Smell That Bird: A Thanksgiving Comeuppance

Now that’s a Thanks Giving I’d like :0)

waltbox

Holidays for us were always a Steven King book. An overly long and sickening affair. My sisters, upon hearing of our brother John’s plan to leave the country for Thanksgiving, called him a traitor and used him as target practice for their eye-daggers. He left in mid-November for four weeks. There was only one problem with his plan — it failed.

When he returned home, John walked in the front door, suitcase in hand, smelled the bird cooking, and walked right back out. My sister Laura rocketed out after him. “Get back in here and take it like a man, you coward. We need you!” She dragged him back in and he collapsed on the sofa, face in hands, whispering like Marlon Brando about the horror.

English: A closeup of the fireball and mushroo... image: Wikipedia

“Sorry, John,” I said.

I once read a fable about a wealthy Russian who went to Egypt for the winter and…

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