In keeping with a storied Talking Mirror tradition dating back to November of 2008 we have decided to re-print the one Thanksgiving themed article in our arsenal. Doing this not only makes us appear festive and “aware of the outside world” it also prevents us from having to do any actual work. Also, only like eleven people read it last time so no one should be that upset. Eat. Imbibe. Enjoy. Happy Thanksgiving from The Talking Mirror.
By: A Turkey
Man, it is starting to get really warm in here, and this slick butter all over me is just making things worse. The metal grate doesn’t help either. Who just turned the light on? Ooh that stings the eyes. Something is happening. Wait, who are you? What is that probe in your hand? Cease and desist I say! 200 degrees? What are you referring to? Don’t close that door!
Darkness again. Sweet Christmas it is getting quite sweltering. It feels as though my muscles are hardening and becoming crisp and buttery. What purpose does this lather serve? I see you out there human child, answer my questions! Open this door at once; it is growing unbearable inside this contraption.
Something smells delicious. Goodness it is scorching! When will the door be opened so I can leave this infernal sauna? The light returns! What is this metallic foil? It shines like the glow of a million suns! Blasted woman, keep the child’s hands away from me. I have seen what he does to the Teddy Bear, and I shall not permit such gropery.
What is that brush for? What are you lathering onto me? Oooh that feels rather pleasant. Could you funnel the runoff away from my unmentionable areas? I am talking to you! Do not close the door again! Ah! The darkness returns, and I remain trapped in this bathtub. Oh how this liquid invades me in unspeakable ways!
Sweet mother of Mary it is getting hotter and hotter. Now what are you doing? Yes! Open the door and free me. No, wait, what are you stuffing into me? Oh how it is crispy! Do not close that door again! Where are you going? Something seems terribly wrong. The humans have vanished. What is that smell? Blast this infernal cave!
The matriarch returns brandishing a rod. What new torture is this? Step back I say! I do not understand you, devilish woman. Do you fancy yourself an amateur proctologist? Ow! You stabbed me! Why would you stab me? Remove these breadcrumbs from my insides immediately! Done you say? I certainly hope so. I have had quite enough of this hole. The smell has become overpowering. Hold back the child, his booger-ridden hands disgust me more than your cider breath and lip mole.
Finally. Freedom. It’s gotten quite chilly out here. Would you mind holding that garnish back from my flanks? It’s rather prickly. Also, who is the heavyset Romanian eyeballing me with his gut swung over the table like a sack of Latvian children? Heavens to Betsy, that’s a big knife! Just what in the hell is going on here? My captor has returned. Take me away from this table, oh Sorceress of Sauces. Set me in front of the television so I can watch the Lions game. The way that man is staring at me makes me uncomfortable. I feel like a piece of meat.
This delightful holiday fable was penned by David “Woodrow Wilson” McCloskey. Mr. McCloskey is a longtime friend, patron, propagandier, and hype man of The Talking Mirror. He is terrified of owls and is an avid collector of ceramic dolphins. This Thanksgiving, David is most thankful for his Smithsonian season pass, the music of Shaggy, and Facebook’s Farmville.
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