All Entries in the "Featured Peeks" Category
Tom Turkey’s Lament
A Shorter Than Expected History of One November Day
by Lamont Montague
Tom Turkey was born on August 17 and, all things considered, that’s quite an accomplishment for any bird as stupid as a turkey. It is doubtful whether his father was present at the birth and probable that no one would have cared either way. His mother was a middle-age (by turkey standards) hen who has since disappeared from the barnyard. He was named “Tom,” which has been an appropriate name for turkeys since prehistoric time.
As a young turkey Tom played all the turkey games. He learned to gawk and twist his neck around into the most contorted positions. When the thunder rolled he learned to plea up with all the other birds of his type, usually causing a few of his fellow birds o smother. Life in the barnyard wasn’t exactly what one would call exotic, but it would simply have to do.
“The turkey, while notably the most ignorant bird in the Western Hemisphere, does fill a void in the culture. Take the Pilgrims and the Indians for instance. I dare say if it had not been for the stupidity of the turkey those miserable colonists would have stared to death for sure.”1
Tom grew quite quickly and, because the owner of the turkey farm had not provided exercising equipment, he grew very fat. Although he had feathers and was in every sense a bird he could not fly. He couldn’t even jump. Despite these handicaps Tom developed mature relationships with some of the female birds. Most of them were as dumb as dirt as well, but a “well-read turkey is no good to anybody.”2
The summer passed all too quickly. One day Tom and his breast friend Fred were gobbling about the barnyard when it began to rain. Most of the turkeys froze. They were frightened and amused at the water falling from the sky. The men who watched over the turkey farm began to herd the birds into shelter. Unfortunately all the turkeys didn’t make it and drowned while staring up into the clouds. Tom and his friend, Fred, were quite puzzled as to the disappearance of some of their fellow gobblers but they decided not to dwell on these matters.
“In 1778 Benjamin Franklin proposed legislation to the Continental Congress which would have made the Wild Turkey the national bird of the newly formed United States of America. Many of the delegates laughed and others stormed out of the chambers to inform the press of the old gentleman’s demise. As history tells us it was the Bald Eagle not the Wild Turkey which was proclaimed the national symbol and that is precisely why we don’t eat pork chops on Thanksgiving Day.”3
Many other catastrophes befell the turkeys that fall as a few were wiped out by a fire in the hen house and another by a falling tree limb, but one incident outweighed the others in the fright category. On September 28 a young turkey, who had been born on the same day as Tom, was lost in a pile of falling leaves. No one realized that he was missing and in an attempt to procure nourishment he choked to death on an aspen leaf.
like all youngsters Tom and Fred dreamed of running away to sea or of hopping a freight to California. Their dreams never got off the launch pad, though, as the dumb bids had enough trouble just finding their way to dinner. By the first week of October they were gaining two pounds per week and the turkey ranchers smiled as the two young turkeys paraded around their roost. That’s when they first met Spike.
Spike was likable enough, as roosters go. He had an arrogant stroll and a threatening glance for anyone who even looked like he might cross him. He looked on the turkey as one might look on an English Ivy plant.
“Hey, you dumb birds, get away from my fence,” shouted Spike one day as Tom and Fred stumbled around the barnyard. They just stared back at the large rooster, afraid to take another step. Spike was surprised and mistook their stupidity for courage.
“Well, I’ll be,” mused Spike. “Maybe you guys are different from all the rest. Come on over here,” he gestured. “Share some of my dinner.”
Tom and Fred gobbled over to where Spike was standing an cautiously began pecking at his healthy serving. They ate attentively for a few moments until Spike asked them how they liked the meal.
“Why, it’s delicious,” said Fred.
“Yes, delicious,” echoed Tom in agreement. “And there is such quantity.”
“Would you like to eat like this all the time?” asked Spike
Both the turkeys nodded excitedly.
“Well, you can. All you have to do is act important like I do. Be somebody. Quit gawking and gobbling and slouching. Stand up straight!”
The two birds stiffened on command.
“If you don’t wake up this could be your last Thanksgiving, boys,” smiled the rooster.
The turkeys looked at each other. Thanksgiving? Thanksgiving? What is Thanksgiving? It sounds pleasant enough but by the tone of Spike’s voice they couldn’t help but feel that there was a missing link. They thought about asking Spike but were afraid that they would blow their favorable status with the influential rooster. So they just smiled in agreement and attempted to strut like a rooster looking even more awkward than before. However, Spike’s words continued to haunt them all day and late that night the two turkeys discussed their recent experience.
“Do you think that Spike character is on the level? asked Fred.
“Why sure,” said Tom. “Look at how he lives. He’s free to roam the entire barnyard. And just look at the food he eats!”
“Well, what do you think he meant when he said this could be our last Thanksgiving?” Fred was trembling, but he wasn’t cold.
“Oh, he was probably just pulling our leg,” replied Tom trying to shrug it off.
The two continued a circular discussion trying to decide what this “Thanksgiving g” thing might be. Soon they were fast asleep; thinking is a big drain on a turkey.
“Whenever you have more than two turkeys discussing anything more technical than a bowl of pea soup you have the potential of a full scale disaster. The only hope is that they are free spenders.”4
As the first snow fell on their miniature world Tom and Fred wound their gawky way through a multitude of fellow turkeys still at odds about this thing called “Thanksgiving.” At first they were very worried about what Spike had said, but as the days wore on and nothing became of it, they soon put it out of their minds.
“The memory of a turkey is in direct proportion to the size of their brain cells. The storage capacity approaches zero as the amount of data to be stored increases. In other words, their brain goes on the blitz. That’s how they can remain so carefree.5
They came across Spike one day sitting happily on a water trough near the entrance to a hen house.
“How are you boys doin’ this afternoon,” he asked sharply.
“Oh, doin fine,” snapped Tom.
“It’s gettin’ on toward Thanksgiving you know. Maybe it’s time you boys made a break for it.
There it was. That word again. Spike laughed knowingly as the two turkeys stood completely still in apprehension of the rooster’s next enlightening bit of information.
“I can get you out of here before you’re somebody’s main course,” offered Spike.
“Main course?” asked Fred. “What do you mean?”
“A ‘Thanksgiving Turkey,’ you turkey!” Spike was beginning to realize that the two were as dumb as the rest.
“You mean……oh no. You couldn’t mean that. You mean…..they’d……eat us?! quivered Tom.
“You got it,” yawned Spike.
Well, as one might imagine, a turkey has little chance of making a decision of any kind, much less of this magnitude. Tom and Fred were very upset by this revelation but decided that a breakout was not the answer.
“I’ve never even been outside these gates,” said Fred, “in all my life.”
“What would we do on the outside without the rancher to herd us in and watch out for us? Who would show us where the food is? We had better take our chances here. Besides, nothing has happened to us yet,maybe you don’t know what you are talking about.”
This was quite a bit of reasoning for a turkey and a bit bold, too. When Spike began to get ruffled Tom and Fred retired to a nice, warm sunny spot for a quick nap before dinner.
As the month of November crept onward Tom and Fred became almost catatonic. They stopped eating altogether and avoided the pompous Spike who had returned to making fun of their confusion.
Tom woke up on November 15, which happened to be a cold, foggy sort of day. After a thorough search of the yard Tom noticed that Fred was gone. Tom didn’t know if Fred had taken Spike’s advice or if he was in preparation for the first phase of dinner. Spike was no help at all. He simply laughed at the troubled turkey, who gawked and gaped and stumbled and gobbled all over the barnyard in search of his friend.
Tom spent much of the next week in a complete void. Fred was gone – that was for certain. Spike was still strutting his stuff and all the other turkeys continued their gobbling opera.
One morning Spike startled Tom by speaking to him.
“Come over here, boy,” whispered the rooster.
“Well,m I see that you made it through Thanksgiving. That must be pretty embarrassing.”
“Wha?” asked Tom,” You mean it’s over. I’m not going to be dinner after all?!”
“Well, not now, anyway,” sneered Spike. “That reminds me….have you ever heard of Christmas?”
1 From Thanksgiving – The Revenge of the Tourist State by Montague Lament III, pp.67-68. Dog’s Nose Publishing House, 1981.
2 From Cranberry Sauces I Have Known by Montague Lament, Jr., pp. 39-41. Mashed Potatoes Publishing Inc., 1973.
3 From The Autobiography of Benjamin Franklin by Montague Lament, pgs 3-5, Pumpkin Pie Press, 1945.
4 From Mincemeat Fever by Lamont Montague, Esq., pg 6, Ronald McDonald Publishers, 1966.
5 From Turkey Brains and other Appetizers by Dontague Mamont, pp. 1106-1198, Julie Childs Publishing Co., 1984.
Senate Passes Deferment for Bartenders
(Washington—Otober 26, 2014) In its only meaningful legislative action this week the United States Senate today passed a sweeping resolution that gives bartenders “complete and irrevocable suspension from military duty in case of war.
Citing the precedent case Martini vs. Manhattan, opponents of the bill argued that officer’s clubs all over the world would suffer as a result of this misguided decision. If bartenders are not drafted who will pour shots for army officers or boat drinks for the ensigns? They accused supporters of hostility toward the burgeoning business of warfare.
“Making drinks in a relaxed atmosphere is imperative in future international conflicts especially when one or more of the participants manufactures weapons to sell to the rest of the world,” said a proponent of the bill. “Would we want a lot of thirsty government contractors or lobbyists to represent our best interests? No.”
“In our growing first to the trough mentality in this country we must undress these potential crisis before the ice melts,” she continued.
Although the legislative body appeared intent on wasting time voting on such issues as immigration, failing infrastructure and the state of education it quickly stacked its priorities, regained its composure and, at last call, passed out on the bar 96–4.
This is the second time the governing body has stepped in on alcohol related issues this session having added the barfly as well as the neighborhood tavern to the endangered species list back in July.
“Being in debt is one sure way to prove that it is possible to have less than nothing.” – Mercy Greenspam, fiscal guru
Post-Toole Engagement Announced
(Montrose, CO — October 26, 2014) Etiquette diva Emily Post today announced her engagement to Colona man, Melvin Toole. The announcement was held at a posh luncheon the American Legion up in Silverton due to the intense heat in the lower Uncompahgre Valley.
No date has been set for the upcoming nuptials.
Ms Post was quoted as saying that she is looking very forward to the wedding.
“I have searched the world over for the right man…someone I could take by the hand, someone to whom I could dedicate my life and apply all that I have learned about etiquette, social responsibility and good taste. I have found that in Melvin. I am certain that the marriage will be a happy one since Melvin will be an ongoing project.”
Post added that Toole would be a lifetime challenge and commitment beyond her wildest dreams.
Toole, a ribald jazzman and fringe journalist of minor regard, was not available for comment as he overslept and missed the luncheon.
“I drive a trashed out car but a hard bargain.” – Melvin Toole
Opinion
Liar’s Poker has no place in the Olympic Games
Projections that the International Olympic Committee might include Liar’s Poker on its 2016 agenda is a slap in the face to all that is good and decent in sports today.
Isn’t it enough that so many of our young people have turned to drugs to escape reality? Now the Olympic spin doctors expect us to watch the finest athletes in the world hang around smoky bars, perpetrating mistruths and desperately searching for the perfect, crisp dollar bill with all the right numbers in all the right lines.
We always thought the Olympics were for the greatest amateurs but apparently there is now room for personal profit.
The United States has boycotted other Olympics for less. We need to stand up and be counted but not on the basis of some pile of bills with or without George Washington on it. How can we even begin to think that an athlete from Nigeria might legitimately compete with someone from Brasil when they do not share a common currency?
The men and women from the six continents, who have trained diligently for the one chance to win a gold, do not deserve this moral descent, this crack in the door letting in the sinister forces of these games of chance. It is our fervent hope that the Olympic Committee comes to its senses before this ancient rivalry turns into Las Vegas, or worse.
I’ve got four sevens.
GIVE TAILINGS FUNDS TO THE NEEDY
The Super Funds that continue to trickle into the region should be handed over to the needy. Within this federally designated depressed area there are over 2500 families that currently exist beneath someone’s poverty line.
The funds, estimated to be around $2.5 billion (over ten years) should be diverted and divided between an estimated 5000 households, giving each one $500,000.
They people can then cleanup the tailings on their own. Is it possible to find another use for the byproducts of our glorious mining days? Could the tailings be jarred and sold as souvenirs? Is moving radioactive material really such a smart idea?
Now we realize that our opinion is forcing its way in the back door. The Super Fund bumbling has been a going concern for over 20 years but it is a mistake to continue these expensive cleanups!
If every tourist would simply take one pound of tailings in their suitcase when they leave these valleys we’d have it all gone by 2030. Isn’t that what the feds are doing? Where do they store it all? Then what? Maybe it could be collected and dumped into the ocean like the Syrian chemical weapons of late. Another great idea. Once it is out of here it’s someone else’s problem.
Using innovative formulas developed at the bar we estimate that the area would be free of tailings and other contaminates by about 2080 which is years ahead of the most accepted approximation. Then we can get back to the business at hand—selling condos to people from Oklahoma and Texas.
—-Western Colorado’s Humor Newspaper
San Juan Horseshoe September 25, 2014
“I have a reputation to withhold.”
– Melvin Toole, after skipping out on a motel bill in Lake City, Colorado
