What started with #TheSagaofGary and continued with #TheSagaofFred is about to become a new, as yet untitled saga about an unmet bird who has probably met its demise and is now chilling in a grocer's freezer as I type.

Will it be better than those? Probably not. Will it be as stupid? Definitely. Will it be as random and perplexing? I'd guess so. I would defer responsibility, but it's definitely my fault.

And so it begins. Turn away if you aren't into eating dead birds.

For a little context, it is tradition in my family for me to prepare the Thanksgiving turkey, and it's a job that I take a little too seriously.

For all of the context, search for the #TheSagaofGary or #TheSagaofFred, find the first instances of those hashtags, tap on the Show Thread link below them, and scroll all the way to the top.

I apologize in advance.

This year's bird has not yet been selected, but I am pretty sure it has already met its demise. Probably. That it might still be alive is a fun premise, so we will leave that to be an unlikely possibility.

If so, it's very unhappy, bound in industrial plastic, and freezing its ass off.

It definitely didn't sign up for any of this.

I haven't even seen it yet, but I'm picturing the bleached combination of fluorescent and LED lighting scrubbing the shadows out of a frozen trough that is filled with turkeys of various sizes.

They're watching the passersby, trying to get their attention and hoping that they'll go to a good home. It is known among the birds that there are bad homes, with unskilled cooks who will ruin their preparation and render their deaths to be in vain.

One among them is mine, and soon to become a legend.

It's probably pretty sad right now. It's been hoping to be chosen all day, and no one has grabbed it.

That's alright. It'll be okay. Probably.

I bet they can tell who the unskilled cooks are just by looking at them, and whisper among themselves about the poor turkeys who ended up going home with them.

They don't have names yet, so they probably address each other by weight, and laugh and laugh when one of them gets accidentally dropped by a careless shopper.

I'm pretty sure they judge the contents of everyone's carts as they pass by, especially if they aren't buying turkeys.

That's right Alan. They're in shocking disbelief that you're about to purchase six cans of Hormel chili, and they're both mocking you relentlessly and praying that you won't come back for any of them.

(Oh, you can choose to mute this conversation if you've seen enough. I won't blame you. The unmet birds won't either. How could they?)

The biggest bird is probably having an especially difficult day as various spouses demand its return to the freezer.

The last one was heard muttering, "of course the oven is big enough" with a scowl as he opted for a marginally smaller bird.

There's always one that thinks it knows more than the others.

Last night, all of the frozen turkeys listened to a pep talk that was held in the seasonings aisle. The keynote was given by Morton's Kosher Salt.

The fresh herbs were invited, but refused to attend because they're kind of elitist.

Listening to speeches is hard for frozen turkeys, on account of their having lost the ability to nod their heads in agreement.

Luckily, the Morton's are very familiar with their condition, so they don't feel too bad when they receive zero applause.

Turkey No. 29.6 is much larger than the rest of the birds in the freezer bay. He was especially moved by the part about "being one with the brine," and is currently practicing his mediation so that he will be ready for his last bath ever.