A Fowl Holiday

The Story of Stan the Turkey

As everyone in that strip of land between Tequilaland and Maple Syrup Heaven sits down with their family and friends on this unique holiday, one must always remember that there lives a dark, untold side to every holiday. This, a little day called Thanksgiving, is no exception. When you are sitting at the table this evening, glance quickly at the ornithological specimen (or appropriate substitute), but do not linger. For if your eyes dwell too long upon this avian sacrifice to the puritanical gods, you shall be stricken with a curse that has fallen upon many a human, even if they be too daft to find themselves aware of it. Now I know many of you will question this malefic existence on such a day, saying that it represents unity among peoples. This I will not quibble over, for it does show strength of humanity, though it marks a day in high treason between man and bird. To show you the strength of this hatred and magick, I will transport you to the twentieth century and tell you the story of Stan the Turkey.

The year was 1985 and Marty McFly had just gotten back from the future. In a unimportant town, down a thoroughly ordinary street, and up in a quasi-normal tree, there laid an egg. Though this egg has nothing to with this story. If one went down the tree, followed the driveway, went through the backyard and into the woods about 300 feet, there one would find the egg that was to be of some importance in out story. It was one of twelve, and this one bore no distinguishing marks of any kind. To the typical human observer, it brought one word to mind: omelet. Though one set of odd circumstances befell this little clutch of eggs, for soon after hatching they, and their mother, were discovered by a meandering farmer named Joe. Since it was mid-June and nothing is finer for breakfast in mid-June than turkey bacon, one could have foreseen the worst to happen to this avian "lost tribe". Yet, Joe was looking to expand into the whole new "free-range" market, and considering the fact that Turkeys tend to sell more per pound than chicken and duck, he decided to transport this lot to his farm just outside of town. Thus, the setting for Stan's childhood and adolescence was set: Home on LaGrange. Soon enough, farmer Joe had more than 100 turkey chicks running around on his farm, Stan being the most mundane of the group. From egg to chick to adolescent, there seemed to be nothing out of the ordinary about Stan, nothing that hindered him in the slightest, nothing that made him stand out in any exceptional way. So upon matriculating from his teen years into maturity, Stan became an accountant.

Now for those of you unaccustomed to the intricacies of Turkey society, you may think that all they do is walk around and eat seed all day. This is just a fallacy and to the keen observer can be quickly dismissed after a mere 10 years of study. There is actually a highly organized system of Turkey government in place. First of we have the Turkey Tetra, the four highest classified males, (determined by/and determines the pecking order) who get their pick of the females, and also have first dibs on the seed. The rule in a fairly oligarchical manner, first of all ensuring that their rule and system of government remains in place until other young Turks challenge their authority. Slightly below this are the roughly twenty mates of the Tetra, who have the distinguished notoriety of living to produce further chicks into this patrician-like class within the Turkey society. There have been several protests among female turkeys to end this misogynistic view of how the female turkey has their place in society, but considering these turkeys belong to a lower class, their views are taken into advisory and summarily dismissed. (see Feminism among turkeys) Then comes the turkey middle class, which are government functionaries which figure out who gets what grade of seed and how much. (This was the class which Stan belonged to) This class was run by the amazingly few Turkeys who could actually count, and then the rest of the class shuffled paperwork in between them. (Note for humans: Turkey paperwork is actually carved in the dirt by an intricate display of scratching patterns, even though this is sometimes confused for a mating ritual, whenever you walk over it, you are actually erasing at least a week's worth of work) Though due to human interference, this seems to be almost a Sisyphean task. Only about 5% of turkeys can actually count, and there once was a turkey who could do calculus, but he was exiled as a madman. That leaves the turkey underclass, whose primarily role is to eat the lower quality seed and get as fat as possible, so they get chosen to be taken to the axe and the more functional turkeys can continue to exercise their control over all turkeys.

So was the way of the Turkey world. Stan had found his niche and tried to enjoy it to the best of his ability. As with every male in the known universe, they are content to live out their lives as they are until women get involved. This particular she-turkey was named Layla and was one of those aforementioned feminist turkeys. Stan's best friend, Norm, thought he was out of his mind for taking on one of "those" types of turkeys, yet the unrest that had begun to stir in Stan's soul concerning the way the land of the Turkey was run had driven him to a soul that was a bit more of a free spirit. For the objections that Stan could not make in public (for he would lose his cushy government job), she could. His rebellion lived vicariously through her. Though, unbeknownst to Stan, the Turkey Tetra had begun to grow tired of the growing movement of these she-Turkeys. They feared that the rest of the lower class and a good chunk of the middle class would actually start believing and following these birds, and put an end to the long-running reign of the Turkey Tetra. (It was actually five years, but that seems like a long time for a turkey.) So they had decided to make an example, and that example was to be Layla. Within a turkey minute they had made sure that she was to receive the grain and portions that was served to the lowest of the low, and forbade any other turkeys from communicating with her, under the penalty of peck. She ballooned soon enough and it wasn't long before she caught farmer Joe's eyes, and was shipped of to the market as the star of some family's cornucopia.

Layla's exit from the Turkey world hit Stan very hard. He resorted to hanging out constantly with Norm and a newspaper editor with weird shoes who smoked cigars at a watering hole names "Grats". He hit the sauce hard, cranberry sauce. The alcohol wasn't the worst part, their was this weird guy named Art Carlson who kept on yelling that turkeys could fly. Stan's mind began to soar, however, and those forgotten aspirations that everyone has during their youth began to make their way back to his Cranberry-soaked mind. Aside from the illusions of grandeur that accompany cranberry-binging, the anti-oxidants, there are also the empty calories. Soon, Stan himself began to plump out. Despite those little round red devils, a bizarre lucidity came over Stan, and he knew that the Tetra must be displaced. He had no idea how it was going to be replaced, but he knew it had to be done. He started quietly with Norm, the publisher, and even Crazy Art Carlson. He realized that while most turkeys can never physically fly, their dreams may soar. So thus this small underground movement was born, yet with all things that are small, it has enormous potential for growth. Soon over half the Turkeys were aware of Stan's stance against the Tetra. Yet, even with painstaking efforts to keep the noise levels of this philosophical revolution to a minimum, the Tetra soon grew aware and scared of Stan's little brigade. They sent out 6 of the largest Turkeys to go and subdue Stan and make him see the light of their decisions, yet he would not be persuaded. He knew there was no way he could overpower those six, so he did all he could. He made as much noise as possible, soon all that had sympathy for him fought and pecked for his freedom.

One thing that Stan had not counted on is the fact that the world of Turkey lived in a bubble. For you, the enlightened reader must remember Home on LaGrange and farmer Joe. He was used to a few squawks and gobbles coming from the Turkey area, but what he heard on this day was an all out uproar. Couple this with the fact that his Free-range turkeys were not fetching quite the prices he was hoping for, Joe was not going to lose his six finest birds due to some half-assed ornithological social rebellion. So, he went out to the barn, and backed his truck up to the Turkey area, with about 100 turkey cages. It was the rumbling of the truck's motor that caused Stan to look up past the turkey wire and see the doom that not just awaited him, but all of Turkeykind. He had been so angry, so frustrated that he failed to see past the Tetra, and the fact that they just profited from the system in place. If had wanted to destroy the way things were, he needed to destroy the system and not the Tetra, for they were expendable. Farmer Joe, he realized as he was hoisted up and stuffed into a cage, was the Gray Eminence that was responsible for it all. Yet, what had turkeys done to cause such ire and hatred towards humans that the only boon they saw of a turkey's existence was its death?

That is when Stan swore his revenge upon humans, for he now knew there was no escape from this farm. He sat in that cage, thinking and staring, as one by one they all grew fatter, and the larger ones were hoisted off into the far unknown. One day, as the wind had gathered a distinctive chill and the leaves had changed into a distinctive orange hue, Stan, or more aptly Stan's foot, was fidgeting with the cage door, when a surprising click sprang forth from the prison, and the door swung open. Stan popped his head out and looked around, most of the others were sleeping, as they were always tired from the constant eating. He jumped down, the fence that had previously kept a sturdy border for the turkeys was gone, as the cages were their prison now. Yet, he could smell something coming from Farmer Joe's house. Having resigned himself to death long ago, he followed the lustrous lure of curiosity and found his way to the LaGrange abode. There the family sat around an oblong quadrilateral with numerous edibles in front of them. The centerpiece was something that struck a familiar tone with Stan, but he couldn't quite place it. Not wishing to draw any attention to himself, he removed himself from the dining room and headed to what the humans called a kitchen. There were many a smell to be found here, but what disturbed Stan the most was an underlying stench of death beneath the aroma of food, and it seemed to be emanating from a cylinder near the counter. He peered over the edge and found the dismembered head of Norm staring back at him. With a guffawing squawk, Stan ran out of the house, with Farmer Joe, investigating the noise, soon in tow. Seeing an imminent demise at the hands of the angered farmer, who had just begun feasting on Stan's former friend, Stan veered away from the cages and tries to make for the woods. Fortune smiled greatly upon the forlorn turkey at that moment, as the farmer stepped upon a rake which soon smacked him right in the face (as one should do with deer who approach your car unannounced)

The woods were dark, unfamiliar and full of ill omens. The squirrels seemed especially malicious with their conniving plans involving pine cones. Stan then perceived a familiar avian form shifting behind the brush not too far away. He approached with trepidation to find an emaciated Art Carlson scrounging for berries. He turned, saw Stan, and smirked. (If you find yourself looking at a turkey smirk, you are in for a treat, because they are rare to come by if you are a turkey, much less a human) "Knew you would make it out alive, see you and I, we're not like the rest of them, we were not born to those who were fed, we were born to those who knew how to feed."

It was then that strange glimpse's of Stan's past began to resurface, and he realized what Art Carlson meant. They were wild turkeys, not born into a life of domestication. Hence, why he has insisted that they could fly. Art had also known well in advance what Farmer Joe's intentions had been, yet the Turkey fence had been too tall for even him to scale, and since he ate little and spouted things considered to be absurd to other turkey's he was considered unfit to eat. (Farmer Joe had misinterpreted the signs and just figured he was sick) It was in those woods under Art's tutelage that Stan learned the darkest secret of them all, Turkey Black Magick.

Back at the farm, Farmer Joe grew restless. Within a week of Stan's discovery and subsequent departure, he had sold off the rest of the turkeys to avoid further losses, and now he was looking to hunt after Stan and the one who he called "the sick bird". He headed off towards the woods, shotgun in hand, being sure to curse the rake as he passed it. The underbrush was thick, and he was sure he could hear the turkeys gobbling over the cawing of the crows (or was it a Raven, he hadn't heard of a raven being found in the wild in ages, had to be a crow). He moved forward slowly, trying to be fully aware of all of his surroundings. Just as Joe thought he had everything under check, it became deathly still and silent. (For those of you having trouble with this walk out in the woods, and then imagine that there are no birds singing, no leaves rustling, no animal chatter, no far off noises from civilization..... Eerie, isn't it?) Then, he felt something on his arm, a feather. He turned and looked Stan straight in the beak. He then shook his head and looked him in the eyes (why the hell am I looking a bird in the eyes? thought Joe), and then felt himself change.

Farmer Don had left to go catch up with Farmer Joe about five minutes after he had left LaGrange, cuz he had a hankering for some Turkey dinner, even though Thanksgiving was not that long ago. He wandered into the woods and saw the damnedest thing, one huge turkey, being touched by a smaller turkey. A shotgun laid at the feet of the large turkey. Not thinking twice, Don shot the large turkey and headed back to LaGrange, thinking Joe had dropped his gun and gone home. The turkey was mighty delicious and Joe was never seen again.

So, dear reader, before you partake in your Thanksgiving Turkey, think of Farmer Joe, and think of Stan. And above all do not let your eyes linger upon a fallen turkey, for you may incur their wrath, and never, ever, look a turkey in the eye.







Hope you enjoyed the read



J/k Turkey is mighty tasty



Sic Semper Tyrannosaurus

Dave