I will not be inventing a handy freshly roasted turkey dispensing fanny pack for your attendance to Roasted Sloth concerts.

Just to nip that particular rumor in the bud.

Ten has met the bird.

She's currently thinking of a name. If it takes too much longer, I will have her sit with said bird in quiet contemplation until a name is chosen.

For now, it's black smoke from the imagination of Ten. Pray we see white smoke soon.

I feel bad for the folks who are vegetarian who might also be new to CounterSocial.

I guess it's possible that turkey heads actually look more like Godzilla than the classic, artificially manipulated "Big Turkey" corporate turkey heads.

They sell them to us without heads, so we'll never really know.

If someone had just given Godzilla a well brined turkey, he probably wouldn't have gone on all of those epic rampages.

Godzilla is probably a dinosaur, which reminds me of actual dinosaurs, which are the distant relatives of modern turkeys, and there are plastic toys of dinosaurs that are made of actual dinosaurs because that's how we get plastic, from ancient decomposed dinosaurs.

And that's probably why we eat turkeys. So that they won't become cyclic plastic turkeys in some far-off imagined future.

"How many random-ass thoughts can one man have about effing turkeys, anyways!?"

At least another week's worth. The as-yet unnamed bird isn't destined for glory until the Saturday after next.

I'm sorry, and you're welcome.

We name the things we love, and thusly, every turkey prepared gets a name.

It's a posthumous honor that also comes in handy when it comes to documenting how it was prepared in the Turkey Captain's Log.

Ten is still mulling what to call this year's bird.

Soon.

Adding to the thread for posterity.

I asked Alfred if it's possible to determine whether our bird was male or female. I personally don't care, but Ten has assured me that it makes all of the difference in the naming.

He basically said that without a head, plumage, and plumbing it's impossible to tell.

Maybe I'll have her flip a coin.

My twisted brain suddenly shifts to a gender reveal mechanism built into the industrial wrapping of each bird that showers the area with blue or pink confetti the moment it's unwrapped.

That idea is about as idiotic as actual gender reveal shenanigans.

No one wants confetti with their turkey.

Did you know that our intrepid AI assistant Alfred can provide all kinds of turkey preparation advice?

It's more convenient than the Butterball hotline.

For the sake of naming, this year's formerly happy, currently almost dead giant frozen bird is:

[Unnamed] is destined for greatness next Saturday, so its going into the fridge to thaw on Sunday morning. Its spine will be removed on Thursday morning at which point it will be put into its last bath ever roughly 48 hours before it goes into the MiL's oven.

I'm also responsible for the fresh baked rolls this year.

I have the name of this year's bird, as chosen by Ten. When I asked her why, she said that it seemed like a good name for a large happy bird.

She's called him, "Bartholomew."

I think I'm going to call him "Bart," unless he gets in trouble or something.

If he gets in trouble, it's Bartholomew.

If he gets into a lot of trouble, his full name of Bartholomew Von Turkeypants will be used.

He already hates it when I call him that. Mostly because he's missing whatever once passed for his pants.

Basically me, looking at Bartholomew after opening freezer drawer to confirm that he hasn't escaped.

Bart is a substantial beast, as far as poultry goes, and I've got to fit his sizable girth into the fridge for the thaw tomorrow, so today's agenda is to clean it out.

This isn't done as often as it should be done, so there are usually at least a couple of horrifying science experiments hanging out in the back.

If I don't deal with those first, it'll be FrankenBart for Thanksgiving. Probably.

I just checked, and they haven't invented turkey spanx yet.

I guess it's because turkey spanx would only be useful after the bird is thawed. 🤔

Bart's new accommodations have been prepared. He's moving to marginally warmer climes tomorrow.

Contrary to his rider, here will not be cocktails with little umbrellas in them.

Bart keeps asking me to play him some Christmas music, but I refuse.

It's a little too early, plus he's missing his head and can't hear it anyways.

The nice thing about Bart missing his head is that it takes an appreciable amount of imagination to hear him whine about not getting his Christmas music.

He's stuck in a dark freezer, so I'm not sure it's the lack of seasonal music that he'd be complaining about.

You know, if he still had his head.

I'm really glad he's missing his head.

The last thing you want is your turkey looking up at you from the freezer with a "wtf, man?" look on his face.

Although, with a name like 'Bartholomew', he'd be probably be very erudite in asking about why he is being treated this way.

"Pardon me good sir, but it appears that I have been gutted and wrapped tightly in industrial food packaging. I also cannot help but notice that the quarters to which I have been assigned are exceedingly cold. Would you care to explain precisely what's happening here?"

We'd probably have a deep philosophical discussion about why turkeys are farmed and consumed, and we'd reach the inevitable conclusion that human beings must taste terrible.

Or at least a lot worse than delicious turkeys.

If I'm being totally honest, I haven't heard this turkey complain once in the entire time he's been in the freezer.

He must really like it in there.

They say that only a true friend will willingly help you move.

Thankfully, moving Bart will be pretty easy. Mostly because he doesn't own any awkward, heavy furniture.

He's currently lazing about in the bottom of a freezer drawer. Soon he will be jammed into an oversized stock pot and given a substantial amount of room in the fridge.

This is the part where Bart becomes an epic freeloader. There's so little space in the fridge right now that random condiments will attempt to leap to their demise every time the door is opened.

I guess it could be the limited space, or they could just be anti-turkey bigots.

It kind of does seem like a yellow mustard thing to do to hate turkeys so much that they would risk splattering themselves all over the kitchen floor...

The condiments in the door are surely watching all of this in dumbstruck horror.

Bart has been moved, much to the mustard's chagrin.

It might seem late to begin his thaw, but we're doing the turkey thing next Saturday.

Bartholomew just asked me why there are three nearly empty containers of mayonnaise in the fridge with him.

I told him that I have kids.

So now he's wondering, "what the hell is mayonnaise?"

The refrigerator is dark unless the door is opened, and so every time it happens I imagine that Bart hears a choir of angels.

Bart insists that he'd make a better "CEO" of most of the other socials.

I think he's on to something.

I couldn't get AI to do it, so I did it myself.

Honestly, it had to be done.