Tonight for my friends, I participated in horrific acts on a dead turkey.

Friendsgiving is tomorrow night. We claim good people, plenty of food and enough wine to help us get over driving home to see our families in two days. I stupidly offered to host and make the bird-beast.

It started with a conversation with Mike, (my new bff,) and we were discussing how to properly cook a thanksgiving turkey. I thought you threw some bread crumbs on it- ran some water and called the holiday a flaming success.

mike: put a can inside it will keep it from drying outme: a can of beer… inside it’s na-na-place?mike: http://www.sizzleonthegrill.com/blog/wp-content/uploads/2009/10/BeerCanTurkeyCANWEB.jpg

don’t use miller for god’s sake
anyway – maybe skip that
doyou have dressing?
me: Mike- I know we’re not really bffz  yet-
but I have a favor to ask:
Will you come over and do this for me?
i just dont have the heart.
It’s dead

Apparently, if you really love soft and juicy turkey you first thaw it out. Then you take out it’s last remaining pieces of dignity, (gizzards, and whatnots.) Then you ‘moisturize’ it with butter, and then? You put apples up this poor, helpless animal, and a can of beer.

I tried talking to the turkey as I performed these horrific rituals on it. I couldn’t bring myself to name him, or her, (it’s an asexual turkey to me,) but, “Shamus,” did escape my mouth a few times.  I didn’t even have any good beer on hand. I had some, (not bought by me,) Miller High Life left over in my fridge and decided that would have to do.

You deserve Stella, Shamus, and  I’ve let you down.