wings that will emit a heavy misty fog like atmosphere around them as they walk and flap their wings. The more they flap the greater the fog until they are virtually undetectable. This is pretty remarkable if not unbelievable when you think about it.

The turkey above is one Mrs. Breton with her children Andre, Cecily and Yolanda, A Surrealist of the first order, heading off into the far reaches of the Institutes back country until the holidays are over. As they pass through the fog they utilize the other major protective defense they have developed, a substance they call turkey sweat which is secreted by more glands on the bottoms of their feet. As they walk they leave a trail of this turkey sweat which has strong hallucinogenic properties that are picked up and dispersed thru the fog causing anyone within 800 yards of the turkeys to see things very differently. Everything becomes extremely surrealistic. Kind of like that acid trip you came down from once while rafting down the Colorado river and watching the walls of the Grand Canyon turn vivid hues of color like an old Technicolor movie before melting and threatening to capsize the boat.

We had been wondering why our Turkey harvest had gone from the hundreds down to like four this year. Now we know. Everybody connected with harvesting the usually plentiful flock of birds has been sitting around in the meadow chewing on grass stems and looking at the sun for long periods of time. Although we have our anti-hallucinogenic department working feverishly on an antidote to the Turkey problem it looks like we’ll be having sauerkraut tacos with fried okra and perhaps some spaghetti dumplings for Thanksgiving dinner this year. But that’s better than nothing at all which is what the Canadians have each year as they thoughtlessly continue to not celebrate Thanksgiving. They’re fat, dumb and happy up there eating moose parts with lard cakes and spam balls dipped in pine needles. But that’s their choice. If they weren’t so nice we’d hold that against them.

We hope to have the Turkey problem under control next year at this time but in the meantime everyone here at The Institute wishes you a very Happy Thanksgiving. If you feel funny later in the day it was probably the turkey. Just lay down for a while. It should be ok.

* Note: For those of you unfamiliar with The Institute and what it does, please see the page labeled The Institute on the Menu Bar above. That should explain everything. You shouldn’t have one single question remaining regarding The Institute after reading it. None. For those of you favored few who already know about the Institute, Nevermind. Return to your daily activities. Thank you for your support.

They Eat Turkey, Right?

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A dialogue about Thanksgiving between Gary and Dick, the Red Canyon owls.

You know what the day after tomorrow is, right?

No, What is it?

It’s a day the humans call Thanksgiving.

So what

Don’t you know what they’re thankful for?

Un unh

They’re thankful because it’s a day they get to eat birds.

What! They eat birds? Holy crap! I just made a white spot on this rock. Umm… so like what kind of birds

I’m not real sure but I know Turkeys get real nervous about now.

You think they eat Turkeys? What about other birds, they don’t eat Owls do they?

I don’t think so but if they start handing out extra mice, don’t take any.

How do you know all this stuff?

Mom told me. She said they all get together, get a turkey, cut it’s head off, pull off all of its feathers, then cook it whole. They burn them until the skin crackles.

Get the  out of here. You’re just trying to get me to wet my feathers.

No bro, mom said. Go tell her you don’t believe they eat birds on Thanksgiving. See what she does. She’ll have your goofy butt out there stacking pellets so fast.

I’m really scared Gary. What if they want to eat owls.

I think we’re ok Dick, just don’t make any gobbling noises or wear that fake wattle you were screwing around with the other day. Also we can fly real good and Turkey’s can barely get their fat butts off the ground.

I know, but let’s go hide anyway. Where’s mom?

A Quiet Place

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Alright, the holiday is over, and if you’re like all of us here at the Institute your place was filled to the brim with family and friends, some of which came from great distances to partake of our steam-boiled, flash-fried, double-cooked Emu with Cattleya orchid dressing, and Polynesian watercress soup garnished with Sand Crab eye stalks, there was cream of Gecko Étouffée and blackened leg of lion, (we occasionally help out some our neighboring zoos when their residents check out) and pigeon egg ice cream, and more and more and more, the menu was endless but I’m sure many of you out there had the same thing so I won’t bore you with the repetition.

As our guests left, some of which we transported directly to their neighborhood weight loss clinic, we waved a fond farewell but wheezed a small sigh of relief, because now the holiday was over and we could get back to work again, solving some of the worlds most critical problems. The Institute rarely shuts down for even a moment but family takes precedence and they all enjoy plucking the Emu so much we have to relent. We did keep the phone banks open though, just in case, something dire happened and we were needed.

Our one regret was we couldn’t have the staff manning the Institute’s satellite operation in the great white North here to join in the festivities. We want to give a heavy gravy laden, but crisp salute to our Assistant Director in charge of snowflake manipulation, his able and superior co-worker in charge of all operations and I mean all of them, and the young but beautiful intern who is on special assignment until this spring a heart-felt “Sorry you couldn’t make it, the Emu was fantastic” shout out, but remember, there’s always next year.

Our visiting family members that have begun the arduous trek of hitchhiking back home, laden with leftovers and good wishes, called from Oklahoma to say it was cold but they were getting rides fairly easily and should be back on the East coast by March. We loved seeing them and we look forward to being at their place for the next holiday. They’ve told us that they have planned a meal we’ll never forget to pay us back, I mean, return the favor next year. We can’t wait.

But when all the frivolity and jocularity and vomiting are over a person needs some time to decompress, to regain their equilibrium and find their center again. That’s why we have chosen “A Quiet Place” for your viewing pleasure this morning. Go there, at least in your mind, and sit at the base of the monolith and contemplate the rest of your life, or at least what you’re going to do for the rest of the day, and be at peace. We don’t have another major holiday coming up for 22 days, a lifetime away.

The Cleaners

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Come on Stan. This Thanksgiving day thing they’ve got going is great, I heard they just threw out a bunch of leftovers down the road here. We’ll be first.

Ahhh, you go ahead Ollie, I’ll just rest here a sec.

What do you mean you’ll rest here, what’s the matter with you, there’s two day old turkey down there and it hasn’t been refrigerated. You gonna pass that up?

Jeez man how much turkey have we eaten? I’m saying forty pounds a piece and if you have to know, I’m getting mighty sick of turkey. I can’t gag down another wishbone.

Stan, Stan, Stan, I’ve never seen you like this man. Remember when we were eating week-old road kill and you were saying I can’t wait for Thanksgiving and we can get some nice fresh turkey. You weren’t so picky then, in fact I seem to remember you saying you were pretty sick of coyote.

Yeah I know Ollie but look at me. I’m totally bliveted out, I’m so fat I can’t fly, my feathers are covered in turkey crap, I’ve had it. I’m going to sit here until I can stand the thought of turkey again. You go, I’ll see you back at the roost.

Okay dude but this stuff isn’t going to last for ever. I’m thinking we’ve only got a week or two more of leftover turkey, then it’s back to the highway. You better pull it together man, you’re starting to embarrass me. I’ll tell the others you had a little bit of stomach trouble otherwise you may not get back in the roost.

Happy Thanksgiving

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Happy Thanksgiving to everyone, family, friends and those who made it through another year. I have a lot to be thankful for and you are one of the special reasons I can celebrate this day. Happy Thanksgiving.

What Month Is This

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“Hi, I couldn’t help but notice you’re a turkey.”

“No, I’m not a turkey”

“You look amazingly like a turkey.”

“Well I’m not.”

“Come on, you’re a turkey. Look at that tail, those beautiful feathers. You’ve even got a dewlap.”

“Nope, Sorry.”

“If you’re not a turkey then what are you?”

“A Bunting”

“What, A Bunting! You’re  not a Bunting.”

“Am so.”

“You are not a Bunting. Buntings aren’t even around here at this time of year.”

“What month is it then.”

“Let’s see, September, October, Turkeyvember. I’m pretty sure it’s November.”

“Wait, did you just say Turkeyvember?”

“Nope, I said November.”

You said Turkeyvember, I heard you!”

“No I didn’t. There isn’t even a month named Turkeyvember.”

“Are you sure, I could have sworn I heard Turkeyvember.”

“No, no, no. I don’t even know where that came from. But listen, if you’re not doing anything later why don’t you come down to the house for dinner. We’ve got fresh corn.”

“Really, I love fresh corn.”

“Yeah, well, we’d love to have you. Come on I’ll walk you down. I’ve never seen a Bunting as large as you. Do you work out? The family’s going to love you. No, it’s not that far. So, how much do you weigh then. Really! That’s big for a bunting….. No, the family won’t mind if you’re there for dinner…”