I, too, shall engage in this most American tradition. Being unfond of birdflesh—in fact, having little traffic with it, having dwelt much of my existence deep within the ocean's iron-tight embrace, where birds do fear to tread—I shall reconsider the life sentence of two items bound for my own Thanks-to-Giving table: a 3 year old female St. Bernard of unusual size and sagacity, Bernardette, and my accountant Mr. Leeks.
On November the Dos, when you Voted Squid, you voted for change of mind, of hearts, and of patterns old and callow. Your Standing President, the Lame Duck, has always pardoned all of his turkeys. This strikes me as a gesture pandering, worthy of ridicule, and as such I wish to change of the pattern: I shall not pardon both these food items.
I shall pardon neither.
Sometimes we must be cruel to be kind, and as we are all born in blood, so too are all of our banquets tucked out in the flesh of others. We, as Americans, shall ever forward, Under Squid, sup full on the sea of Horrors, and by consuming, end them.
By virtue of my power of presidential pardon, I will withhold this pardon from Leeks. And, so he will not be lonely on his short trip from accounting to buffet, I shall similarly not pardon Bernardette.
Thank you for observing this brief missive presidential. A jolly Thanks-to-Giving for all; may your respective notions of Godhead continue to not bother heaping suffering upon you. Good night.
Share on Facebook
Tweet about this Piece
Poor Mojo's Tip Jar: