@Alfred What's "spatchcock?"
Alfred knows what's up. Some people refer to it as "butterflying", but I like "spatchcocked" better.
I bet turkeys are political too, and roughly half of them probably supported Thanksgiving right up to the end.
Turkey Rapture is also probably a thing, but it's basically reversed from how we understand it.
It's the ones that get to stay that are truly blessed.
16 still hasn't named the bird, so bird bird bird, bird is the word.
I won't prompt the wrath of the turkey gods any further by attempting it, but flipping off a turkey is called irony.
I'll probably change my mind about this as I attempt to get its sizable girth into my refrigerator.
I've been thinking quite a lot about this, and I can't decide whether or not the Turkey Bible is a cookbook.
Breaking: This year's most likely dead, but possibly faking it, formerly happy giant bird has been named, "Fred."
Fred lost his head and is most likely dead, but for the dread of the option instead that's running wild in this thread.
Fred is a pretty good name for an allegedly "free-range," not-quite-perished giant happy bird.
He probably had dreams and aspirations, none of which included being immortalized here.
If Fred had an escape plan, it either failed or...
...he hasn't carried it out yet.
Fred was the largest of his kin. As I scanned over the other frozen turkey carcasses, they all seemed to regard him with some reverence. He had been placed upright in the middle of the frozen food island, and was probably giving an important speech when I plucked him from his audience.
I think he was giving tips for reprogramming the oven from within, and I stopped him just in time, thus saving Thanksgiving for many families.
In this story, Fred is a nefarious turkey villain.
It's the sheer villainy of Fred that makes his death uncertain.
It's like an 85% chance that he's actually dead.
Fred is encased in a thick layer of industrial packaging.
It's basically turkey carbonite, and I'm probably safe as long as he's in there.
@Alfred Create an image of an evil turkey villain who can only be stopped by diligently cooking him.
Alfred's depiction has given Fred opposable thumbs, which is pretty much the opposite of a cure for insomnia. 😳
The good news: Fred has been successfully transferred to the fridge.
The potentially disconcerting news: He's already begun to work his way out of his industrial plastic wrap, like some kind of prehistoric creature emerging from a brightly labelled shell.
This makes him a leak hazard. Luckily, we have a massive stock pot on hand that will both contain his dastardly seepage and severely increase the level of escape difficulty.
He's still frozen pretty solid, and is unlikely to thaw in time for his Big Day, so I will slightly increase the brining time to make up the difference.
Drowning him in his last bath ever will almost certainly kill him, you know, if he is merely pretending to be dead like an allegedly evil turkey villain.
It might be the thawing of Fred's evil turkey juices that are now slowly leaking into our stock pot, or he's crying.
Do I pity him?
No. No I do not.
Every time I open the fridge, Fred glares at me menacingly.
Most turkeys are farmed and processed because let's face it, they're delicious.
Fred was processed because he was a murderous turkey that had to be stopped by any means necessary.
In Fred's case, it'll be less of a rote "preparing a turkey for Thanksgiving," and more of a "purification ritual to rid him of his likely malevolence."
I'm pretty sure they strip these birds of all of their feathers because a.) they are not edible, and b.) they'd definitely shank you with them.
NGL, I will feel much better about Fred after he's been completely dismembered.
A Step-by-Step Guide to Carving the Perfect #Thanksgiving Turkey
https://www.lifehacker.com/food-drink/best-way-to-carve-thanksgiving-turkey
We have a visitor taking care of a few things for us ahead of the holidays today.
When I told her that there's a murderous bird lurking in the refrigerator, she looked at me like I am insane.
I could explain the malevolence of Fred, but I don't think she'd ever come back again.
That was pretty awkward for us both, to be completely honest.
If that doesn't underscore the blatant deviousness of Fred, I don't know what will.
The milk went bad. Some people might claim that it's because it was expired, but I'm convinced that Fred corrupted it somehow.
I'm basically going to have to do a seance before using anything that's been stored in the fridge with Fred.
That sounds exhausting, so tonight's dinner is being made only with pantry ingredients.
He might be able to persuade the dairy to turn against me, but he can't do a damned thing about the beans.
Fred has about four days to devise and execute his next evil scheme before I drown him in very salty water, but please don't tell him that.
Fred probably wasn't evil, but if I can convince myself that he was, then I will feel much better about mercilessly and gleefully devouring him.
The more Fred thaws, the more dangerous he becomes.
There's a small jar of Grey Poupon in the fridge that seems especially irritated. I can only assume that Fred is incessantly asking it if it has any Grey Poupon.
Fred, peeking over the edge of the inescapably large stock pot: "Pardon me!"
The Grey Poupon: 🖕
I'm pretty sure Fred only really tries to escape when the vent fan over the stove is on.
We can't hear anything over that thing.
He could be in there building a turkey trebuchet to fling himself to freedom through the kitchen window and we'd have no idea.
You can see it now, can't you?
I go to innocently open the fridge door, and a blur of naked turkey (probably cackling) crashes through the window glass before darting off (still cackling) into the forest.
And I'm just standing there, looking at this turkey trebuchet that has somehow been fashioned out of condiments, with a very confused and stupid look on my face.
In an alternate universe, Fred his patching himself up in a nearby forest plotting his revenge.
In this one, he's still in my fridge, pretending to be dead.
